All Batt: A friend moves on to a better place … to eat
Echoes From the Loafers’ Club Meeting
I miss Fred.
He’s in a better place.
No, he found a better place to eat.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: Does the road less traveled have fewer potholes? Why don’t they make yardsticks any longer? If complaining were tax-deductible, few people would pay any taxes.
The cafe chronicles
“For the love of Mike!” he said as he struggled to cut his steak.
One dictionary defines that phrase this way: a mild oath of shock, exasperation, annoyance, frustration or anger.
I don’t hear kids saying that. I’d guess that the man who uttered it was pushing 90, but I’m not sure from which direction.
The server responded by saying, “If the steak is too tough for you, get out. This is no place for weaklings.”
When someone asks a man of my age how he is doing, he tells them
When I wasn’t looking, I became a man of my age.
My doctor likes to say things like, “The problem with a man of your age is…”
A friend called to see how I was doing. That was nice of him. Then he asked me if I had the good kind of cancer.
I told him that I was no oncologist, but I didn’t think any cancer could be called good.
Our weather had been misbehaving.
I asked the fellow from Northwood how he’d describe the weather.
He replied, “It’s just right.”
I thought about his comment on another day.
“Uffda!” I whispered to myself.
Uffda is the Swiss Army Knife of exclamations. It works for all occasions.
I was feeling punk. Under the weather. Even aloe vera gel couldn’t cure me.
While playing Dirty Harry in a movie, Clint Eastwood said famously, “You’ve got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
I wasn’t that kind of punk. At least, I don’t think I was. I was more the kind of punk that describes wood so decayed as to be dry, crumbly and useful for tinder.
People talk about misfortune. If it could happen to anyone, then why doesn’t it?” and “If it can’t happen, it will.”
I’ve never once asked, “Why me?”
I figure there is no point. I could feel sorry for myself, but I’d still have cancer. Why not me?
The clinic is a continuing education class.
The nurse told me that the shot I was getting would run between $4,000-$8,000. I smiled. I said that at those prices, the shot would triple my book value.
I got an enema for the first time in my adult life. It was no aspirin on toast. I told the nurse that getting an enema had been on my bucket list. She told me that I needed to get a new bucket. It wasn’t as bad as I imagined and I did get to say, “Whee!” once. I’m hoping to get a certificate of participation suitable for framing.
I’ve completed 288 hours of chemotherapy. The results were good. I’ll likely have another 288. Thanks to the good folks at Mayo Clinic, there is a good chance that I will be a burden on society for years. That’s my goal.
I will be fighting a long battle. We all are fighting battles.
But I’ll be just right. Just like the weather.
“I found a robin’s egg on the ground. What happened?” Ah, CSI Eggtown. Major predators of robin eggs are blue jays, crows, snakes and squirrels. Squirrels seldom drop eggs. Snakes swallow the eggs at the nest. The robin parents could have chased the thief, causing the culprit to drop its purloined prize. House wrens puncture and/or remove the eggs of other species due to distaste for competition. Chipmunks will dine on bird fruit. Deer, cats, skunks and raccoons eat bird eggs, but primarily from ground nests. The nest could have fallen. The parents could have dumped an infertile egg.
Talking to the Holstein
I was talking to the Holstein the other day. The Holstein is a retired milk cow, so she has time to talk. The Holstein is always up early in the morning, so I asked her if she woke up with an alarm clock.
The Holstein chewed her cud thoughtfully and said, “No, I wake up with an appetite.”
According to an independent poll taken at the local convenience store, six out of the seven dwarfs are not happy. Being kind is a rewarding way of being happy.