Bipolarity and Possums

Megan Fox's Plastic Surgery

You know, you can learn so much from your favorite celebrities. From Oscar de la Hoya we learn about the torments of alcoholism; from Javaris Crittenton, the perils of packing; and from Megan Fox, how to deal with all kinds of adversity.

It's been hell for the "Transformers" star recently. First, all that plastic surgery, then the profound trauma of discovering that her idol, Marilyn Monroe, was bipolar and now she's been fired from "Transformers 3" for that Hitler remark.

You're right, a big superstar like Megan can always find more work.   Especially now with her new Angelina lips. But how is she possibly going to recover completely from that revelation about the bipolarity of her doppelganger? It was so devastating for Megan that she actually had Norma Jean's tattoo removed from her right forearm just to avoid Marilyn's "negative energy." (She has 8 other tats.  If  there's one of Amy Winehouse hiding just below her decolletage,  it's OK because  Dr. Tattoff is only a phone call away).

Following Megan's every move in Glitterati Gossip, we suddenly  realized  that we too idolize a captivating blond whose  name begins with "M"  and has got to be bipolar!

Mariaceasarea---"Cicci"to her close friends---is by day a sweet, exuberant and bouncy extrovert who's never met a stranger.  

But by night she morphs from happy Jekyll into hideous Hyde. Gone are the effervescence and playfulness that we all love.   In stake out mode on the back patio Cicci becomes  a weapon of mass destruction, a murderous OCD sentinel scanning the perimeter for any sentient being unfortunate enough to venture onto the property.        

The moment  creatures scamper across the top of the fence she launches a full scale attack, no quarter given, none asked.     Taken aback by the  ferocity of  the little  23-pound loca frothing at the mouth 5 feet below them, they pause momentarily to miscalculate her NBA-caliber vertical leap. An instant later she has taken them to ground where she shakes them violently by the throat and then the quiet of another evening  is again sundered by the sounds of crunching bones.

Her kill list includes bugs, birds, rodents of all varieties----well, maybe no agoutis or capybaras as yet---huge raccoons  and, perhaps saddest of all, several members of the doomed Daryl and Diana Deathwish possum family.

"Dennis didn't return? He'll be back soon enough. YOU go for the figs tonight, Desdemona.   No worries.  Any problems, just remember, darling: you're good enough, you're smart enough and doggone it, people like you."    Watching possums in action you realize why self esteem might be an issue and how essential these  maternal pep talks must be.

"Good enough?" Fair enough.  Most possums obediently follow the Possum Defense Mechanism Training Manual to a fault.   As for the possum's IQ and popularity however, just look at the recent Pew study showing plummeting possum approval ratings.   Most respondents consider possums stupid and icky.  So dire is the situation for the few remaining possum supporters that they have felt compelled to form the Opossum Society of the US  to bolster the image of the species.

Spokespersons for the Society emphasize that THE POSSUM IS NEITHER DIRTY NOR STUPID. You wonder how compelling this platform could be although I suppose Karl Rove could do worse, "Vote for Rick Perry Possum. He's not stupid, he's not dirty."

Rick Perry Possum

"Dirty?"  I have no issue with the animal's personal hygiene.   "Dirty" would be a warthog thrashing about in an Okavanga mud wallow. The possum would be more like the medieval French marquis who  bathes only once or a year and  hangs his formal dinner attire in the loo (a one-holer high in the northeast turret) to discourage moth infestation.   You'd simply want to keep your distance from him at the castle's spring equinox feast.

The supposed intelligence of the little quadruped is however  quite another matter.   Take Rick Perry Possum, the largest and darkest possum to swagger into the killing fields recently.   Rick did not believe in either evolution or intelligent design.  Rather he adhered to the principles of unintelligible design.     When Cicci first lunged at him Tuesday he froze, "This could be serious.  I'm a traditional guy so I'll  just do what my people have always done in stressful times since the time of the dinosaurs:   nap time!"   I shooed him away.

