Patsy Porco

Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Guessing Games

In dogs, Humor on June 30, 2018 at 3:04 am

Today, my son and I decided to find out if our dog, Duke, can swim.

We’ve been deducing things about him since we adopted him in January from the Humane Society in Connecticut. When we got him, aside from his name, we were told only four things about him: that he came from “down South somewhere, probably,” since Duke was sent to them from a shelter in North Carolina; that he had a family for his first four years but they had to give him up for a reason the shelter volunteers either didn’t know, or did know and weren’t sharing with us; that he was extremely overweight, which we’d have to rectify; and that we had won the jackpot because of his sweet, playful nature. That was all of the information we got on him.

So, we’ve had our detective glasses on for five months. Through trial and error, we’ve discovered that: when he is in our fenced yard, if he can’t tunnel out or slam his body against the gate until it opens so he can escape, he will curl up patiently by the back door until we let him in; he will run out the front door if we accidentally leave it open and will probably get attacked by another dog, which will land him at the vet’s and us in the poorhouse; he will eat anything and everything including socks, which must be high in calories because he’s gaining weight instead of losing it; he hates cats and squirrels; he’s fascinated by bats; he thinks he’s a 110-pound lapdog; and his breakfast kibble gives him pause.

Every morning, he hesitates in front of his bowl, but not in the evening. We don’t know what he’s waiting for. I’ve given him permission to eat, I’ve said grace for him, and I’ve walked away. Walking away works the best. When I return, the food is always gone. Maybe he likes to eat his breakfast in peace.

We also had to narrow down his breeds by asking others what they thought he was. My friend, Christine, who has worked in shelters and has seen a lot of dogs, said she thought Duke was probably part malamute, lab, and German shepherd. Once I googled malamute, I could see why she decided on that breed. I think I see some shepherd in him, too, and labs look kind of generic, so I can’t come up with any evidence that he’s not one. Therefore, I’m inclined to agree with her.

However, I saw a commercial the other day that featured wolves, and I could’ve sworn he was in it. Maybe he was a TV wolf before we got him. The former owner is probably getting monthly residual checks while we’re getting shredded, slobbery socks tossed about our house, tumbleweeds of dog hair blowing around the legs of our furniture, and enormous veterinarian bills.

But, back to today. We noticed that Duke has webbed toes, so we assumed he could swim. So, we took him to the nearest public dock. When we got there, it was low tide. Duke was very interested in the thousands of suicidal oysters that had died on the rocks, but he shied away from the water. I eventually lured him in, but he wouldn’t go in further than his ankles. Then he took off running under piers and across jagged rocks, leading me and my son on a slippery chase across mossy stones and through sucking mud and stagnant green water.

When we finally caught him, we rinsed him off and took him home. We still don’t know if he can swim. He might never have seen large bodies of water before. This weekend, we’re going to take him to a lake where dogs are allowed to swim. Hopefully, he’ll see how easy it is and he’ll join the hordes of dogs chasing balls in the lake. Or, he won’t.

Either way, he’s going to wear water shoes. I don’t want him bleeding all over the kitchen floor again, like he did tonight. He must have cut his foot while running across the razor-edged rocks. I had to drug him with Benadryl so that I could clean his foot and wrap it in gauze. Of course, he tore off the gauze and dragged the blood-soaked wrappings across the rugs. So I was forced to make him a boot out of socks and a ribbon of medical tape. It took several tries to tie it on tight enough to keep him from pulling it off, but loose enough not to cut off his circulation.

It was good practice, though, because I’m going to have to make his water shoes out of socks and old tires, since I don’t know where to buy them. Hopefully his dog friends will be so busy making fun of his swimming that they won’t notice his shoes.

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Scores Best Left Unsettled

In bocce, Humor on June 7, 2018 at 8:52 pm

When I was growing up, my family belonged to Crispin Gardens Athletic Club, located in Pennypack Park in Northeast Philadelphia, where my family lived. My father and mother were very involved with the club, so, naturally, we kids were, too. Or, to be accurate, the first four of my parents’ children were involved. The other three were too young to play at the time we were members.

My two brothers were good at baseball and football, which were the two sports offered to boys. My younger sister and I were not good at softball or cheerleading, which were the sports available for girls. But that didn’t stop us from participating in both activities.

