How my morning turned on a Penny

Why is it that just one song--applied at the right moment--can make all the difference in the world? 

Monday began, in the Southwest corner of the Northeast United States, with fog and 40 degrees at 0-Dark-Thirty hours.  This is after a weekend featuring my daughter accidentally knocking in a couple of tiles into the bathtub wall (a good sign for her future ability to fend for herself on dates many, many years from now).  Unfortunately, this one act by the Apple of My Eye revealed a startling Incongruity-in-Grout:  Wet drywall.  I mean, drywall is supposed to be dry.  That's why they call it that!!!  Well, scratch beneath the surface of a 40 year-old house with a 40 year-old tub and 40 year-old tile... and you have a long-avoided bathroom remodeling project kicking off whether you want it to or not.

Monday dawned needing a recasting of the mood, if not the shower wall. 

Then, on queue, enter XM Radio with the RX I needed... My day turned on a "Penny"--quite literally--with the buoyancy and Bach trumpet "Penny Lane."  That was it!  The fog lifted, the sun came out, and the Beatles Made a little Birdhouse in my Soul*. 

It worked so well, I threw in Sgt. Pepper's "Good Morning," as a chaser... cut through traffic like a pro and came into work with a post for the blog! 

This day might not end so badly after all!

(*TMBG is my "In Case of Emergency, Play This" CD.)

From today's headlines

Ripped from this morning's edition of the Hartford Courant:

"Unruly young people kept Manchester police and the security staff at Buckland Hills mall busy Saturday night."

I'm trying to imagine the conversation on the police radio:

"Ida know, Sarge.  So far, they're still ruly and kempt, but I think things are starting to change.  Better send backup."

[Got any other "un" words that make no sense??  Dont' be abashed, post 'em here!]

To my Panasonic, Whom I slept with

You were IT, man.  My first.  We were inseparable.

At night, from under the pillow, you brought me baseball, static, "W.. da-da-da.. QQW... Nonstop Music!" Charles Osgood, "Midnight at the Oasis," school cancellations, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."  Hell, you even brought in Baltimore when the sun went down.

And every morning, you somehow got yourself back up on the headboard, hanging by your strap. 

I thought of you the other day, glancing up at the DVD screen hanging from the ceiling of the Family Truckster.  The kids dig it... the name's the same, but it's not you.  Not YOU.  My supersonic.  My Panasonic.

A new slice of 'Toast'

There's nothing that can start an argument like philosophy, religion or politics. 

I'm branching the blog out a bit, pulling together a new slice of "Toast" that pull together a collection of things I've heard (or said) along the way.  It is a study on the roughly 200,000 words in the English language, and how they've moved me when arranged in a certain way.  This is the beta version, posted just before a week of frenetic business travel.  I hope to flesh these passages out a bit to include why they speak so loudly to me.  But so far, this is the only stuff that has stuck to the wall.  So Vox On, baby!  With Poets, Priests and Politicians. 

For this, he'll ring twice...

This was my Mother's favorite joke:

One beautiful sunny morning, Mrs. Smith was at home and she heard a knock at the door.

It was Charlie, the mailman.

"Good morning Charlie!"

"Goot morning, Mrs. Smith.  Just wanted to let you know that I've decided to retire, and tomorrow will be my last day."

"Oh, Charlie, congratulations.  But you've been our mailman nearly 30 years, I don't know what I'll do without you.  You've practically become one of the family.  Why don't you stop in tomorrow so I can say goodbye."

"Sure thing, Mrs. Smith.  See you tomorrow."

The next day, Charlie stops by.  Mrs. Smith invites him into the kitchen, whereupon he sees a freshly baked cake with "Farewell Charlie" written on the icing.

"Oh, Mrs. Smith, you shouldn't have."

"Now don't be silly, Charlie.  You sit right down and have a slice with me."

After cake, Charlie says his thank yous, and begins to get up from the table.  "Not so fast, Charlie," Mrs. Smith says.  "There's something else."  And she hands Charlie an envelope.  He opens it, and pulls out $50.00.

"Oh, Mrs. Smith, you should't have."

"Buy yourself that new fishing rod you've been talking about."

Charlie is near speechless, says his thank yous once again, and starts for the door.  "Not so fast, Charlie," Mrs. Smith says, batting those bedroom eyes.  "There's something else.  Come with me."  And she takes Charlie by the hand, leading him upstairs to the bedroom.

After a sound thrashing of passionate lovemaking that nearly drops the house, Charlie lies staring at the ceiling.  Breathless.  Speechless. 

"Golly, Mrs. Smith, you shouldn't have... but I'm so glad you did.  That was.... that was.... amazing.  I really don't know what to say..."

"Why thank you, Charlie.  It WAS rather nice.  Actually, you can thank my husband for it."

"Wha....?"  Charlie is stunned.

"Well sure," she says.  "When I told him last night that you were retiring and said that I wanted to do something nice for you after nearly 30 years of braving the wind, rain and snow, why Harvey looked up from his paper and said 'Screw him,  give him fifty bucks!'...

... "The cake was my idea."

See Shells (By the Seashore): A Tribute to a Friend Who Went Her own Way

They were all surprised when you said you were going.
"Is she running from?" or,
"Is she running to?"

For years, we all steered a similar course;
Tacking, running, reaching.
Now and then we'd go off chasing our own wind, but horizons never separated us.
We'd wait for the fleet to regroup at each marker.
And sail on.

Now you've tacked hard-a-port.
Forgive us if we feel like you're the one who has changed course after so long traveling together.
We're blind to see if it was us.

(It's like riding on a train.  Look at the guy in the car in front of you through the glass doorway.
Your car is steady... his is moving up, down, side to side.
He's looking back at you thinking the same thing.)

Who among us can claim that you're running too fast; reaching too far?
For who among us can claim to know where you were before we met, or where you're bound.

Sail on.

What is it worth to have a friend that you don't have to TELL to?
You can just BE with...
Because she's IN all your good "tells" and "tales."
And will be in plenty more.
Such a friend as this... is you.
And such a friend we'll stay.

Sail on.
And I'll soon see Shells... by the seashore.

My crush

I.

HEART.

AMY.

SEDARIS!!!

And her cupcakes.