But Wednesday he was back.  Sadly this time Cicci picked him off the top of the fence whereupon he once again played morto.    Moments later his sleep became that of John Cleese's Norwegian Blue parrot:  the slumber of a deceased possum, a possum who was no more.

 What a Sane Soft Coated Wheaton Terrier Should Look Like

Mini-Wheat Cicci by Day

Mini-Wheat Cicci by Night

I guess God just needed another little angel in possum heaven.  But we have to do something.   What would Megan do?   Cesar Milan's phone number must be here somewhere.

Guy Lombardo or Yuja Wang?

Yuja Wang at the Hollywood Bowl, August, 2011.

In 1961 FCC Chairman Newton Minnow famously called TV programming a "vast wasteland." Now 50 years later Newt just wouldn't believe how Cable has transformed what he then saw as an arid desert of formula sitcoms, dumb westerns and violence of all kinds. (Nor would his children, Mudpuppy and Mole Skink Minnow).

On cable at 7 p.m. tonight for example V and I can choose from a stellar cable lineup:* "Guy Lombardo" and his Royal Canadians, or 2 hours of "NHRA Drag Racing" or "World Poker Tour Season 9," (how did we miss the first 8 seasons?). Also for more intellectual fare we can always rely on The History Channel which tonight will be showing 3 straight hours of "Ice Road Truckers."

And Bravo just keeps getting better. In the old days they featured stuffy old Mr. Apostrophe on "Actors Studio" but now at 8 p.m. it's the exhilarating "The Real Housewives of New Jersey." We don't miss an episode. During commercials however I check out "Huckabee" on FOX. Huck is so cute no matter how fat he gets scoffing those Krispy Kremes.

We are avid naturalists so normally at 9 we'd be in our matching recliners howling at "Hillbilly Handfishin'" on Animal Planet but tonight we're making an exception for ESPN's "NASCAR Sprint Cup: Pure Michigan." Pure or impure, it'll be exciting.

Later this week we'll catch up with Animal Planet's "Bedbug Apocalypse" and "Rat Busters."
In addition to the third straight hour of "Ice Road Truckers" at 9 tonight "Bait Car" and "Rich Texas" are airing. Talk about an embarrassment of riches. "Bait Car" is such an improvement over "Cops" where they pull just pull over a shirtless guy with weed and a crack pipe under his seat, he says he doesn't know where the stuff came from, they cuff him and then take him away. In "Bait Car" you never know when the stake-out team is going to throw the switch that cuts off the poor thief's ignition and locks him inside the car he's just stolen. Awesome.

At 10 we'll go to different TV's so I can watch "Cannabis Planet" while V will be glued to "Big Easy Brides: Budget Trailer Park Weddings."

Similarly at 11 I'll stay tuned for "Truck Stop MO" while V watches "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew" on VH1 in case they have more info on Lindsay or Courtenay.

We'll have plenty to talk about tomorrow.

Matt at Work on "Operation Repo."

On weeknights if they aren't showing re-runs of Matt, Froy and Sonia swinging crowbars at losers on "Operation Repo" we'll try something different. Like last week when friends took us to see a classical pianist at the Hollywood Bowl. We expected an old guy in tails---you know, Horowitz, Rubinstein, Bernanke--but instead it was 24year old Yuja Wang in contemporary tasteful attire. What an unforgettable performance! I don't remember the music but I could tell she was totally gifted from the moment she took the stage. Just like the critic said, such "delicacy, speed and grace."

With a little more exposure, she could qualify as a regular on "Jersey Shore" with Snooki Polizzi.

Snooki

*While some of this piece is fictional, the names and schedule of the TV shows are not.

Hansel and Gretel, Conclusion

As we loaded their luggage into the Jaguar Monday morning, Hansel and Gretel seemed truly sad to be leaving, with Gretel imploring, "So after the meeting with my agent you must come with us to Taos, darlings!" Yes, our new artist friends' old world sensibilities and perspective were interesting but enough already.