I was a cheerleader for 5-year-old football players. I could never figure out how to do a cartwheel so I got to cheerlead for kids who hadn’t figured out how to play football.

I also played softball. When I was in about fifth or sixth grade, my sister and I were on a team together. Neither of us ever got a hit. So, the two of us were traded by our team … for one girl from another team. Our neighbor, Mrs. Devine, who was a family friend, managed a team in the league and she took pity on us. She gave up one of her better players for the two of us.

We did her proud … once. When Mrs. Devine’s team played our former team, both my sister and I got hits, much to our former team’s dismay.

I think those hits were our only hits, but they came at the perfect time. And, to make our victory even sweeter, our new team beat out our old team to win the club’s World Series. There was probably a lesson there …  but it was for our former team, and I doubt they learned it. Little league managers can be ruthless.

There was another lesson taught that season and this one was for me. I was fiercely jealous of the girl who replaced my sister and me. She was a few years younger than I was, around my sister’s age. So, not only was she a better player than I was, she was younger. I was demoralized. I wished all kinds of evil on her. And then, within a few weeks, she was dead.

She was hit by a car driven by a young guy who lived across the street from us. I was overcome with guilt for wishing her ill. I was certain that I had caused her death. When I got a little older and realized that I probably had nothing to do with her dying (although, we’ll never really know how powerful thoughts can be), I resolved to not wish bad things on people, no matter how much I disliked them.

So, years passed and I joined the occasional team and was always the worst player. I couldn’t even successfully serve a plastic volleyball over a swimming pool net. But this year, my luck could be changing.


Six of the Boccegaloops

Our city sponsors many spring and summer sports leagues that play on the courts and fields at Calf Pasture Beach in Norwalk, Connecticut. My husband and I are on a bocce team, Don Carmelo’s Boccegaloops. We were on it two years ago and the team came in last place. Our record wasn’t entirely due to my skill-less playing, but it certainly contributed. My husband persuaded me to play again this year. The team was happy to have us back, because of my husband’s skills, so we rejoined.

Last night, we had our first game and we won. And I didn’t stink. I credit the one practice we had a few weeks ago for turning the tide. I actually helped the team win. I wasn’t the best player (my husband and the other players were really good), but I wasn’t an embarrassment. And, I didn’t throw the ball wildly and crack any skulls. I kept the ball on the court and even got my red ball really close to the little white ball, the pallino, a few times, which is the object of the game.

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But what made me especially proud was that I didn’t wish any ill luck on a certain member of the opposing team. Others may have, but I didn’t. I did talk trash about her later, but I didn’t wish her any misfortune for her bad behavior.

It all started when our red ball and the opposing team’s green ball looked equidistant from the pallino. When that happens, you’re supposed to measure the distance between the closest green ball and the pallino and the closest red ball and the pallino, to see which ball is truly closest to the pallino.

We were winning 10-2 and the game ends when one team has 11 points. The head of the league came over and said that our ball was closer, so we were the winners. While gesticulating and jumping around in protest, a woman on the other team “accidentally” kicked our ball, making her ball look closer. Then she denied kicking it. But it was too late. We had won. And she was not happy.

Before she left, she shot us all a look that could kill. Some would call her look the “evil eye” or “malocchio.” She’s Italian so she probably knows how to activate it.

Anyway, I think my teammates and I would be wise to take precautions … at least until the league plays again next week. After then, she’ll probably despise another team and will have forgotten all about us.

I hope the evil eye loses its power once it’s transferred to someone else. If not, we’ll need to learn, and use, the fig and horned signs … and maybe stitch evil eye patches on our shirts.

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Strangely enough, possessing an evil eye repels any evil eyes that might be directed your way.


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A Good Way to Be

In Children, Humor on June 5, 2018 at 1:30 am

Whenever I sit on our sofa, I always lift the bottom cushions and check under them before sitting down. It’s become a habit, but tonight I caught myself doing it and wondered why I did it. Then I remembered.

I have a friend who is very smart and very introspective. Sometimes she’s so deep in her thoughts that you have to nudge her back to the conversation you’re having with her. She is also very calm amidst chaos. And that was a conscious choice she made.

