Month: July 2024

One Liner Wednesdays

This was one perfect day in my life.

One-Liner Wednesday – I love my neighbourhood

Elementary, My Dear Watson

Watson on my son John’s lap. Watson has no idea he’s too big to be a lap dog

Watson sleeping in the cool of the bathtub. When he snores it echoes down the drain and sounds like ghosts wailing.
Watson found a football and carried it everywhere till it got stuck in his food dish. Now he has a real conundrum.
Watson cooling off in his wading pool.
Watson with his precious Christmas Bone. He wouldn’t turn loose of it even to sleep.

What Time Do I Wake Up and Go to Bed?

I wish I could predict. I would love to have a regular time but I have a hummingbird sleep pattern. I am plagued with restless legs and knee pain, so I never know if I will sleep once I go to bed. I take Requip but I still get breakthrough cramps. Last night, I went to bed at eight and slept till seven. Tonight I went to bed at ten, slept about an hour then woke up with knee pain. I had forgotten to take my tylenol before I went to bed. I hope to be back to sleep by two. It will be nice if I sleep till seven. Besides that, I make a couple of bathroom trips nightly.

My sleep patterns got really messed up when I took call as an acute dialysis nurse. It was not uncommon to get called out between midnight and two several nights a week. Quite often, after finishing a late treatment, I’d lock myself in my unit and sleep a couple of hours before I had to start the day shift. If I were lucky, I’d work part of the day shift before going home to get an afternoon nap.

I still crave sleep.

Cartoon from “All Nurses”

1. Two behaviorists meet each other in the street. “Hi,” says one, “How am I feeling today?”

Some time later, they have sex. The other one says, “That was good for you. How was it for me?”

2. Two psychotherapists pass each other in the hallway. The first says to the second, “Hello!”

The second smiles back nervously and half nods his head. When he is comfortably out of earshot, he mumbles, “God, I wonder what *that* was all about?”

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3. A Freudian slip is when you say one thing and mean your mother.

4. How many narcissists does it take to change a lightbulb?

Just one. All he has to do is hold it in place while the world revolves around him.

5. “Doctor,” said the receptionist over the phone, “there’s a patient here who thinks he’s invisible.”

“Well, tell him I can’t see him right now.”

6. Pavlov’s dog to his ladyfriend: “See that! Everytime I salivate, Pavlov smiles and scribbles something in his notebook.”

7. At a job interview for a new receptionist:

“I see you used to be employed by a psychotherapist. Why did you leave?”

“Well, I just couldn’t win. If I was late to work, I was hostile; if I was early, I was anxious; and if I was on time, I was obsessional.”

8. Johnny paid his way through college by waitering in a restaurant.

“What’s the usual tip?” asked a customer.

“Well,” said Johnny, “this is my first day, but the other guys said that, if I got five dollars out of you, I’d be doing great.”

“Is that so?” growled the customer. “In that case, here’s twenty dollars.”

“Thanks. I’ll put it in my college fund,” Johnny replied.

“By the way, what are you studying?” asked the customer.

“Applied psychology.”

9. A man was walking in the street one day when he was brutally beaten and robbed.

As he lay unconscious and bleeding, a psychologist, who happened to be passing by, rushed up to him and exclaimed, 

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“My God! Whoever did this really needs help!”

10. “After 12 years of therapy, my psychotherapist said something that brought tears to my eyes.”

“What did he say?”

“”No hablo inglés.””

And one last one for the road

A Zen student went to a temple and asked how long it would take him to gain enlightenment if he joined the temple. 

“Ten years,” said the Zen master. 

“Well, how about if I really work hard and double my effort?”

“Twenty years.”

Neel Burton is author of the Ataraxia series.

Bumps in the Road Part 16

Update: Kathleen and Bill have just arrived at her parents to inform them of their marriage.

Kathleen felt a sudden pang of guilt about marrying without Mama’s and Daddy’s blessing but Mama had broken up an earlier engagement. She hadn’t wanted to risk that again.

“I know this is sudden but we didn’t want to wait or put you to any trouble “ she babbled. Mama had a stern look, pursing her lips. Was she about to denounce her? Daddy stepped forward and extended his hand to Bill. “Welcome to the family. We’ll be counting on you to take good care of our little girl.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holdaway. I sure will. I have a good job making good money. She won’t go without, I promise you. I know I’m lucky to get a girl like her,” replied Bill.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Daddy replied. “She has always been such a good girl.”

Mama thawed a little. “Can you stay for supper? I’ve got a fryer shut up to kill.”

