How to deal with guns and curly hair in inclement weather

How to deal with curly hair in inclement weather?  That was the point of a video that featured 5 females, ranging in age from about 10 to 70. The "star beautician" and the show’s host prompted the women to smile, with marginal results, and thought it desirable to rearrange the ladies’ right hands so that the product being sold was getting plenty of viewing. Meanwhile the "star beautician" explained how each lady's curly hair might be truly glamorous.

With typical male intolerance I turned the TV off, cursed God for allowing this balderdash to be broadcast to innocent victims across the nation. But then I thought, maybe it held the answer to "gun control"?  If millions of people saw enough of this banal TV show or one just as silly, surely gun enthusiasts sitting in their customary TV living room rocker, with a loaded buckshot gun across their truly ugly knees, could not contain their rage and find it biblically mandatory to blast the be-Jesus out of the abomination.  That in turn would bring the whole family down on the TV killer, demanding that he or she destroy the weapon before a replacement TV could be purchased. And word would spread. Families hearing about the TV killers would confront other potential TV killers, bringing tens of thousands of homes across our great country to cease buying guns.  

Our New Resident

Rudy is only 80% housebroken.

On the other hand he loves our bed

And we’re allowed to share the big blanket.

Unlike Rudy, we don’t necessarily bounce off the mattress

Or use our teeth to rearrange the pillows.

After evening calisthenics Rudy will settle

All 12 pounds against Diana, mess his share

Of the cover, curl into a tight circle,

With just a bit of head visible.

He is not a loud dreamer, and won’t wake before dawn,

Some time before the sunrise I awake,

Check my arms for dog scratches,

And carry Rudy to the backyard,

Giving him no choice as to where

He should take care of business.

Watson, Where Are the Keys?

It’s happened before

Misplacing my key ring is nothing new.

With a yawn I start the hunt.

The office desk, or the hall shelf ?

Of course! The kitchen table, my nightstand,

Or the cars’ ignition switch could be the culprit.

I like to think that where I leave things

Is not of my doing, the fault lies in the location!

Ok, this time it’s getting a little tricky.

I’ve looked under the car, and on the garage floor.

Oh hell, I’ll find it when we get back from dinner.

Diana has a copy of the car key.

Now back from dinner we review and repeat the search.

An hour later I’m thinking of the cost of replacements.

One last check in the car trunk and I slam the lid

And notice the key ring is in the trunk key-lock. 

I had failed to see the #$%* keys in my earlier inspection.

The key ring could have fallen when we drove to dinner.

It might had been taken by someone who saw the keys

And decided he might as well take them,

Along with the car!

There is a moral lesson to be drawn.

People who leave keys in car trunk doors

Should probably be subjected to a critical review.

Like “You cannot enter the house if unable to spell your name”.

Forgetting

Half way between our house and the restaurant

Someone was running in our direction.

Not again? I didn’t leave my credit card…again?

Our waitress was breathing heavily

When she reached us.

In her right hand she held the goddamn card.

This was not the first or fiftieth time I forgot the damn #%&%#$%.

But this was the first time I left my card on her table.

Of course this was the first time she had been my waitress.

I am not a collector of much, so the thirty baseball caps and 100 pens

That I never recovered have not caused sleepless nights.

My subconscious is doing its job.

Notwithstanding the many prompts that have

Encouraged closer inspections, I leave things behind.

I cannot attribute this personal flaw to inheritance.

No family member that I know, or know of,

Has been marked by this need.

There is no basis for believing I am

Manifesting a generous nature.

Whether returned or not there is no conscious choice involved.

Perhaps I am a victim of a strange study started at my birth?

Saying No

I admire Neal, he can say “NO”.

No equivocation, no excuses.

Cowardice in the face of a bad proposal

Requires I search for an unassailable out:

“I will be in the hospital”

“I receive my global award that evening”

“I’ll be on the space shuttle to the moon”

Of course Neal doesn’t receive many offers.

That probably is a result of his subtle dismissals:

“Your friends make me sick”

“I hate Modern Jazz”

“I’m waiting for a better offer”

To commit such nonsense to typed exploration

Suggests that I am not in a serious state of mind.

A 5 Year Old President

Alessia was just 4

When she stepped back from her painting,

And from under her $3.99 Green Beret,

she exclaimed “awesome” .

I knew her time would come.

And it has!!

Consider Alessia’s qualifications:

She has a vocabulary beyond Trumps understanding

And is beloved by everyone who meets her.

