My wife is busy in the kitchen, baking bread, the cats are driving her crazy, meowing for food they like better than what we’ve offered them so far, the garbage can is full to overflowing, so she asked me to feed the cats and change the trash bag.
First I fed the cats, then I took out the full bag and got rid of it. She handed me a fresh bag to put in the can. There were only two bags left in that box, and they both came out at once, so she had to stuff the last one back into the box.
“You didn’t fold that bag,” I said. She stared at me. “Take that bag out of the box again and fold it up nicely.”
You should’ve seen the look I got before she realized I was kidding, just pulling her chain to get a laugh. Which I got.
“I can’t imagine being the kind of person who would say that!” Patty said. “I can’t imagine being married to someone like that.”
Married 42 years, and still laughing together. At the same thing, the same time. Thank you, Lord.
Enough bad nooze already. Here’s something totally harmless, benign, soothing, and sweet: Music Box Dancer by Frank Mills, complete with dancers.
Early childhood memory: my Aunt Millie had a music box with a little toy ballet dancer on the cover, who glided around in a circle when you played the music. I loved to watch it, fascinated. And what I wouldn’t give to see her, and it, again.
P.S.–Oops! I posted this video last month. Never mind, I think we need it again. It’s a small port in a big storm. And prayer will lead us to the best port of them all: the love of God, in Jesus Christ our Savior.
We’re still trying–unsuccessfully–to email my column to Newswithviews. I am wiped out with frustration. Meanwhile, Joshua wondered how to pronounce my name, so I thought I might elaborate on that.
My paternal grandfather was born in Paris and came here as a boy. Our original surname was “Duigou,” and you can imagine how that got mangled: “Dooey-Gooey” springs to mind. So he changed it to “Duigon.”
My mother’s German surname wasn’t much better: “Leis,” pronounced “Lice.” So they took to pronouncing it “Lease.”
All my life I’ve heard my name botched and butchered. “Doo-jee-on.” “Doo-gan.” One man pronounced it “Dugong,” an animal related to the manatee. Once at Sunday school, when they were handing out attendance badges, the superintendent called me up to the stage as “Diggin.” Which inspired me to exclaim, “My name ain’t Diggin, it’s Duigon!” I think that happened when I was ten years old.
Six measly letters–how hard could it be? I mean, it’s not “Suppiluliamas,” is it? But he was king of the Hittites, and it was probably dangerous to mangle his name. And you could always call him “Your Majesty” if you got stuck. I have to settle for “Hey, you.”
Anyway, the correct pronunciation is “Dui”–as in “ruin” or “bruin”–“gon.” I can live with “Dwee-gon.” I strongly believe that Mickey Mantle or Willie Mays would never, ever have become stars if either of them had been saddled with my name.
“Wow! I read a really good book by… well, some guy, whatsisname…”
Yesterday our neighbor said to my wife, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, if there’s anything you need.”
When Patty told me about it, I wondered, “What would we need?”
“You don’t understand. It’s because we’re elderly. The virus is an extra-big threat to The Elderly.”
I am not going to get mad at the woman, who spoke from the goodness of her heart. But “elderly”? Me? How did that happen? I mean, I’ve still got my box of animals and dinosaurs–doesn’t that count? I get no points for riding my bike no-handed? A doctor once gave me points for that.
My wife has COPD, and the men on my father’s side of the family tend not to live that long. Uh-oh. I do wish my book sales would go up before Father Time finishes sharpening his scythe.
Stonewall Jackson, when asked why he never seemed afraid to go into battle, said it was all in God’s hands. God would decide when the general’s time was up; and until that happened, he was as safe on the battlefield as he’d be in his own bed at home.
But I still don’t like being thought of as “elderly.” It’ll be “daft old trout” next.
I’m up early today because I have to take Robbie to the vet and I don’t know how long they’ll keep me vegetating in their waiting room. She has this thyroid thing and it’s time for them to check her blood again.
I have prepared a nice post for you to appear while I’m at the vet’s. Tomorrow it’s my turn at the doctor’s, and Thursday I have to take Patty to the eye doctor–and they have just moved without telling any of their patients, I don’t know how she found out.
Oh, well, at least the cats will fight when we get back home. They always fight after one of them has been to see the vet.
Peep lets her sister, Robbie, pick on her all day. It’s a shameful business.
But take her to the vet’s office, and she turns into a tiger.
So now this sweet, gentle cat is hissing at me and showing her teeth–’cause I had the dirty job of taking her to the vet’s–and heaven help anyone who gets in her way. At the doctor’s office they have standing instructions to handle her with towels and protective gear. For the humans, not her.
They’re going to do all these tests and see what’s what. She’s not un-healthy, but it seems she has some problems that may require attention. So we have to wait a few days and see what the tests tell us. Please pray for our little girl cat.
P.S.–Thank you, Byron, for managing the blog while I was out. You did pretty good, actually. Way to go, publishing Unknowable’s picture.
I have to take Peep to the vet this morning, my wife has a whole list of things she wants checked.
I’ve been experiencing below-average viewer numbers lately, which makes me wonder if I’ve done something wrong–so I’m leaving Byron the Quokka in charge. He says he can get those numbers up. I’m sure he’s eager to impress me. We’ll see if he can make it happen.
“Have fun!” he says.
There are some cats who would not be amused.
Please pray for us, Patty and me, this week: we’re going to need it. Medical issues, you know.
Tomorrow Patty has to go to the dermatologist to get a “thing” removed from her neck. This worries me–a lot. Please pray it’ll turn out to be no big deal.
There are also our cats. I’ll have to take them to the vet for blood work, to see if Robbie’s thyroid is acting up again and her medicine needs adjusting, and to see if Peep’s kidneys are working as they should.
So it’s going to be a hard week, with a lot for us to stew over, and we stand in great need of the Lord’s protection. Please keep us in your prayers.