She has experienced two life events that would send most of us into a tailspin, but she told me that she refused to allow them to interrupt her life. She said that she was available to support the people who were in trouble and she would continue to help them when they came out on the other side of their problems, but she would not obsess about their situations or let them interfere with her life.

She also doesn’t let the little annoyances, or alarming discoveries, in life get to her.

One day, she told me of a visit to her mother’s house. She said that she was sitting on the couch across from her mother, who was in an armchair. While talking, she slid her hand down the side of the couch between the cushion and the the arm. She felt something soft, so she lifted the cushion and found a family of mice. The surprising thing is that she found this to be interesting instead of horrifying. She told the story in a bemused fashion, as if it were odd that she didn’t find animals in her own furniture.

On another occasion, she told me that her son’s grade-school teacher sent a note home saying that she suspected that her son had worms. She called the teacher and asked why she thought this and the teacher said that the boy couldn’t sit still and was acting oddly. So, my friend took her son to his pediatrician and had him checked. He didn’t have worms after all, so he was sent back to school with a declaration of wormlessness from the doctor. Again, my friend didn’t get upset or mortified like most of us would have. She just did what she had to do, and told the story.

Years later, her younger son had the same teacher. He came home from school one day and said that the box of raisins that she had sent to school with him for recess had had worms in it. He took the box to the teacher and told her that he had inchworms that he wanted to show the class, since they sang the song “Inchworm.” The teacher told him that the the worms in his raisins weren’t inchworms and he should throw the raisins out. Being a very considerate teacher, she offered him an alternate snack from her supply closet.

I remember that my friend grimaced when she wondered if this teacher now thought of her family every time she saw worms. But then she laughed at the coincidence and put the incident aside.

I find her company to be very soothing. Nothing is a disaster to her, just something to endure and examine later. She might be on to something.

worm in apple

Pretend this apple is a raisin.

Let Me Lead!

In dance, Humor on June 3, 2018 at 9:17 pm

My husband and I took an hour-long dance lesson at a local Fred Astaire Dance Studio this past week.

A beautiful, young, Russian dancer, Tatiana, taught us the steps to the foxtrot, the rumba, and the merengue. I didn’t think my husband would enjoy the lessons but he surprised me. When Tatiana told me that my husband would lead every dance, his eyes twinkled. When we coupled up to dance and I automatically started to push him around the dance floor, he would stop dancing and say, “Let me lead!”

Tatiana, probably tired of my resistance, told me that I had to suppress my urge to run the show and allow my husband to take charge. That was really hard for me. But I tried. Like learning dance steps, I realized that learning to surrender control to another person takes time and practice.

When we got home, we practiced everything we had learned. Dancing on our own, without supervision, was the most difficult part of the dance lesson. Neither one of us could remember the order of the steps to the three dances, or even the actual steps.

At first, I thought that we had just wasted an hour of our life. But I had to concede that it was an enjoyable hour. So, even if we still couldn’t dance, we did have fun together, as well as a topic to dine out on, so it wasn’t a waste of time at all.

And, best of all, since we forgot all of the dance steps, we also can forget the part about my husband leading.


Wash Away Your Fat and Freckles

In advertising, Humor on May 29, 2018 at 1:28 pm

I was going to blog about my recent uncovering of a universal truth that could change the lives of everyone forever. I also planned to request credit for my discovery, along with the requisite fame and riches that would be expected to accompany a revelation that will add my name to the list of the other “great thinkers of all time.”

However, as I wrote, it became apparent that I couldn’t say for certain that somebody else hadn’t divined my secret first. I haven’t read the writings of all (or actually, any) of my fellow great thinkers, so I can’t say with certainty that my brainchild hadn’t been discussed before today, and, most importantly, I have no clinical-trial evidence to prove that my discovery works, which is mandatory for being taken seriously in 2018.

So, I scrapped my original post about my secret, and read up on the history of baseless advertising.

Beginning around the 1920s, many advertisers began placing print and radio ads that claimed that their products had amazing powers, and no proof of their assertions was required by law. All an advertiser needed was money. For decades, advertisers made all kinds of unfounded claims and consumers bought them, literally.

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“One to three cakes usually accomplish the purpose.”