"Thanks, perhaps another time, Gretel. Good luck with your meeting and remember to check out Canyon Road in Sante Fe."







As soon as they left I hurried into the guest room to strip the beds. Immediately I spotted something ominous in an open drawer, "Oh, no V, they left something!"







"What?"







"It's...they're gonna be back here for these things after the meeting. We have to act quickly."







"What do you mean?"



"Look at this! Three gargantuan busenhalters, they have to be what, 48 DDD's? I have to get them down to the agent's office fast."







As I sped back to the gallery office where they were meeting with the butcher, I punched on old-school FM 92.3 hoping to hear Carl Carlton praising his bad mama jama: "Look at her!....she's beeelt, she's stacked....she's a bad mama jama....oh she's bad....woo hoo....perfect in every dimension, sho nuff gettin' attention..." Well, in this instance maybe not perfect in every dimension. And perhaps getting too much attention right now.







As I entered the gallery I could see Hansel and Gretel being lectured by the butcher in his back office. Hoping to avoid detection, I tiptoed to the receptionist's desk and whispered, "Would you be good enough to make sure Hansel and Gretel get this when they are finished. It's very important. Thanks so much." As I turned to leave a chorus erupted, "Chahles, Chahles! We have lunch, yah? Just wait!"

"So sorry, gotta run. Parking meter! Wiedersehen!"

Back at home by mid-morning V and I threw ourselves into bed, fatigued beyond measure. We fell asleep instantly.


We couldn't have been asleep for very long when the doorbell started clanging. The dog was barking excitedly and through the open dining room window by the front door we heard a familiar voice, "Wie gehts meine kleine Titian hund!"


"V, they're back!"

"Oh we just can't! Do something!"

As I staggered out of bed, in the absence of a functioning neocortex my instinct for self preservation kicked in. All I knew was that the outer defences had been breached and the enemy was standing at the front door......and it was....unlocked! I had to secure the front door!To complicate matters, for me to lock the front door I had to pass by the open windows of the dining room through which the Wehrmacht could easily see me. Instinctively I dropped to all fours and then like a commando in black face skirting barbed wire on Iwo Jima I crawled on my stomach across the dining room floor under the windows to the front door, locked it and crawled back to the bedroom and into bed. Whew, mission accomplished, disaster averted.

From outside the house the entreaties continued, "Halloooo! Chahles and V, are you there? You must come to Taos with us!"

From within, the cowards pulled the bed covers over their heads and crossed their fingers.




FIN

Hansel and Gretel, Part II

Hansel and I were both relieved once we procured the proper trout for Friday's dinner and the correct eggs for Saturday's fruhstuck. Later over dinner both he and Gretel were very appreciative and unusually expansive with Hansel offering, "Gretel you know is a Krupp."





"Really! THE Krupps? The armaments, the conscripted labor...?"

"Yah," Hansel continued, "you know Alfried Krupp was made Wehrwirtschaftfuhrer early in the war."

"I am sure he was an unusual man. But Gretel, how was it being a Krupp during the war?"





Gretel replied, "Well, it was very difficult during the war for all of us, you know, and of course especially for Hansel."









"How so?"





"You knew of course he is survivor of Sachsenhausen."





"What? No, no.... we had no idea." I turned quickly to Hansel, "Sachsenhausen! I'm so sorry Hansel...I mean, thank god you survived but how did..."





Gretel explained, "He was a German Jew just like all those German Jews before World War II who saw themselves as Germans first and Jews second. In fact Hansel still is first a German and to this day he can not imagine why he was put in a prison camp." Noting our surprise, Gretel continued, "Yes, yes, you can see. He is such a decent man but he can be so naive."





We wanted more details on this astounding revelation but Hansel quickly diverted the conversation to Gretel's unscrupulous agent. We learned that she was to have a meeting with him early Monday morning and but was terribly afraid of his taking advantage of her. Leaning across the table Hansel asked, "V and Charles, what do you think? You can see Gretel is with her agent like a lamb asking advice from the butcher."