Putin would smile upon her

Seniors would surely vote her in, and

Congressmen would never call her names.

There are just two problems:

She still naps and needs to finish kindergarten.

Unavailable

There is something wrong with a a phone call

That announces you can’t call me back.

Doesn’t that sound rather arrogant?

I will call you whenever I please.

4 AM Monday or Sunday at 11 PM

But you can never call me.

Further, I may not be immediately available

Even though I am the calling party.

You most understand that I have a lousy job.

My pay is buckish, no fringes

And a remarkable number of people like you

Who slam their receiver down when I say “Hi”.

Perhaps if the “unavailable” message were softened,

To “we can talk latter”?

My Dad's Hair

My earliest recollections of Dad

Includes a vision of thinning side burns,

With no offending foliage forward of his ears.

This was not going to be my problem!

I had a pompadour,

A large not well controlled wave,

That followed mom’s side of the tree.

Alas, today my wave is not simply smaller,

It has succumbed to the cruel plot

That expresses itself when my mirror

Reflects a balding dome that seats upon

An aging face

And smiles at what has vanished.

What’s in a Name

A conundrum:

We had a great business idea that needed a great name.

After hours we reduced the criteria to three elements:

Something reassuring, yet explosive and suggests the future.

For some reason there were no cheers.

Just Marvin and I voted to incorporate

Our next business adventure, under that epithet.

It’s 20 years, maybe 30, maybe 40.

We’ve long since forgotten our “awesome” business idea.

But that name, which bespoke

Strength, huge returns and “NOW”.

Has yet to attach itself to a big spender.

Still I can see 10,000 locations with banners declaring:

TIP TOP URANIUM for Home Protection

It wipes out bugs, unwanted neighbors, in-coming missiles

And leaves your home spotless.

To Find A Title

Lamenting my impossibly iced over memory

Rose Mary offered a solution

She believed that “Moving It Down” (not really)

Would be a great title that we three would remember.

I was less sure of our recall.

The conversation drifted for two minutes,

Until I asked about the title we would remember.

Silence … followed by groans.

With even greater assurance we agreed on a second title,

But you know that after four such attempts

We looked at one another, counted are combined years,

And ordered dessert.

Thirty-Two Ties

My father was built from a different model.

Broader and shorter, he had excellent taste.

Not so his son or grandsons.

None of us have any interest in wardrobes,

We are the victims, not the beneficiaries, of dress codes

With one possible exception:

I inherited thirty-two ties.

Every color, length or design awaits me

When I open my closet door.

Living in Hawaii when ties became an option,

Even in a very staid Accounting Office.

It is 50 years since I wore a tie…

Except to Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and Funerals

I should give away all but two; one black, one blue,

Which should cover just about all events.

If I were Irish I’d keep a green beauty,

Assuming there is still a Saint Paddy’s day parade in New York.

Those thirty ties might find a home.

They maybe summoned for Weddings and Funeral

Robin-Hood and the Revolution

Through the distorted lens of the front door spy hole

Jim saw a short fellow in what looked like a costume.

Searching his 50 year old memory, he found the name.

Shorty was wearing a Robin Hood suit and carried a small bag.

Jim opened the door, smiling and ready

To inform the young man it was not Halloween.

Shorty announced that he was indeed Robin Hood,

And pulling a pistol from the bag, stepped into the house.

Two other masked men, not in costumes, entered with him.

Mr.Hood explained that he wanted all the cash.

His companions entered the kitchen

And disconnected the phone.

Before Robin, and his now Merry Men left,

He explained to Jim that the greater good Jim was performing,

Albeit without much choice, would surely

Accrue to Jim’s benefit. If not now, soon.

Years later, after Robin Hood

Had formed an LLC and created a loan company,

Jim applied for a mortgage... but was turned down.

Opening his home to a masked man in leotards made him a poor risk.

Put The Ball In the Basket

After a surprisingly good dinner at Dave’s & Buster’s

We spent an hour and ten dollars playing a few of the

1,000 games flashing their wares. If lucky you go home with

trinkets that might entertain an infant who luxuriates by putting

Goodies, whether chocolate or plastic, to the taste test.

It was basketballs through the hoop from six feet away

That caught my attention.

I was never the best shooter on the court,

Except for my famous hook shot.

It was fabled because at 5’8” I rarely got

Close enough to launch.

Now I was challenged to reach the basket.

Having failed with push shots

I resorted to a one handed heave.

