Remember the good old days? You know, those days in February and March 2020? How about the good old days of 45 records? The first 45 rpm disc in the US was ‘Texarkana Baby’ by country & western singer Eddy Arnold. It was made of green vinyl. Must have been a humdinger.
Day 45: we are still hiding in the closet, protecting our skeletons. Everyone has a skeleton or two hanging around. I remember a few of mine: Escaping from the convent to accept a music scholarship, much to the chagrin of my aunties. And then there was the marriage number 1, followed by marriage number 2. Those skeletons are dust in the wind, or more appropriately, ashes in the urns.
It seems that skeletons follow me wherever I go. I need to remember to lock those closets. Even in my so called fabulous career, those ghostly bones would pop out every so often, confirming the belief that I was a “bonified” rebellious idiot. However, I managed to stay employed for over 45 years, loving every minute, until it was time to shed the working mask only to end up wearing a virus mask.
As we long for a return to our old lives, change has entered the scene and is giving us an ultimatum. We can let Rome burn, or we can invent a new order of living. We creatures of habit are not likely to willingly accept change. Why fix it, if it ain’t broke? Well, guess what? It is broke. And it is killing us. The virus thrives, like a vampire, or a thief in the night, looking for its next victim.
America, the beautiful, in turmoil. I believe we, the people, have the spirit, the ingenuity, the intelligence and the resolve to improve our country, our world, and the quality of our lives. It is up to you and me. Don’t give up.
Wolf
We are all mad here
Mark Twain had a “thing” for the number 44. One of his books was titled : Number 44, The Mysterious Stranger. The meaning of “No. 44” and the significance it held for Mark Twain remains a mystery. Scholars who continue to study the manuscripts will likely feel compelled to try and answer the question.
For us, the number 44 is not so mysterious. It is simply another day to spend in eternal bliss, hiding from the world of germs and gremlins. Some scientists are saying that we should come out of hiding; that the isolation is weakening our immune systems. Others? Only testing and retesting should be our guide to the end to this madness.
As I slowly go mad, it is Lewis Carroll I find infinitely wise:
. But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
Well, we are all here, waiting, some more than others. “In time”, we are told, “in time.” “Be patient.” What is time anyway? I believe it is an illusion. The only meaningful moments are the moments themselves. See what I mean? I am mad:
Time for this mad hatter to stroll down the driveway in my robe and pjs, with the wildest of hair dos, with empty beer cans and oreo packages for waste management pickup. As a rebellious gesture, I refuse to wear a mask on my short journey this morning.
May you be safe, healthy, and mad on this day, Wednesday, April 29, 2020.
Wolf
The Beaver
As I walked to the mailbox on this 43rd day of incubation, there was a letter from the Beaver. Who is the Beaver? Let me tell you about this woman: Controlling, bossy, loves to wear black, avid reader, crazy about her swimming pool, has a loving relationship with Jess and wine, and she is a very loyal friend.
I worked with the Beav for many years. We shared the same last name, although we are not related. Well, in a sense, we are now, that we are the Beaver sisters. We sat near one another, and I quickly learned a few things: Never bother the Beav on her lunch hour, as she is reading; do not eat celery or any other thing that is crunchy, or she will beat the #%$@#% out of you for annoying her; let her go on rants as she will soon get over it; and never say a bad word about a cat, or she will take you out back and shoot you.
We have been on a few adventures together, outside of work, and what a hoot they were. Wineries, concerts, horse racing, gambling, and just plain bar hopping. Unforgettable.
We share the same political beliefs, love the same music, and are crazy for cheese steaks and Mexican food. She laughs at my jokes, I laugh at hers. The only problem I have with the Beav is that she is still working and I am a loose cannon, so we don’t see each other very often.
Today, I received a wonderful piece of artwork from the Beav, in the mail. A page out of a coloring book, that Beav had finished. Yes, it is a picture of 2 Beavers hanging out in the woods. I need to frame it. What a beaut! And a very loving note about our friendship was included. Yeah, she was probably slightly tipsy when she wrote it, but so was I, when I read it.
It is wonderful having the Beaver as my friend. I love her!
Wolf
Ma Bell’s little sweetheart
“Operator, may I help you?”
That was me, at age 16, working for Ma Bell. Operator number 42. The “connection”? Our 42nd day of incubation, waiting for the cocoon to transform into the butterfly.
“Sweet freedom whispered in my ear: you’re a butterfly and butterflies are free to fly, fly away. Bye bye.” Sir Elton: What an artist! One of a kind, for sure.