They were both lively and interesting and as the evening wore on, clearly indefatigable. Around 3 a.m. they were still going strong while we on the other hand were spent. Our Wobenzyme reserves depleted, we just couldn't go any further so we wished them "guten nacht" and dragged ourselves to bed.





We awoke with a start at daybreak Sunday. Somebody was yelling, "Gut morgan! What a beautiful day and we start Fruhstock mit ei und toast, yah?" Oy, it was indeed Hansel. V jumped out of bed and ran to the stove with his eggs but he was right behind admonishing her, "No, no, meine Schatz, we don't have scrambled eggs. Eggs we do hartgekochten, hard boiled, yah?"





"All right, Hansel. Hard boiled it is," she sighed.





Over the corrected breakfast our symposium began anew. Our guest speakers were often flattering with remarks like Hansel's, "You must do your reading early in the day while you are still fresh and then you do your painting," as if our amateurs' efforts were somehow comparable to their professional expertise.





Whenever we appeared to be fading during these marathon conversations, one of them would re-engage using the socratic method with something like, "Why so you suppose Masaccio's 'Expulsion fromo Paradise' hasn't gotten as much acclaim as Michelangelo's?" Or, "You know of course how Bach discovered the concerti of Vivaldi and Corelli when he was serving as the court organist for the duke of Wiemar. You can tell see the lyricism and elegance of the Brandenburg Concerto did not just come out of nowhere."

At the dinner table with Gretel sitting beside me I couldn't help noticing once again her manifest charms, especially those invoked by what my Irish friend might refer to as "the twins." I thought "formidable indeed and what a commendable feat of engineering it must have been to hold them in place so securely. Was Wonderbra possibly using re-bar these days?" During a lull in the conversation I caught myself humming the Commodores' "She's a brick....house....built like a amazon. She's mighty mighty, lettin' it all...." Well, anyway, a good thing Hansel has all this energy, especially late into the evening.



By midnight of the second night we could go no further. We ran up the white flag and collapsed into our bed.





Early the next morning V. scurried into the kitchen with Hansel in hot pursuit. When she pulled out the egg carton he frowned, "No Liebling, I am so sorry but never we have hard boiled eggs two days in a row! So, you don't mind this morning we have bagels and cafe mit schlag. That's right. So good of you, my dear."





"OK," she thought, "only one more day of this. I can do it." She dutifully put the eggs back in the fridge.





"Such an accomodating good hostess. We are all having such a good time that we must visit often and today right after breakfast we read together the Sunday paper and discuss, yah?"





To be continued.

Hansel and Gretel, Part I

Dedicated to my dear mother-in-law.

Hansel* and Gretel* were artists in their late sixties and friends of V's parents. We had never met them so we didn't know what to expect at the opening night of their first West coast show late on a Friday afternoon.

The gallery was packed but we spotted Gretel immediately. Like the colossal cacti in her paintings she towered over the aficionados gathered about her. A striking woman with bangs and champagne tresses tumbling over her ample chest she was a natural for a Wagnerian walk-on at the Met. A little accessorizing would do it--- some chain mail with spear and shield accents along with a horned helmet to top it off. And....wait.... wasn't that "The Ride of the Valkyries" playing in the background?

She was explaining her abiding interest in cacti. These were not your little Cholla cacti or your measly Prickly Pears but rather giant Saguaros. Giant tumescent Saguaros which were indeed "catch eye" as our friend from Taiwan would say. They were so remarkable we wondered if they were in some way a response to Georgia O'Keefe's signature works featuring certain aspects of the female anatomy. I thought of the lush purple morning glory by O'Keefe hanging in our doctor's office beside his anatomical chart of the lymphatic system. So detailed in depicting the portal to the female re-productive system is this flower that it no doubt is quite helpful during OBGYN consultations. Ms. O'Keefe of course famously took issue with the persistent observation that she was painting vaginas. We wondered what Gretel would say about her Saguaros.