Cigarette ads were everywhere. Babies and doctors recommended them. And if a movie actor recommended a certain brand, they had to be good, right?

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Unlike today, advertisers didn’t have to be politically correct. They could insult your body and your skin with impunity. Nowadays, advertisers have to be more circumspect about how they make you feel less than perfect.

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In the 1970s or 1980s, freckles were identified as skin damage, but back in the day, they were just called ugly. Ads for getting rid of them were ubiquitous.

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No claim by an advertiser was too outrageous. Lysol, which is used to clean toilets, was advertised to women for feminine hygiene use. And the ads implied that if women didn’t start using it, their husbands would be put off by their smell and leave them.

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Pitney-Bowes even suggested that murdering a woman might be defensible, under the right circumstances … such as her refusing to use a postage meter.

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I’m not sure what they’re selling here.

Judging these advertisements with a 2018 perspective, we wonder how consumers could take them seriously. But the beginning of the 20th century was the Wild West of advertising and no claim was too wild. And no laws protected consumers. And consumers believed what they read. Or maybe it was just hope that the products did what they were purported to do. Advertisers have always exploited human insecurities to sell products.

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It’s really too bad that inventions and discoveries are now regulated by intrusive government agencies. We would all be better off today if I could disclose my secret. But if I did, I’d probably be prosecuted for false advertising, because you just know that some crank would say that my “thing” didn’t work for him or her. And then I’d get arrested.

I’d rather take my life-changing revelation to my grave rather than to a jail cell.



Photo credits were impossible to trace. I obtained most of the pictures from this Google page of old ads.

Royal (Wedding) Ruminations

In Humor, r, Royal Wedding on May 20, 2018 at 12:35 pm

Princess Diana had to have a virginity test before she could marry Prince Charles in 1981. All the while, Charles was carrying on an affair with the married Camilla Parker-Bowles.

Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle lived with their fiancés before marriage. How things have changed in a not-very-long time. But that’s how progress works. One day you’re riding in a horse and carriage and a few years later you’re in a horseless carriage, and then an airplane … and then a horse and carriage again, but only if you’re the bride and groom leaving the church after your royal wedding in 2018.

The largest stride in progress has to do with Meghan’s being biracial. Now, every young girl, no matter what her racial composition is, can dream of becoming a princess, or whatever she wants to be. It was a long time coming. Even longer than it took Mattel to recognize that girls come in colors other than white. And for Crayola to acknowledge that “flesh tone” isn’t peach for half the world. And for cosmetic companies to make foundation that was darker than beige.

I am glad that Queen Elizabeth relaxed her standards. It couldn’t have been easy. She was raised in a much different time, when royal rules were strict … and when you broke them, you were discreet. Rumors abound about royal bed hopping and wedding vows that were ignored once the wedding dust settled. But misbehaving was done on the down low. Your friends and family knew, but they weren’t talking.

So, it’s probably better that everything is out in the open. Allowing Kate and William and Meghan and Harry to live together prior to marriage protected them all from learning later that their spouse had someone on the side. I don’t know how Diana didn’t know about Camilla. She probably did, but expected Charles to give Camilla up once they were married. She didn’t fully comprehend how the palace operated. But she was young.

Kate and Meghan were much older than Diana when they married (Kate was 29 and Meghan was 36, while Diana was 20). They knew more about the world than she did; plus, the world had changed enormously since 1981 when Diana and Charles tied the knot.

What intrigued me the most about the wedding of Meghan and Harry was Meghan’s wedding dress. It was beautiful, of course, albeit excessively plain and severely tailored. But that wasn’t what shocked me. What made me look twice was that it was pure white.

Screen Shot 2018-05-20 at 8.18.21 PMWhen I got married in 1991, the old notion that white dresses were for virgins had been discarded. But white dresses were still for first marriages. Not anymore. Meghan is in her second marriage, which is another giant leap for progress in the royal-thinking department. But, really, how could Queen Elizabeth say that Harry couldn’t marry a divorced woman when her own son, the next in line to the throne, is married to a divorced woman? She couldn’t.