Socks First

Every morning, across America,

Whether we are wealthy or poor, young or old,

Tall or tiny, we face an enigma that has

Flummoxed us for over 100 years.

To shoe or not to shoe?

Morning dress must pass the trousers stage

Before we need address the persistent puzzle.

Whether hurried or luxuriating over the choices,

We cannot face the day until we decide.

Is it best to put your shoe on before

Before socking you’re other foot?

Will completing leg A prove more expedient?

Some argue that having both socks in place

Confers greater confidence in your choice

Of clodhopper, boot, sneaker, slipper or loafer.

Consider the immense loss of time

Experienced when three hundred million people

Take even 10 seconds to weigh the options.

To resolve the dilemma I ask your help.

Join my “save the seconds club—socks first”.!

To Belong

Larry Schwartz was a nice guy,

And he was really popular.

To be invited to lunch with Larry and the guys

Was worth a lot.

It was an easy decision to toss Mom’s sandwich,

A good salami with mustard on Rye,

(Telling them it was just a cream cheese and jelly.)

In favor of being one of the boys.

From time to time Gail Smith was Larry’s girlfriend.

Gail was unattached

When we accidentally meet on Avenue U one year later.

It was very nice, talking to this pretty girl.

We said goodbye without my getting her phone number,

Without my inviting her to a Saturday movie,

Without my doing anything that might be constructive.

I was a fifteen year old with few social skills, in torment.

If I had a fresh salami sandwich

It might have led to our sitting on a park bench.

I sure wished I had that sandwich to share with Gail.

Did I say Gail was really nice and very pretty?

We could have gone to the movies,

Maybe held hands.

I would have walked her home,

And she would have become my girlfriend.

More Fog Possible

That was the forecast “more fog possible”

It’s hard not to appreciate the cleverness

And ambiguity of that assertion.

It immediately rules out the impossible,

While not laying claim to a definitive result.

I suppose less fog would still be possible,

And, for that matter, we could have a sand storm

Which would not foreclose a pastrami sandwich

If the corner deli is open when more fog hits

As to the service that tracks the accuracy

Of weather forecasts, they have a problem.

If every daily prediction allowed for an infinite

Number of possibilities, the forecaster would never be wrong

One could argue that his/her pronouncements

Are brilliant reminders of days past

When the Greek Pythia were called upon

To mumble what the gods might favor.

Straight Line

Recalling an event that occurred yesterday

Two years ago, or was it some other time

While still being yesterday’s image, though

Less clear?

If there is a straight line connecting

All my recollections to me.

Then, perhaps, I have metamorphosed 

So that my history is of one day?

One day, but in different times and places

One day but “I” was always in transition

And it was an other me

Who thought the same reality had shifted.

It is very confusing, and

May require a mental archeologist

To decide on the probability that

Something had happened at sometime.

Punch The Pickleball

I can take pleasure in announcing my legs still work!

Perhaps not with the swiftness of a 14 year old,

But substantially faster than an old man’s stroll.

That leaves contact as an unresolved issue.

My shots tend toward the velocity

Of a four year old throwing a baseball,

Easily reached and often high enough

To allow for a solid smash from an opponent

Who need not move her feet.

My serve is equally hospitable.

Given my competitive nature it is hard adjusting

To the very welcoming nature of the other players.

If you can’t scream at the offending Gods

How are you to improve your stroke?

The Joy Of Sailing

Having bought a sailboat it was time to sail.

It was a 24-foot Columbus,

Unless it was 22-foot something else.

My boat was docked in Kaneohe

Unless it was Kailua.

It was a Sunday… maybe,

And I was squeezing in an hour.

I turned down a tow-out to the bay,

And gone maybe 20 feet from my dock space

Before I ran into the rocks.

Fortunately, it being a Sunday (maybe),

There were lots of seafarers on the near shore

Who could and did holler advice.

It was fascinating to hear terms unfamiliar.

After maybe 20 minutes

The tow I had turned down appeared

And pulled me into the middle of the bay.

Where I sailed for about 15 minutes

Before my rudder whacked something, and …disconnected.

I put the boat up for sail the next day. It was a Monday.

Good Morning To Ya

A block from our house

On a day that is shaping up to be just fine

We meet with Sam

He is sweeping the concrete that fronts his shoe store

I suggest it will be a beautiful day

And he can keep it for just $5.00

Sam proposes we split… $2.50 each

I mumble about overhead

Before agreeing

Cemented by a hand shake