Many many years ago
When I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow
Who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a daughter
Who had lovely hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
And soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
For she was my father’s wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
Though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
Then that also made him brother
To the widow’s grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my step-mother.
Father’s wife then had a son,
Who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
For he was my daughter’s son.
My wife is now my mother’s mom
And it surely makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
She is my grandma too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
Then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it,
It simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa.

Things have been quite hectic around here and my mind is filled with many things, but not a one of them is a good blog post idea, so I am giving you an “encore performance” (sounds so much nicer than “re-run” huh?) This story is from many years ago (2006) but it still makes me smile, so I hope it will give you a chuckle as well!

there was a boy who had a

cat named Brownie.

Brownie is a happy cat.

They live on a pumpkin farm.

There are lots of other cats to play with.

But Brownie likes to play with the boy.

One day, the boy went to play with his people friends.

He took his very big dancing pad with him.

He put it in the trunk of the car and went back in his house for a game

to play with his very big dance pad.

He went back outside and slammed the trunk shut.

Then he drove away.

He had traveled through the woods only a little ways, when he heard a noise.

“What could that be?” he wondered.

He drove back through the woods to his house.

He opened the trunk of the car.

Brownie was on his dance pad.

But Brownie was not dancing.

Brownie was not happy.

Brownie leapt out of the trunk onto the boy and held on tightly.

The boy came inside his house and made his mommy laugh.

He was wearing a cat.

His mommy is still laughing, and had to tell all of her friends.

In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth, and it was good. (Not great, because the Internet hadn’t been invented yet ).

Then came beasts and mankind and one begot another and another (hopefully not with each other). The earth became populated, mankind made many advancements, and the Mayans told us this will be our last year on earth (or not, since they didn’t figure in leap year adding a day every four years, so technically the day they predicted has already passed – for reals! We’re not gonna die!)

And lo, it came to pass that the lesser gods, the Timekeepers, looked upon the system of calendars and clocks and all manner of ways of making us late, and said, “Behold! We are going to upend the current method, for although it has served us for centuries, we want to make things just a tad bit more difficult for mere mortals.”

And thus, they invented Daylight Saving Time. (Yes, I know many use the plural, but apparently, that is wrong.)

Daylight did not realize it needed saving, and the Earth continued to rotate at the same speed, and the length of time the sunlight shone did not vary, but the great and powerful Timekeepers would not be silenced and henceforth, the hour of the rising of the sun was changed.

A great darkness spread across the land, and many gnashed their teeth and rended their garments, all for naught.

And Standard Time became frightened, and muttered to itself, “Yea though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of Daylight Saving Time, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Plus I know that come the first Sunday in November, I shall reign again!”

So verily I say unto you, heed the Timekeepers (unless you live in Hawaii, Arizona and the Midway Islands and Wake Island, which do not observe daylight saving time) or thou willst find thyself late for thine appointed rounds. Or at the very least you’ll miss something interesting on the Internet.

We only get one every four years – hope you enjoy yours!

Horror that you don’t know who the Beatles are
Nostalgic as they remember their youth filtered through the gauze of time
Resignation that they are indeed (shock and horror reappear here) …old

I remember the Beatles, but I am not the Walrus.

I am the Ostrich.

We’ve had a pretty rough go of it for the last few months, as my mother-in-law’s health declined and we were forced to move in with her (and her little dog too )

It was tough. It was like going back to his childhood for husband. Not in a warm and fuzzy kind of way, but in an, “Oh My God, I worked for 50 years to bury these horrid memories” kind of way. His mother can be brutally critical, believing she is displaying her love through unabashed opining on what she sees as negative characteristics or flaws.

Our bedtimes and meals were regulated like we were kindergartners. There was no alcohol (just when we needed it the most). We took to subterfuge, sneaking a flask into our bedroom as I stood guard at the door, listening for her shuffling steps, watching for the sparks from the carpet, because she had turned off her humidifier which made the house as dry as Mars and caused enough static electricity to create visible electrical discharge. I could also watch for her shadow (which was eerily reminiscent of Nosferatu, due to her slow, tiny steps, which make her appear to be floating, and her dowagers hump – her osteoporosis has caused her spine to become shaped like a question mark) as she also had so many nightlights that walking down the hallway was like coming in for a landing on a runway. It was never, ever dark in her house.

All of this, combined with her unholy fear of a high electric bill and thus insisting that we limit our time on her computer (which actually uses very little electricity) caused me to simply go dark, internet-wise.

I became the Ostrich.

I buried my head in the sand and sobbed quietly (not a good idea, sand in your mouth is really icky).

I stopped posting, tweeting, doing status updates, playing games, circling people, following people, friending people, unfriending people and everything else that us social media junkies do.

Then she fell at home, miraculously not breaking any bones, but injuring herself enough to spend several days in the hospital and causing her doctor to say, “No more. You can not live at home any more.”

So when her hospitalization ended, she was sent directly to a nursing home rehabilitation unit. She was not happy, but she is rarely happy. We remained in her house to watch her dog until she could make a decision on where she would ultimately go, as her time in rehab is limited by strict Medicare rules, and she must show continued progress with physical therapy. When the progress stops, so does Medicare. Then she will have to find a different place to live that is not her house. Rumor had it that some assisted living facilities allowed pets, so she was hopeful that she would get to live out her days with her beloved pup.

During this time we stayed at her home, played with beloved pup, drank, ate what and when we wanted, unplugged every damned nightlight, stayed up late and ran many, many errands for her, which again limited our time using her computer, so I remained the Ostrich.

It was a strange experience. The first few days at her house, unable to check e-mail, Facebook, Google Plus, Twitter, Empire Avenue and multiple news sites, were torture for me (I was like an addict in withdrawal – an angry, shaky addict). Dear God how I missed the Internet.

But now we are back home, grandma is in lockdown at the nursing home, and I am back online. Still somewhat limited though, because grandma has us running a thousand errands every day. I am plowing through 4,000 backlogged e-mails. If you sent me a request for anything, please be patient. Meanwhile, grandma learned that few facilities in the Kansas City area actually allow pets. She had promised we could have her little dog, but then she had a bad dream that a wild animal ate her dog at our farm, so she is now going to give the dog away to strangers. Husband and I are crushed, as we became quite attached to Misty.

I am left wondering what type of beast wanders the hills of Grain Valley, Missouri, eating Cairn Terriers.