The irony here is that Queen Elizabeth became queen much earlier than she should have, if at all, because her uncle, King Edward VIII, wasn’t allowed to be king and be married to a divorced woman who had a living ex-husband. Since King Edward was determined to marry twice-divorced Wallis Simpson, who had two living ex-husbands, he abdicated the throne to Queen Elizabeth’s father, King George VI.

Now, Queen Elizabeth’s son, Prince Charles, who is married to a divorced woman with a living ex-husband, will presumably be king. Prince Charles is really lucky that the rules changed since 1936.

Prince Charles is in a tight spot, though. He probably loves his mother and doesn’t want her to die, but it wouldn’t be surprising if he wished she would step aside and let him become king before he gets much older. He’s going to be 70 on November 14, 2018.

Queen Elizabeth is probably going to live forever and never step aside, though, in order to thwart Camilla. I wouldn’t blame her.

Camilla looks like a royal pain.

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Buckingham Palace

The Dress 2.0

In Humor, Yanny/Laurel on May 17, 2018 at 11:18 am

Most people remember “the dress.” In 2015, it was an Internet sensation because

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Picture from Wikipedia

some people, when they looked at a photo of the striped dress, saw the colors as gold and white, while others saw them as blue and black. No matter which side you were on, you couldn’t imagine how anyone could see the colors differently from you. In fact, the dress and how people saw it are still being discussed in scientific circles.

Now, in 2018, everyone is discussing the “Yanny/Laurel” recording. A computerized voice says a word and people hear either Yanny or Laurel. Again, it’s inconceivable to listeners that others could hear an entirely different word than they do.

These phenomena got me wondering. Is half the world seeing and hearing different things than the other half?

What about taste? Do some people dislike a food and others like it because they’re experiencing different tastes when eating the same food? Could kale taste delicious to some people because it tastes like chocolate ice cream to them?

How about smell and touch? Does tomato sauce simmering on a stovetop smell like gasoline to some people? Does velvet feel soft to some people and like gravel to others?

I suspect that the dress and Yanny/Laurel are just the tip of the iceberg, which, by the way, is probably so cold that it could be experienced as being hot.

What intrigues me is that many people got annoyed at the dress controversy and insisted that everyone stop talking about it. The same will occur with the Yanny/Laurel discussion.

Why do people want to ignore puzzling discoveries? I understand that hearing the same debate over and over can get tiresome, but the dress and Yanny/Laurel raise some questions about perception and how it differs between people, and don’t those questions deserve some consideration?

For instance, color-blind people are a known entity. We all know that they see some colors differently than most of the world sees them. But there could be other aberrant entities that we’re unaware of … because we’re part of them and we accept what we sense as being the truth. Suppose we’re all seeing, smelling, tasting, touching, and hearing different things when we use our senses?

This raises so many questions and, yet, it also clears some things up for me. For example, when I ask my family to do something, it’s not uncommon for them to not do it, and then act confused when I complain. Maybe, when I say, “Please empty the dishwasher,” they hear “Enjoy the baseball game.”

I could have been misheard all along. Now, I’ll have to investigate before I nag my family. I’ll need to ask them what they heard me say before I criticize them. And even then, when they tell me what they heard, I might hear them say something different entirely.

This is probably why people got fed up with the dress conversation and will soon get equally tired of the Yanny/Laurel discussion. It’s not that they don’t want to contemplate the possibility of an alternate reality. They just don’t see the point because there’s no absolute answer.

For the record, I saw a black/blue dress and heard “Yanny.” Social commentators have said that younger people hear “Laurel,” but maybe they really said that younger people hear “Yanny.” I guess we’ll never know.


A Slow Workday

In dogs, Humor on May 2, 2018 at 11:15 pm

Yesterday, I wrote about a horrible stench outside my family’s house, which was especially noticeable in our yard. I had a few theories about the smell: maybe a neighbor had used pungent fertilizer in her garden; or perhaps the dog we buried in our yard last summer was decomposing. It turns out that neither scenario was correct. The truth was far worse.

Today was a light workday for me. I ran out of things to do mid-afternoon. Since I was working from home, I didn’t have to pretend to be working, so I went outside. It was a beautiful day today: the sun was shining, the temperature was in the 80s, and there was a cool breeze. Except for today and one day last week, the weather has been miserable, so today was a perfect day to be outdoors.