The other accomplished star in my life, Gov Cuomo, was live, on Sunday, giving an update on the progress that New York is making, isolating the virus. He and Dr Fauci, are now recognized as the two major leaders, in our country, in the fight against Covid. The voices of reason!
On the dark side of the spectrum, I am waiting to rise, out of the ashes, like the Phoenix. My positive attitude is being tested. When this happens, I remind myself that this is only an inconvenience and in a year or two, it will be over. I love being a humorless optimist.
Talking to myself has become one of my favorite pastimes. This happens, I am told, when someone lives alone and is slightly whacked out. Most of the time, I say something I consider funny, and find myself laughing about what I just mentioned to me. This can be embarrassing, in public, but for now, there isn’t much public around, so I have decided to keep this habit for the next 3 to 4 years, when a vaccine is found.
Once again I am “out there” burning out my fuse up here alone. I love being a rocket woman. Ground control to Rocket Woman: Get your ass dressed. Your mission, today, is from The Talking Heads, so they can sing once again:
The world was moving, she was right there with it and she was
The world was moving, she was floating above it and she was.
Joining the world of missing persons, singing, “this ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around.”
Ain’t life grand?
Wolf
Fancy tickling?
Remember these guys? Dirk Nowitzki, NBA; Wes Unseld, NBA; Tom Seaver, MLB; Charlie Waters, NFL; Eddie Matthews, MLB
They shared the same number, 41 on their jerseys. Let’s get to the point, let’s roll….. oops. It’s been 41 days of lockdown. Seems like just yesterday, right? Wrong. Ok, no complaining today. I had a fabulous time yesterday, from what I can remember. The sun was shining, Sissy was stoking the fire pit in the back yard, as I watched GeoMax run wild, chasing squirrels, waiting for me to share a beer with him.
Twilight happened too soon, after such a happy afternoon. Home again, home again, jiggity jig, to stir up the troops on facebook, with outlandish nonsense. It tickles my fancy to be silly. Now that I think about it, who came up with “tickle my fancy”? I don’t even know where my fancy is.
I started reading a book by Grisham, Playing for Pizza. My advice: skip it, unless you like books about a wanna be football star, who is so bad, that he signs up with a foreign team. I guess even the best authors have a few flops.
Time to grab another book, order take out and chill.
Hope everyone is safe, healthy and happy.
Wolf
Never break the chain
After 40 days and 40 nights of fasting, the devil sneaked in and thought: Hmmmm, He must be hungry and vulnerable. I will offer him a kingdom. Nope, not gonna happen with JC.
Can you imagine, not eating for 40 days? Or being stuck inside for 40 days? Here we are on April 25, 2020, 40 days into seclusion. Actually, I still go out, for essential reasons, of course.
I am really getting ridiculous. I took my temperature just in case I have “it”. The damn thing must be broken. It says I am normal. I like this thermometer. It boosts my ego. So, from now on, in case I am asked, I am normal, according to the precise calibration of my Braun ear gun.
4am: Guess who is up? I have this song going through my head and it won’t leave. Fleetwood Mac: The Chain. They weren’t supposed to break it or break up, but it happened anyway. It is driving me crazy: It’s like Pink Floyd said: The lunatic is in my head.
Driving in the fog early this morning, to see if Dunkin is open. Yes! Coffee please! I love drinking a leisurely cup of coffee in the grocery store parking lot, looking at all the masked people. Those with glasses were having trouble navigating, due to the fog. Not that fog. The fog steaming up their glasses. I was going to put my mask on, just for the hell of it, but I figured I am more scary without it. Have I mentioned lately? I love being scary.
Getting up at 4am is interfering with my happy hour(s). I try to wait until noon, but it is only 11am and I am quite parched. I am not sure if I have mentioned this before or not, but I love being parched.
Until tomorrow,
xoxooxoxox
Wolf
A propulsive narrative cinema?
Day 39: Remember the 1935 movie, 39 Steps? The 39 Steps is a masterclass in propulsive narrative cinema, whatever the hell that means.
Yes many people think I was around in 1935, but I will never tell. Quite awhile ago, I must admit. Frankly, these last 39 days surpass all those years put together. However, so be it. Guess what? We are not in control. To get control, you must give up control. The virus continues to spread its vicious fangs around the globe, while we wait and watch, in seclusion, knowing that this too, shall pass. It all depends on our united refusal to feed the beast.
A lovely day, yesterday, sprinkled with the fairy dust and booze that surrounds good friends. It doesn’t matter that I got lost on the way home. My sense of direction has been less than spot on, ever since I fell down the basement stairs, when I was 12. And then again, when I fell out of a giant truck twice in Florida, in February. I do these things to get attention.
