GRINNIN' IDIOTS

Cheer up. Things could be worse. OH NO. I said the jinx words! Whenever you say “Things could be worse” or its doubly jinxed twin “How much worse could they get?” … they get worse. Guaranteed. Because the Fickle Finger of Fate is ever busy, seeking fools who lack the sense to just shut up.

Who needs a pep talk? Right now, ME. I need a pep talk. I have the chest cold from Hell. I’m looking forward to a heart valve replacement, not to mention doing something about that nasty old cardiomyopathy. We are perpetually broke because (gasp!) Social Security doesn’t actually give you enough to live on and even including a couple of pitiful pensions from Garry’s former employers and AFTRA, we barely scrape by on a good month and don’t scrape by on the rest.

If I really look at where we are at, I could get discouraged. At this precise moment, I’ve taken enough medication that nothing is going to affect me much. I’m just buzzing with chemical joy. But when it wears off? Oy vay. It will all come rushing back and remind me that life basically sucks. But there are high points — for which we live.

High points? Having a vacation so abysmal that it morphs from dreadful, to humorous, to absurd, to downright funny. Okay, my back is still out from sleeping on an ancient lumpy futon, but having light-hearted anecdotes to post on this blog makes it (almost) not matter. At least not much.

Pep talk? You never know when something horrible will transform into anecdotal material of exceptionally high quality. No matter how hideous the experience, I can usually retell it as a hilarious story. Death? Disaster? Disease? The Triple Dog Dare of survival? Just fodder for the mill.

Cheer up you stupidhead. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but you’ll find a way to laugh your way through it, until you choke, unable to draw a breath and actually die. Be of good cheer! Really! God’s watching. And laughing his ass off, if he has an ass. Have any philosophers delved into that particular mystery? No? Why not?

I feel better already. I think I’ll take some more of whatever I took earlier. That was vintage stuff and it’s definitely cheering me up. There’s no crying in baseball and no crying around here, by golly. We smile all the time. Just call us The Grinnin’ Idiots.

Have a good day now y’hear?

A BLOG ISN'T JUST A PLACE TO POST

I've been trying to figure out why I miss my original site - Serendipity - so much. I mean, after all, isn't one site the same as another?

It turns out, no, they aren't. Every blog has a unique flavor, a personality. They grow and change with whoever is minding it and in response to feedback from readers and followers. It took me close to two years to develop an active following for Serendipity. I know many as friends, as people. I know about their lives. I know what makes them laugh, grabs their interest. Over the almost 1500 posts I put up in the life and times of Serendipity, I tailored my writing to accommodate my audience. Because I love making people smile. Their comments and responses gave me ideas and fed my muse (so to speak).

Not knowing who I'm reaching is a little strange, like standing at a podium in a city I've never visited before, knowing I have to give a speech to an auditorium full of strangers. I know some of my old friends are out there, but I can't see past the footlights. I'm not sure if you'll like me.

Most of you don't know my history. That's another thing. When you have a continuity of work, your continuing life story, so to speak, you don't have to keep repeating the stuff that shows who the essential "you" is. You can build from the last story, link earlier stories, refer to things you've written about before. It's the difference between comfortably chatting with an old friend and cultivating a new friend who doesn't know your personal history or the weird twists and turns your brain takes.

New acquaintances can easily misunderstand my odd brand of humor! It's definitely odd. Peculiar, even.

Forgive me as I fumble a bit, trying to find my feet. The ground is slippery and this is new territory. I didn't intend to start over, though I knew I would have to, sooner or later because the volume of material being supported on Serendipity was perilously large, graphics and text. The mechanics of Blogger are quite different than the mechanics at WordPress. It's not a criticism of either platform: it's just different and I'm still hard put to even find the menus on Blogger.

Welcome old friends. Please comment or email to let me know that you're there.

Welcome new friends. Come meet me. Introduce yourselves. I'm sure I'll love you when I've had a chance to get to know you. I'm a stranger in a strange land (thank you, Robert Heinlein) and I have a feeling it's about to get stranger still.

HINTING AT BLUE, HANGING ON HOPE

I am blue this morning. More accurately, this afternoon. The hands of the clock have crept along past the noon hour into the afternoon. The heavy machinery which is rebuilding the parking lot have temporarily ground to a halt so the guys can eat their lunch. I rarely envy Garry his hearing problems, but on days like this when noise makes sleep impossible (do they really have to start at 6 AM?), it doesn't seem so bad.

Lots of little things are nagging at me. Like termites gnawing the edges of my brain. I'm in a place where I can  - with effort - kick myself until I stop moping. But it takes effort. Why am I blue? I'm sure this miserable excuse for a resort is part of it. Especially not having a comfortable bed. I can forgive a lot if the bed is good.

Then there's the realization this is the only vacation we'll get this year. It could have been worse. It could have been a fantastic resort, but rained all week. Or one of us could have come down with flu. Both have happened and you don't even get to blame the Front Desk. And it also could have been a lot better. I would have welcomed a little pampering. It's been a rough decade and then some.

There's always a let down at the end of a vacation - any vacation - when you know you have to go home to face whatever crap you left behind. It's waiting. In our case, there's a lot of stuff waiting and it has fangs and claws.

Still, it isn't worse than it was. Nothing got worse while we were away - or so I fondly believe. I've been taking care of business. I don't want to jinx myself, but the issues are dire enough it doesn't seem likely to get much worse, short of me up and dying. That would affect me less than those around me - a scenario we would all rather avoid. I don't have life insurance, so keeping me alive is a better deal for all concerned, though I sometimes wonder about me. I wish I believed in heaven. Something to look forward to.

I should buy lottery tickets. Someone has to win, right? I need hope.

I'm looking for a silver lining. I always look for one or two up there in the sky, but in my experience, clouds are lined with rain or snow, not silver. They're just clouds. Puffy vapor floating around in the blue yonder. They do not come bearing news, good or ill. Nor does good news come disguised as bad. Good stuff announces itself with trumpets, bells and brass bands. Bad news? Never any danger of missing it, No, uh uh. You can always tell when a piano falls on your head. Assuming you retain consciousness long enough to look up and say "Where did THAT come from?"

Today is half way between depression and blah. I'm not totally dispirited, but I'm not exactly jumping with joy. Maybe that's as good as I should expect these days. Lacking imminent threat of demise, foreclosure or other life catastrophe, 'tis enough. t'will serve. Thank you Will Shaxper.