I decided to start the spring clean-up in my yard. Last fall, we raked up all of the leaves in the front of our house and moved them into our fenced backyard. Where they stayed. I rationalized my laziness by saying that they would decompose and add much-needed nutrients to the soil. I have no idea if that’s true. But fast-forwarding to today, I was faced with a backyard and side yards filled with leaves.

I chose to de-leaf our deck first. As I swept, I noticed that the horrible odor was especially bad over on one side of our house. I left the deck and went over to the side yard to see if I could get to the root of the problem. I looked around and saw nothing … except for the neglected side yard, filled with leaves and three lid-less trash cans. We use those trash cans for the sticks and branches that we pick up in our yard. I noticed that the cans smelled funny. I looked a little closer and saw that they were filled with branches and rainwater. Lots of rainwater.

I turned the trash cans onto their sides to drain them. The bad smell increased as the water poured out onto the ground. I suspected that the water had become putrid, which would explain the awful aroma. That is, until I saw a lump of gray fur tumble out of one of the cans onto a pile of dead leaves. It was followed by another gray lump, and another, and another, and another.

I looked closer and saw five long, bloated, pink-bellied squirrel corpses lying on the ground. Oh my God. Not only were they horrible to look at, they stunk like a sewer.

I should have dug five little graves, but instead, I shoveled them up, one by one, and bagged them. Then I bagged the bag. And put them into the trash. Thank God that tomorrow is trash day. I should probably give the sanitation workers masks to wear. And a large tip.

I’m still curious as to how five squirrels drowned in our trash can. All I can figure is that the squirrels, who sit on the top of the lattice surrounding our deck, fell into the trash can that was filled with water and drowned. I don’t know how this happened five times. Maybe they all jumped in to rescue each other.

While I was bagging the squirrels, our dog, Duke, decided to roll around in the mud where the squirrels had lain, and where the carrion flies were still buzzing around. I shooed him off and continued working. After taking out the trash, I poured a gallon of bleach onto the ground and into the trash can where the squirrels had decomposed, and then hosed everything down.

During the decontamination process, Duke noticed that I hadn’t shut the fence’s gate all the way, so he nudged it open and took off. For the next hour, I walked up and down side streets and main streets, covered in mud, leaves, sweat, and squirrel dander, calling, “Duke! Duke!”

Eventually he turned up. A neighbor had found him and followed the sound of my voice until she reunited us. After I thanked her and she left, I told Duke that he was in big trouble. He grinned and wagged his tail. I suspect that English isn’t his first language.

I took Duke home and put him in his crate for the rest of his life. Then I started worrying that he was getting squirrel cooties all over everything, so I sent him to the dog-washing place with my son, who had just gotten home and probably wished he had stayed away longer.

Once they had left, I knew I had to disinfect his crate, so on my way to get cleaning agents, I went out back to grab a Coke from a 12-pack carton that had spent the winter on the deck. I opened a can and it exploded in my face.

What a day. After I cleaned Duke’s crate, bathed, and burned my clothes, I realized that I should have pretended to work after all.

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The Tell-Tale Smell

In Humor on May 2, 2018 at 2:36 am

Oo-oo that smell
Can’t you smell that smell?
Oo-oo that smell
The smell of death surrounds you.
Lynyrd Skynyrd

There’s a deathly smell in our backyard. It fills my nostrils with its stench and my heart with dread.

Our neighbors on both sides have recently begun landscaping their yards. I’m hoping that the foul odor is emanating from the fertilizer that one of them used. I know better, of course. And the truth is making my heart race and my stomach twist with anxiety.

The fear I’m experiencing is akin to the terror felt by the protagonist in Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Tell-Tale Heart. He killed an old man, dismembered him, and buried him under the floorboards. Even though he knew the old man was dead, he was driven mad by the sound of thumping, which he believed was the beating of the dead man’s heart.

My heart thumps wildly every time I step outside and am assaulted by the pungent aroma of decay, which sends me running back inside.

I know that smell. I’ve smelled that smell. A once-living being is rotting in my family’s yard. It’s only a matter of time until the jig is up.