She was obviously quite engaged with her prospective buyers so we moved on to Hansel's gallery where he was holding forth with a gaggle of admirers. He was Tom Wolfe with a German accent, tiny and trim by Valkyrie standards, with a thatch of white hair resting on his wire rim glasses. Behind him hung large paintings of pastoral scenes--- lush Constable woodlands, Wyeth red barns, van Ruisdael grey skies. In contrast to Gretel's work, his style was purely representational and ran little risk of provoking Freudian analysis.


He seemed pleased when we introduced ourselves and praised his compositions. We then returned to Gretel where during a brief pause in her commentary we squeezed in a quick greetin, "Excuse us, Gretel? We are V and..."

"Oh, V and Chahles, I am so happy to meet you! But just look at all these people! This is so crazy I just don't have time right now. So let's have dinner tonight when this thing is over!"

V and I glanced at each other, "So good to meet you too, Gretel. We've heard so much about you and Hansel from V's parents. About dinner, reservations on a Friday night....we haven't really.....ah....is Hansel...?"

"Of course, he comes too. See you at six o'clock tonight at your house. Just give him the address."

"Well I suppose we..."

"Right, darlings! Wiedersehen!" She was quite captivating so we had little choice.

With no time to spare, we dashed back to Hansel, slipped our address into his pocket, bid a hasty adieu and sped home to prepare a meal.

At precisely 6 o'clock a black Jaguar pulled up in front of the house. First the trunk popped open, then Gretel emerged waving frantically followed by Hansel who scrambled back to the trunk where he began tugging at three huge Samsonite bags, "Hallo, Chahles, you take these, I get the other."

V and I again looked at each other, astonished, "Well, yes, hello Hansel. I guess we didn't quite realize..."

"Yah, you just show me our bedroom. We manage."

Still dazed, I muttered something in very broken German about how kleine the guest Schlafzimmer was.

He immediately unleashed of torrent of Hoch Deutsche, assuming I guess that his hosts would of course understand German. I understood a couple of words, something like "drei Nachten" and "Mittegessen." Was that THREE nights? Overwhelmed, I quickly abandoned the German practicum but couldn't even summon a response in English.

Moments later they emerged from the little guest room rubbing their hands, "So Lieblings, what shall we have for dinner?"

"I thought I would just run up to the store, to get some wild salmon and..."


Hansel, suddenly alarmed, jumped in, "No, no. No salmon! TROUT, Chahles, and for breakfast we have eggs and toast! I come with you."

Ah, this man had clear preferences indeed. I suddenly realized I wasn't up to the task of handling this task singlehandedly. I needed a professional trout and egg wrangler, someone properly schooled in trout selection who had an eye for eggs as well. In fact I was for the first time in my life intimidated just thinking about purchasing eggs for this man. What if I bought white and he wanted brown? He'd want his eggs from cage-free mothers, but would they they need to be vegetarians? And what size, medium, large or extra large? After a moment's reflection I replied, "Of course, Hansel, come along."

To be continued.

*Pseudonym

Wobenzyme

You probably think La Paz is a good place for scuba diving, deep sea fishing and apprehending Tijuana drug kingpin El Teo. And you'd be right. The capital of Baja Sur is also where you'd be heading if you wanted to come face to face with a rare 35-foot long monster oar fish like the one that surprised the gringo diver several years ago.


But you may not realize that La Paz is also a choice travel destination for those seeking unsolicited advice on drugs. Not illegal drugs so much as homeopathic drugs.



Homeopathic drugs like Wobenzyme which was designed in Germany in the 1960's. And who better to tell you about it in La Paz than a robust white haired fellow traveler from Stuttgart. V* and I came across Werner* and his wife Greta* unexpectedly in the hallway of the hotel.



"Hallo! Wie gehts! Vat brings you to Mexico?"



