Monday, April 13, 2015


Husband is an accomplished enigma of rational behavior.  Usually appearing an average 74-year-old shuffle along, he contains anecdotes that can only be described as absurd enough to stop a clock.

A very predictable Husband looks handsome and un-mysterious on  a Spring day

This morning while I sipped my first coffee, he challenged me:  "You'll never guess what I found in the basement this morning."  My mind went immediately to dead mice, errant snakes, and a category of huge, venomous spider.  "Three balls the cats batted through the old plumbing holes."

"Oh," I voiced unimpressed.

"Guess what else I found," he teased.

"What?" I answer mystified.

And here it comes, the tense still  moment before the perfectly unexpected answer, "My lower dentures!" without blinking an eye.  Bingo, I didn't see, hear, or smell that coming, I thought.

But with Husband, looks are deceiving!

It seems the dentures went missing several years ago and to Husband's chagrin, he had to purchase new ones.

In the past, I have located his glasses hanging from a tree limb, his perpetual runaway cell phone on the ground by a neighbor's lawn chair, and the cat litter he placed in the refrigerator because it looked like a milk carton.  But this was new heights even for him. Now he has a backup set of lowers if he chooses to use them.  Another deep mystery has been solved, except how the dentures got there in the first place.  That we may never know, but speculation is endless.

Friday, April 3, 2015



O Nature!  I do not aspire
To be the highest in thy choir, -
To be a meteor in thy sky,
Or comet that may range on high,
Only a zephyr that may blow
Among the reeds by the river low,
Give me thy most privy place
Where to run my airy race.

In some withdrawn, unpublic mead
Let me sigh upon a reed,
Or in the woods, with leafy din,
Whisper the still evening in.
Some still work give me to do, -
only - be it near to you!

For I'd rather be the child
And pupil, in the forest wild,
Than be the king of men elsewhere,
And most sovereign slave of care,
To have one moment of thy dawn,
Than share the city's year forlorn.

Henry David Thoreau
And this morning on Queen's Creek