Now that I had my high test coffee and English muffin, I am ready to roll. However, my options are highly limited; either I stay home or put on my mask and head out to one of the local wineries, to find a bottle of sparkling wine, so that I can come home and celebrate. What am I celebrating? How about the football draft? Or Tommy’s decision to sign with the Bucs? Or better yet, life itself. I still have not felt any oppression from the new order of things. I refuse to let anything or anyone take away my zest for living. It is too precious.
Have a wonderful day, my friends. Don’t give up!
Wolf
A #%#$%$’d up mind
One of my favorite bands is 38 Special, which reminds me: Today is the 38th day of confinement on this day, April 23, 2020.
My daily routine includes listening to Gov Cuomo at 1130am. It is reassuring to hear someone with a voice of reason, intelligence, compassion and a sense of humor. He takes responsibility for his actions and is a straight shooter. His popularity is growing, in the midst of a universal tragedy. Can you tell? I am his number one fan.
Last night, BBQ night at the sports bar: Great special: BBQ brisket, with onions, peppers and cheese, transformed into a cheese steak. Fabulous! A lovely masked lady served it to me in the parking lot. Lo and behold, my buddy Meghan behind that mask. I like my mask, but my glasses fog up and I walk into walls and stuff. The mask makes me a walking hazard; an accident waiting to happen. If I remove my glasses, I can’t see either. Either way, I am #%@#%@%#’d.
I have become much more lady like since I have been incarcerated. If you notice, I did not use the F bomb. I love it when I am demure and refined.
Following dinner, I grabbed a few beers and talked to NY Banana on the phone. She gets me laughing so hard, that my face gets frozen in place. At least it is better than my resting bitch face. Notice: I used the word bitch. That is a perfectly good word to use, as it has multiple meanings, and has been used by many refined , resting bitch faced bitches.
My drinking buddy, Clover, got into a fight. I can’t say if she was drunk or not, but she came home, licking her wounds, and is now wearing a collar, or doggie hat, or whatever you call it. When I got a message, with her picture, I immediately responded, wanting to know who she is hanging out with. As they say, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. In this case, when a drinking friend is away, the alcoholic dog will be jumping the bones of an unknown predator, who beat her ass. Notice: I used the word ass, which is perfectly fine, according to Webster. I always liked that kid, when he had a TV show.
Now that you know how #EEWT#W’d up my mind is, overloaded with nonsense and hilarity, I will sign off for now, only to return later, to W@#ET@# amuse you.
Ta ta!!
Wolf
Wake up call?
37 days have passed since the “beginning.”
Remember: In the beginning, there were crowds and traffic and shopping and meeting with friends. Changing climate and fires, out of control. Wild weather and melting glaciers. Bars and restaurants were places of refuge. There was fighting in the streets, in the schools and in the government. The economy was booming, but at what price?
People were stressed out, hurrying everywhere, busy, busy, busy. Everyone had jobs. But not everyone was happy, but at least earning a living for their families.
Then the earth stood still, and all was quiet. No jobs, no traffic, no parties, no gatherings. We put on our masks when we had to go outside. Life became its own goal. The brave ventured out to help those in need, while millions across the globe sheltered in their homes, waiting for a sign of hope and recovery.
Leaders emerged, some in unlikely positions, calmly and intelligently reassuring us that we do have hope. It resides in each of us, doing the right thing, for ourselves and each other.
As we continue to wait, we realize that we have contributed to the destruction of our planet. “We have met the enemy and he is us.” Our challenge will be to transform ourselves, our habits and our way of life. A rough road ahead, but one that will bring us to a new realization of what is truly important in this life.
Wolf
Whiskey in the Jar-Oh
Irrelevant fact of the day: 36 (Thirty-Six) is a Canadian Psychedelic rock band.
2nd irrelevant fact of the day: We have been in seclusion for 36 days.
3rd irrelevant fact of the day: Does anybody know what time it is? Does anybody care? How about this: what day is it?
It happens to be one of those beloved Irish misty days. You know, gloomy, rainy, damp and dreary. It pairs well with the spirit of the day. And today’s spirit just happens to be Jameson. Or perhaps, a Guinness accompanied by a potato. Either way, if you have a cat, here is my Irish blessing for the day:
May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat.
Sick, eh? I really don’t get it, but so what?
That’s why I love being Irish.
An Irish lass prepared a blueberry french toast for me yesterday with Italian sausage. Guess what? The dog ate my sausage. Ouch! Hey Buddy, that hurts!
As I stay in my cage today, I am reminded of a crazy Irish song:
Whack for my daddy, oh
There’s whiskey in the jar, oh
I am beyond redemption.
Yes, I am a can short of a 6 pack.
Wolf
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