"Oh, a little exploring, snorkeling, kayaking. How about you?



"Ach, gut place to exercise. Exercise is gut. Look at me! Hey! How old you think I am?"



"Well, Werner, you are probably older than you look. And you look very healthy."



"Yah, wery healthy. Wery. But how old?"



"Oh, maybe sixty-five."



"Hah! Sixty-five, he says, Greta! You are wery kind, Charles. But yust look!!"



And with this he grabbed V who is about a foot taller than he is, lifted her off her feet and twirled her around in circles much to V's surprise and Greta's delight.



"Ah yah, he does this with all the pretty young girls," she giggled, only slightly embarrassed.



He then put V down with a flourish and yelled, "I am eighty-one! Vel, vat you think of dat! Hey? You vant to be able to do dat, yah? Und she loved it, didn't you dahling? Zo, vat you tink?"



"Um, very surprising.... Werner, your strength, I mean."



"No, not zo surprising! Not ven you take WOBENZYME! Dat's right, FOWVAY-O-B-E-N-Z-Y-M-E! It's German! You will be zo-o-o strong ven you are taking dis Wobenzyme."



"Well, thanks, Werner. That was a very convincing demonstration. I think you can tell we are both sold on the idea."



"Dat's yust vonderful! Take it every day and you'll be zo heppy you did. Zo heppy to meet you und haff a vonderful life!"



So we did start taking Wobenzyme and as a consequence I have become much better at grabbing unsuspecting younger women and twirling them around my head.

*pseudonym

Thanks, Melinda Blau!

We are very grateful to Melinda Blau, coauthor of Consequential Strangers, The Baby Whisperer Solves All Your Problems and other books for her kind comment which follows:

"I don't know who you are CHARLES HOW COULD YOU, but I love your voice and your story about Esther. It is a wonderful example of Consequential Strangers. I go to Florida every winter and I have a gaggle of Esthers whom I love. Zelda is 98 and still counting. Still plays tennis. I adore her! Thanks for spreading the word about CS. Wish I knew more about you, though and why you decided to blog.
Melinda Blau, coauthor, Consequential Strangers"

Gigante Herman

At Club Nokia this week PEE WEE Herman is HUGE.

A sold out crowd of beaming fans jump to their feet to give him a roaring ovation as he steps out onto the stage. IT'S PEE WEE, he hasn't changed! Same skinny little guy in a buzz cut, undersized grey suit, bow tie and white loafers. His fans erupt again in another riotous outburst as he asks them to follow him in the pledge of allegiance. Still more thunderous applause as the curtain parts to reveal the beloved set from a generation ago. It's Pee Wee's Playhouse, the way we remember it! It's all there--Chairry, the jigsaw puzzle red vinyl door, the bent yellow window frame, the singing flowers, the wild pastel and neon colors.


Whoa! The crowd screams with delight as each of their favorites joins Pee Wee. First Cowboy Curtis-- played originally by Lawrence Fishburne --- then Miss Yvonne, Jambi and all the familiar puppets big and small like Chairry, Pterri and Globey. It's a rollicking family reunion with a few stand-ins for those who couldn't make it. Mailman Mike has replaced Reba the Mail Lady and several new characters take a bow, foremost among them being the boricua- dancing electrician Sergio. Sadly, the Captain Carl character-- is noticeably absent--most likely in honor of the late Phil Hartman who played him originally.

There are vintage Pee Wee lines ("I know you are but what am I"), patented Pee Wee moves (his Tequila dance), along with contemporary references.

For the mostly 30-and 40-something Pee Wee fans it is a night rich in nostalgia, hilarity and elation.

Of course V and I would not have attended something like this. Especially not when SPIKE is showing re-runs every night this week of last year's Brock Lesnar-Randy Couture cage match.