Kathleen looked to Bill to answer. “ No, but I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee,” he answered.

Kathleen was relieved. She hadn’t looked forward to a long evening with them after announcing their uncomfortable news. Bill seemed to have read her mind.

“Come on in,” Mama directed. I’ve got a cake ready to frost. Roscoe, will you bring me in a bucket of water?” Kathleen followed Mama in the house while Bill went to the well with Roscoe. Bill looked so tall and healthy compared to Daddy’s frail frame.

Dreading questions, Kathleen volunteered, “Mama, we didn’t have to get married. We just didn’t see any point in waiting.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you that,” Mama returned, still pursing her lips. “I raised you better than that. How long have you known him?”

“Almost a month,” Kathleen answered, thinking it sounded better than three weeks.

“That long?” Mama scoffed. “Well, good luck. I hope you haven’t made a mistake. Here they are with the water, “ signaling the awkward conversation was done. She filled the kettle, put it on the stove, and poked up the fire. “Now, let me get this cake frosted. That’s a beautiful dress, Kathleen. Is it new?”

“Yes, Bill bought it for me this morning. It cost sixteen dollars!” She bragged, proudly, then suddenly felt ashamed, fearing she’d hurt Mama’s feelings, Mama who’d painstakingly sewn almost every dress Kathleen ever owned.

Happily, Mama’s expression softened. “Bill, I’m proud you can give Katleen nice things. We always wanted the best for her.”

The atmosphere warmed up after that.

Dog Jokes

Three boys see a fire engine with a dog go by and discuss what his job is. ‘Crowd control?’ says one boy. ‘He’s the mascot.’ says the second boy. The third boy nods sagely: ‘He finds fire hydrants.’

A three-legged dog walks into a bar and says, ‘I’m looking for the man who shot my paw.’

Q: What do you get if you cross a dog and a lion?
A: Well you won’t be getting any mail, that’s for sure.

lion-mane-dog-costume-pitbull

Q: Why don’t blind people go skydiving more often?
A: Because it frightens the dog!

Walking past a veterinary clinic, a woman noticed a small boy and his dog waiting outside. ‘Are you here to see Dr Meyer?’ she asked. ‘Yes,’ the boy said. ‘I’m having my dog put in neutral.’

Charley’s Tale Part 7

Charles was worried about Charley.  Her fifteenth summer, she topped six feet.  Though,  muscular, just like him and his sons, she was full-busted like her mother.  As he sat across her from dinner one evening, he noticed a fine blonde mushtache beginning to show.  Her voice was also deepening to tenor.  Not the only one to notice, the kids at school had started calling her girly-man.

Of course Charley was confused, having no frame of reference for the changes.  Fortunately, she enjoyed a warm friendship with Marzell who often stayed over at the Evan’s house, though she never invited Charley to visit her home.  Marzell clearly enjoyed time with the whole family.  “I can’t stand my stepfather. He just looks at me weird.  Mama married him six months after Daddy died.  He gives me the creeps.  I try to leave Mama alone with her new family as much as I can.  If I around, I have to help with Little Melvin, anyway.  Isn’t that a stupid name?  Melvin doesn’t fit a baby, does it?  I can’t wait till I graduate so I can move back to Dallas with Grandma where all my friends and cousins are.  I don’ know why Mama had to marry Old Melvin.  We were doing fine at Grandma’s.”

Marzell was a petite, very feminine girl, a marked contrast to Charley.  She was pursued by Roger, the grease monkey who worked at her stepfather’s filling station.  Though she flirted with him a bit, she refused to go out with him.  His sullen eyes followed her around whenever she had to go to the station.  Over fried chicken that Sunday,  Charley teased her about her sweetheart.  “You ought to marry Roger.  Y’all could raise a tree full of little grease monkeys.”

“I wouldn’t have him on a birthday cake!  You take him.” She snapped back. “I ain’t never gonna marry!”

“Ha!  You say that now!”  Charley laughed.

“I mean it!  I ain’t ever gonna marry.”

“I ain’t never gonna marry, either. I hate boys!” Charley snorted.

Hearing this exchange over dinner that day, Charles felt a little more  unsettled and hoped it was no more than teasing.

Chicken-Killing Dog

A chicken-killing dog can’t be tolerated on a farm. When I was a kid, we had a young dog who started chasing chickens. Sadly, for Bowser and the chicken, before too long, he caught and killed one.

