Organ Recital

I am writing this on the last day of January 2021. I do not count myself among the many pundits who seem to take delight in declaring 2020 as the worst year since the dawn of mankind. OK. I am a bit hyperbolic, but only a bit.

Give me my lovely wife, my two Brittany pups, good reading material, Mark Knopfler’s guitar, a cup of Kona or Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee at least three times a day, a BBQ grill that works, a short redfish fishing trip, and I am a contented man in his seventh decade on this beautiful blue ball. 


I must not mislead you as in the last four months, there have been a few setbacks. I have been tested a half dozen times for COVID 19—all negative. I have had my esophagus expanded with a balloon so I could swallow my Scotch more easily. Steroid shots in each shoulder by my orthopedist before the redfishing trip to the estuaries of lower Louisiana. Spinal fusion surgery that worked remarkably well, and physical therapy to make sure I don’t return for more. Cataract surgery on both eyes in three weeks took me from cannot see the small print on the television to 20-20 distance vision one day after the surgery. Finally, a trip to Costco to buy three pair of reader glasses for up-close work. 

After all these wonders of modern medicine, I can only complain about one other thing. Even with three pairs of readers—one for the bedroom for reading in bed—one beside the sofa for reading my iPhone while watching golf—and one for computer—I cannot find a single pair of the damnable things when I need one to check my Apple watch for the forecast. I can actually use my old glasses, which the surgeon promised I would no longer need, but I have to wear them down on my nose, so I can use my 20-20 vision by looking above them, which means I can now no longer breathe out of my nose. 

As soon as those classes entered the house, they disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle of 17190 Coulter Parkway. They now reside there with dozens of individual socks, a multitude of Sharpies, few dozen ballpoints that actually work, an umbrella or two, and at times my car keys, which I usually find in my pocket after a few choice words I learned on HBO.  I have concluded that there is a wormhole in our clothes dryer that feeds smaller items directly to Bermuda, and whenever I desperately need a Tylenol, I am convinced another prominent pathway is in the medicine cabinet in our bath. Finally, a major pathway to The Triangle sits right on our kitchen counter in the wicker-miscellaneous -items-basket that sits on the kitchen counter. You put something in that wicker-basket-hole that you plan on using shortly, and you might as well kiss that sucker goodbye. I am convinced that I placed my new Costco readers near the wicker-basket-hole, and they were sucked up into the Triangle like Nick Saban sucking on BBQ ribs at Dreamland.

Of course, I will find my glasses soon after I return to Costco to replace them. 


I end this rosy essay with a bad joke. What do call two senior citizens talking over coffee? An organ recital! Don’t get it? Tru st me. You will one of these days!

1 Comment »

  1. I know the pain of not being able to find my glasses/readers! I have six pairs strategically located around the house, another set in my purse, and three pairs in a drawer for when I cannot find the others!!

    Love your take on things–you always make me laugh! Keep it up!

    Liked by 1 person

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