Smell the Gardenias

"See something beautiful every day."
       ---my great grandmother

"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture and, if it be possible, speak a few reasonable words."
       ---Goethe

"Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight."
     ---KC & the Sunshine Band

Consequential Strangers

We are grateful for the encouraging responses to the blog including this one in response to the first blog, "Esther":



"Delightful exchange. Have you read Consequential Strangers about the significance of those we meet in our everyday life? Your charming conversation with Esther is a prime example of people connecting to people simply because they make the effort."



Much appreciated.

Consesequential Strangers: the Power of People Who Don't Seem to Matter by Melinda Blau was deemed "one of the 15 Best Shareable Books of 2009" and rates 4 stars on Amazon.

Obit of the Week

Paraphrased from the LA Times Obituaries, January 12, 2010



Shahen V. Ghazarbekian, 1932-2009.



Born in Meshad, Iran, to Vartan and his metzmamma, Satenik Ghazarbekian. Emigrated to the U.S. in 1958 where he earned a BS in Physics and then moved to LA where as an inventor and entrepreneur he designed environmentally efficient industrial air conditioning equipment.



A loving husband and father, he was devoted to his 5 grandchildren who knew him as "Gump." A consummate entertainer, he was always ready with songs, jokes and stories for them and taught them the virtues optimism, working hard and having fun.



Among his passions was travel. Every year for over 40 years he explored some exotic corner of the world.



He will be missed by his traveling companions who include his good friend since childhood, Bahman Bozogmehr, his business partner Vazgen Baladjian, his children, his grandchildren and his siblings: Sahak Ghazarbekian, Seboo Hovanessian and Roubik Avenessian.

Rare Sighting in LA

South El Monte's Legg Lake: rare sighting of a wood stork
December 22, 2009 3:18 pm

Turkish Cowherd, Hattusa, Summer 2008

How long has it been since you last shared an intimate moment with a Turkish cowherd on the ramparts of Hattusa? If you're like me, it has been well over a year since you had the pleasure.

This charming guy sits atop walls built 4,000 years ago to defend the Hittite capital of Hattusa. The Hittites worshipped 1,000 deities. Virtually everything was covered: father, son, holy ghosts, Hanukkah, Kwanza,smoked meat and the rhythm method. Since my wife is an observant Hittite who worships Teshub, the god of thunder, I felt obligated to make the pilgrimage with her to Hattusa which sits on a vast hillside a few hours east of Ankara. Once I caught her worshipping his son Sharruma who was quite the Hittite, if you know what I mean, but that was just youthful indiscretion on her part. Me, I prefer Teshub's wife, Hepatu, the sun goddess, who goes around town standing on a panther. A visitor from Pittsburgh seemed to be smitten by the sword god, known locally as Clarence, whose sword handle is made out of 4 lion's heads. Better that than continuing his devotion to Jerome Bettis doesn't even play for the Steelers any more.

Monica and Willard

V* and I were enjoying a perfect vacation last month in the Caribbean with her family. Great company, excellent accommodations, outstanding home cooking and a perfect beach. One day, as usual, we had the beach to ourselves. We swam, we lounged under the palapa and talked of our great good fortune.

Around mid-day we noticed a middle-aged couple walking along the beach toward us. As they approached we noticed his body movement was erratic. They passed in front of us, turned and then waded into the surf. Out further in the water she paddled about him while he floundered in the waves just as he had on land.

After a few minutes bobbing in the waves they headed back toward shore. As they reached the beach he suddenly fell. She stooped, grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet. But he continued to struggle on all fours. Finally upright, he looked at us, thrust his jaw outward and grinned in triumph. As he hobbled by she paused in front of us. She was of sturdy Nordic stock and sported a short-cropped Girls Athletic Association haircut. I was thinking...leather helmet, shin pads, lacrosse stick in hand. No, more like Brunhilda in full chain mail, massive spear in one hand and swinging a morning star in the other.

She smiled warmly. "Willard*'s getting much better now. He doesn't always know where he is but it is what it is." (What, what is it? we wondered).