Mother didn’t want to traumatize the kids by dispatching Bowser to “live in the city” as opposed to city people who send their dog to “live on a farm.” So, she decided to traumatize the dog, by flogging it a few times with the dog chicken. fastening the dead chicken to Bowser’s collar

It took about three days of shame for Bowser to rid himself of that stinking chicken carcass. Bowser was a pariah, outcast from human and dog companions. Forever afterward, he cut a wide circle around anything chicken.

The Sad Saga of the Beakless, Tailless, Gizzard-bobbing, One-leg Hopping chicken

Repost of an earlier post.

Being a farm kid is not for sissies and cowards. The dark side of the chicken experience is slaughtering, plucking, cleaning, and preparing chickens for the pot.  I watched as Mother transformed into a slobbering beast as she towered over the caged chickens, snagging her victim by the leg with a twisted coat-hanger, ringing its neck and releasing it for its last run.  We crowded by, horribly thrilled by what we knew was coming.  It was scarier than ”The Night of the Living Dead”,  as the chicken, flapping its wings, running with its head hanging crazily to one side, chased us in ever larger circles until it finally greeted Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.  It looked horribly cruel, but done properly, a quick snap of the wrist breaks the chicken’s neck instantly, giving a quick death. Of course, this is my assessment, not the unfortunate chicken. The chickens always looked extremely disturbed.

Afterward, my mother grabbed the dead chicken, plunged it into a pot of boiling water, plucked the feathers, slit its pimply white belly, removed its entrails, cut off its feet and head, and prepared it for dinner.  I was repulsed  when Mother found  unlaid eggs in the egg cavity and used them in cooking.  That just didn’t seem right.  I was happy to eat the chicken, but future eggs….disgusting.  It kind of seemed like genocide, or chickenocide, to coin a new term.

Mother looked out one day and saw one of her chickens eating corn, oblivious to the fact that her gizzard was hanging out, bobbing up and down merrily as she pecked corn with all her lady friends.  Apparently she had suffered injury from a varmint of some kind.  Clearly, she wouldn’t survive with this injury, so Mother and I set about catching her.  At least she could be salvaged for the table.  Well, she could still run just fine.  We chased her all over the yard with no luck.

Finally, Mother decided to put her out of her misery by shooting her.  She missed.  She fired again and shot the hen’s foot off.  I knew I could do better.  I shot her beak off, then hit her in the tail.  By this time, we both felt horrible and had to get her out of her misery.  Her injuries had slowed the poor beakless, tailless, gizzard-bobbing, one-leg hopping chicken down enough so we could catch her and wring her neck.

All chickens didn’t end life as happily.  The LaFay girls, Cheryl, Terry, and Cammie raised chickens to show at the fair for 4-H, with a plan to fill their freezer with the rest.  Late one Thursday evening while their widowed mother was at work, they realized tomorrow was the day for the big barbecue chicken competition.  Mama wouldn’t be in until way too late to be helping with slaughtering and dressing the chickens.  After all the time and effort they had put in on their project, they had no choice but to press forward without Mama’s help.  They’d helped Mama with the dirty business of putting up chickens lots of times.  They’d just have to do manage on their own.

Cheryl, the eldest, drew the short straw, winning the honor of wringing the chicken’s neck.  She’d seen Mama do it lots of times, but didn’t quite understand the theory of breaking the neck with a quick snap.  She held the chicken by the neck,  swung it around a few times in a wide arc,  giving it a fine ride, and released it to flee drunkenly with a sore neck.   The girls chased and recaptured the chicken a couple of times, giving it another ride or two before the tortured chicken managed to fly up in a tree, saving its life.

Acknowledging her sister’s failure, Terry stepped up to do her duty.  She pulled her chicken from the pen, taking it straight to the chopping block, just like she’d seen Mama do so many times.  Maybe she should have watched a little closer.  Instead of holding the chicken by the head  and chopping just below with the hatchet, Terry held it by the feet.  The panicked chicken raised its head, flopped around on the block, and lost a few feathers.  On the next attempt, Cammie tried to help by holding the chicken’s head, but wisely jumped when Terry chopped, leaving the poor chicken a close shave on its neck.

indian-dress-and-henBy now, all three girls were squalling.  Cheryl tied a string on the poor chicken’s neck, Cammie held its feet and they stretched the chicken across the block.  By now, Terry was crying so hard so really she couldn’t see.  She took aim, and chopped Henny Penny in half, ending her suffering.   Guilt-stricken, they buried the chicken.  Defeated, they finally called their Aunt Millie, who came over and helped them kill and dress their chickens for the competition, which they won.  All’s well that ends well.