Many years ago, my husband and I took the subway from Manhattan up to the Bronx to visit his mother. We had to walk several blocks from the subway to her house. As we walked down a short block, we were overcome by a vile aroma. We hurried down the block and soon forgot all about it. Then, the next day, we saw on the news that we had walked past a car that had a dead body in its trunk. The body had been in there for weeks.

Decades later, I still recall the foul air surrounding that car. And now it’s back. In our yard.

My fear is that it’s coming from the grave we dug for our dog, Rudy, last August. He died rapidly and unexpectedly on a Sunday evening as the sun was setting. The grave we dug was about three feet deep. We didn’t have time to dig any deeper. It was getting dark and flies were landing on him. We wrapped him in his vinyl wading pool and buried him before any nocturnal animals or vultures could become curious and pay us a visit.

The next day, the top layer of soil had sunk a bit, so we spent the next few days adding dirt to the top of the grave. No animals disturbed it. No rank aroma arose from the grave for the rest of the summer and fall. Then winter froze the ground and we felt confident that we were out of the woods, and Rudy was part of the earth.

But now, I wonder. Maybe the pool delayed his decomposition. Maybe he thawed out this spring and is just starting to decay. Maybe the vultures are on their way. Maybe the police are on the vultures’ heels.

There’s only one thing to do: buy especially offensive fertilizer and spread it all over the yard. We’ll have to do it every week, until the original stench dissipates. It’s going to be hard to differentiate between the two stinks. I guess we’ll have to fertilize forever.

At least we’ll have a legitimate explanation for the rancid cloud enveloping our home.





Birthday Wisdom

In Humor on April 22, 2018 at 3:36 pm

via Daily Prompt: Partake

My father used to tell me, “When you have to make a decision, make it, and then do the exact opposite thing. Then, you will have made the right decision.”

I was annoyed when he said this, but looking back, I see there was wisdom in his words. I tend to being impulsive, so my immediate reactions and decisions should be put on a back burner for a few hours and allowed to simmer and reduce to a rational response. I don’t know why I used a cooking metaphor. I certainly don’t reduce sauces or do anything fancy in the kitchen. I have been watching “Worst Cooks in America” on the Food Network, so I suppose that’s where that came from. (Maybe I should simmer that metaphor.)

But back to me (my favorite topic). I made an executive decision this weekend. I was given the job to buy a joint gift for a coworker who is leaving the company I work for. I was told what to get, and I got something else.

I thought I’d be applauded for my hard work in finding the perfect present. Instead, I groucho-marx-309396_1280.pngwas told to return it and get the original gift. I could have saved an entire day of running all over Norwalk and Stamford, CT, (buying and returning and buying again until I found what I wanted) if I had followed directions. Now I have to return a piece of jewelry that I had haggled down to a great price. I’m going to have to wear a disguise when I return to the store.


meteor-3127290_1280While this was going on, a lot of money was temporarily withdrawn from my husband’s and my joint account in order to facilitate all of this buying. My husband later asked me why I was spending money like a meteor was about to strike Earth. I assured him that he’d see it again. I didn’t mention that I hoped that was true. High finance confuses me.

Following directions is also confusing to me. But I’ve learned my lesson.

Speaking of lessons learned, today is my birthday, a perfect day for taking inventory of things I’ve learned over my life. Feel free to partake of my wisdom.

  1. Do not offer to buy a gift from a lot of people unless you’re going to follow directions.
  2. Don’t take other people’s advice out of hand. They often change their minds after a few years … long after you’ve sold all of your gold jewelry to a shyster they recommended.
  3. Don’t smoke pot while taking a bath. You’ll find yourself staring at the wall for a long time while figuring out how to get out of the tub. (I learned this lesson second-hand.)
  4. If you clean your house after a long period of not cleaning it, invite everyone you know over. Your house is clean, so it makes sense to do all of your entertaining at once. Then spend the season getting paid back with invitations from people you entertained. Or not. But at least you cleaned your house. Unfortunately, you now have to do it again.
  5. If you take a staycation, have your house cleaned, your lawn mowed, and your laundry done before you start. Then you can enjoy it … or rent out your house and go somewhere fun.
  6. When you start to lose your memory, write things down. And then put the list somewhere safe. You’ll never see it again.
  7. Nobody can be unhappy while eating pizza. Before or after, yes. But not during.
  8. Tights aren’t





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