Island Plays

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You can become a celebrity living on an island if you order the proper cut of beef. Asking nicely, The butcher will ask for your autograph after requesting a marbled steak. As long as you are warm and appreciate their process, which I do, the butcher is square with the customer.

You don’t complain, ever!, to the produce manager. They carry sharper knives than the butcher and are far more flammable. You politely ask which tomato or watermelon is best currently. They don’t ask for an autograph. They genuflect.

While approaching the cashier, when they are trying to scan your honey crisp apples, and I inform them what the item is, (because they don’t know the demonic code) they collapse and say thank you. Some of them cry as if Elvis or the Beatles were walking in their lane.

Going to the store is therapeutic for me.

Some people on the island aren’t so understanding.

“Give me my discount on the day old chicken strips or I will burn this place down.”

That’s All She Wrote

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Vegas gave Georgia 12.5 points over TCU in last night’s college football championship game. They were way off. Georgia covered at +58. In fact, they were so far off, I turned the channel and watched Murder She Wrote instead of the last half of the game.

Hey.

Good morning. I wish it to be a happy year for all of you earthlings, but I’m not going to wish anyone a happy new year. After day one, it becomes redundant. I do wish everyone a bunch of great days to follow after and beyond January.

However, I’d like to specifically mention people like my friend who has made this a good year. Thank you.

Take Care.

Jesus Christ is Coming to Town

Yesterday, Jesus stopped by our house for biscuits and gravy, so that was pretty cool. We hadn’t met him before, and we have to admit, he’s quite an affable fellow. Upon arrival, He tossed off his robe and Birkenstocks replacing them with a cashmere sweater and sneakers. “Even I get cold and uncomfortable sometimes.”

It was a short visit because we didn’t have any wine to offer. We told him we do have plenty of water though. He just laughed and said, “I get where you’re going with this. That’s a myth…..just like Santa. That bearded mountain of Jolliness couldn’t climb down a chimney if there were cookies deep fried in chocolate sauce in the fire place. Ha! Merry Me Day. Take it easy, and God Bless you. I’m out.”

Thanks, but c’mon

Green bean casserole is widely known as the most difficult and treacherous thanksgiving side dishes since wine.

I’ve struggled with this dish with green beans, store bought onion strings and cream of mushroom soup.

My wife offered to prepare it this year, while I, for the last fifteen years have prepared cornbread dressing, and stuffing for the bird. Gravy included.

I will give her this. If she makes the casserole, I’ll take her to Hamilton.

I’ve heard it’s 3 hours long.

Punishment

Days Like This

Van Morrison, one of my favorite unintelligible song writers, wrote a song regarding the simple notion that “There will be days like this.” His Mama told him this.

Some people take that so negatively.

We all get sick and it stinks. We have to take out the garbage. That stinks. Your wife likes watching birds more than holding her husband’s hand. My Mama never told me about those days.

Birds were fun for my mom to watch, analyze and depict. Britt, my wife, feels the same. My mother told me to embrace the goodness of the world while accepting the fact that we are all flawed. According to my wife and late mother, birds can even be flawed, but it’s not deliberate. It’s simply the isosceles triangle of life.

18

Spending 7 and a half hours should be something special at a ballgame. And, it was….when you are 10. Actually, it was still terrific the other night and we are in our fifties…other than my wife. (She’s 25).

My wife, brother, friend. and I spent this amount of time and 18 innings at the park. Was it fun? Yes! Did you feel as though you were at a Catholic Mass sitting and standing? Sometimes. Because the game was quite stressful, did you want to slit your throat? Never.

In our backyard, 7 and a half hours was nothing while playing baseball. I can’t speak for any other of my brothers or hooligan neighbors, but after ten hours, we were still having fun until the dinner bell rang.

Quotes

Mark Twain is my favorite writer. Shakespeare is my least. However, They do have some good quotes. “Frailty, thy name is woman”. Get real, Shakes. “Golf is a terrific way to ruin a walk.” That’s Twain.

Me, a lesser known idiot, “There can never be enough mayonnaise”

I’m making bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches today while watching college football.

This is for my friend, Marshall.

Wild Cards

One eyed jacks and suicide queens aren’t the only wild cards this time of year. In baseball, you start depending on the wild card team you are rooting for to make the playoffs. For my team, that hasn’t worked out quite the way I wanted for the last twenty or thirty or forty years. But, as much as I hate losing, without getting too upset, you look to those who maintain hope during fruitless seasons of doom.

Baseball means nothing to many. To others, in different parts of the country or world, it means everything. People in third base countries are provided wealth by players signing contracts in the major league empire just to support their home country’s livelihood. For that, I try to appreciate the meaning.

My sister, Teresa, is a wild card and represents not just something, but everything about what I love about the game of baseball.. The pure fun, the nostalgia, and the simple desire to recognize greatness while simultaneously having fun.

It’s difficult maintaining a relationship with someone, for example, my sister, who lives in a State far away from us. She’s in Tennessee, I think, and I live on an island in the Pacific Northwest, I think. That’s a load of crap. Not the areas, but the excuses for not communicating. I hold myself fully responsible for this.

I’ll tell you what’s wonderful about this time of year. My sister and I have a love for baseball which connects us, and we don’t bitch and moan about who has called who, or have you talked to them, and how are the grand nephews or nieces we won’t know the names of until they graduate. We simply talk baseball, and it’s glorious. Teresa knows a hell of a lot more about the sport than I ever will.

Out of respect, she follows my team which has never won, nor been to a World Series. I follow her teams because, well, she’s my sister. That’s what’s beautiful. At this time of year, it’s fun, and it’s everywhere.

I don’t gamble anymore, but if I did, I’d bet onTeresa. She’s an ace in the hole.