"He was squished just like a mayfly on your windshield 4 years ago in a head-on collision. Looked like he was a goner. They had to pry him out of there with the jaws of life and then medevac him by helicopter to Atlanta where he was in intensive care for 4 months."

"Oh, god, that's just...."

"No, no, it's all good. They rebuilt his skull, put his shattered legs and arms in traction and within a year and half he was out of his wheelchair and learning how to walk and talk again."

"Oh, he must be, I mean you must be...."

"No, no, it is what it is. It's all good. But then as soon as he could work again--Willard is a time and motion specialist with the agriculture department--they downsized him and he lost his benefits rating after 35 years with the department."

"Oh, I'm ..."

"No it's all good. Then they transferred him to Bogalusa. You do what you have to do. Then I was transferred from Chattahoochee to Homerville. I'm a nursing instructor."

"That's, that must be just so..."

"It's all good. We both fly back to Chattahoochee every other weekend so we can be together. It is what it is. It's all good."

"Thank goodness for your nursing skills and care taking abilities. You..."

"Yup, it's all good. I'm Monica*, by the way, and today is my birthday." Her eyebrows suddenly shifted upward, her lips started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. "Yep, November 30, exactly one year since they operated on my brain tumor."

"Oh, Jesus, Monica, I am so terribly ...."

"No,no, it's all good. They seem to have gotten most of it and the severe migraines have gotten much better. It is what it is."

"Well, you are amazing, so strong and ..."

"Yeah, it's all good. Well, really nice talking with you two. Gotta go now. Enjoy." She turned and walked away.

V and I looked at each other, breathless. As soon as she was well out of earshot we both exclaimed in unison, "NO! NO! It's NOT all good!!"

It is now Christmas Eve and we are more thankful than ever for our good health and well being and for that of our dear friends and family.

*denotes use of pseudonym

The Irish Get the Silver

It's been a tough year for the Irish. First they are eliminated from world cup soccer at the hands, literally, of the treacherous francais. Now they come in second in alcoholic beverage consumption per capita to, of all people, the Luxembourgians! We demand a recount!

Lost in Translation

V* and I were exploring Oaxaca with her family. I decided to make the most out of our daily excursions by practicing Spanish at every opportunity.

One day we took a “collectivo” bus to Teotitlan del Valle to see the fine rugs woven there. Next to me on the bus was a young local man. Sensing my sincere interest in his background, he talked openly about himself including his study of architecture.

Things were going very well, or so I thought. I mentioned that my father- in-law was also an architect and that he lived on a farm in Virginia with horses and....I couldn't think of the word for "deer." Undaunted, I continued with a bit of pantomime: you know, I said, the forest animal with---and here I placed my hands on each side of my head, palms facing him with fingers extended----“con HORNOS en la cabeza.” He looked first at the hand antlers, then at me, then apprehensively back at the antlers. You know, “HORNOS,” I repeated, wiggling my fingers. His body language now suggested spreading alarm.

Just then the driver called our stop. As we got off I waved farewell to my bewildered friend who offered in response only a tentative nod of his head. I then realized I had just tried to convince him that in the woods of Virginia there are animals with OVENS on their heads.

So much for being an effective ambassador-at-large.

Esther

Today, while shopping for a Christmas present for our grandson, I converse with the sales clerk Esther, age 88 from Brooklyn who looks at my VISA card and says, "So what kinda name is this?"

"It's originally Irish."

"Ah, my second husband was Irish."

"So of course he HAD to be a good man!"

"He coulda been better."

"How so?"

"Just not as good as my first husband."

"I'm sorry you lost them both."

"Yeah, and then my gentlemman friend lost his mind and died.

"So sorry to hear that. At least you still have your best friend Flossie. I saw her yesterday, she looked just great."

"Without her make-up, she's not so great."

Esther is about 4 feet high and adorable looking.

I have to tell her, "Well, YOU are a real cutie."

With her captivating smile she replies,"OK, but just don't tell your wife!"

This is a true conversation. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.