A letter from me to you

Dear Julienne: I thought you might enjoy receiving an actual letter in the actual mail, so I’ve actually written you one. I know it’s not the most “modern” thing to do, but sometimes a little bit of “old school” is what the doctor ordered.

It wasn’t all that easy to write, let me tell you. First, I had to put away my cellphone. The urge to just send you a text message was strong. Finding a decent piece of unwrinkled non-lined paper was difficult, too. But as you can see, I found one. Next, I had to find a pen that actually worked (Who owns ink pens anymore?). I went through two dozen buried deep in our “where did this come from?” drawer before I found the one I’m using. Finally, I set thought to paper, checking the dictionary as I went along so as not to misspell anything, then put a stamp on the whole thing, and there you have it. At least I hope you have it.

Well, that’s all for now. Have a great day. And I hope to hear back from you, if you feel up to it.

Dear Steven: I hope you don’t mind, but I just wrote a letter to your wife. Since she’s a teacher, I thought she might enjoy one – you know, out of the blue, vintage Pony Express. And then I started thinking, you being an accountant and all, I might need to send you a letter, too, just to keep things even. I’m hoping you don’t find that odd. (HaHa, accounting humor)

Just curious: when you looked in the mailbox this afternoon and saw there was a letter from me, was your first thought, “I bet he wants me to do his taxes, even though I keep telling him I’m not that kind of accountant”? HA! Fooled ya. It’s just a letter saying I wrote your wife a letter. 

And that’s all I have to say about that. Wish you well, good accounting, and I’ll see ya when I see ya.

Dear Susan: Just giving you a heads up, I wrote letters to both your brother and his wife. I thought while I was at it, I might as well write one to you, too. I know, I could’ve saved a stamp and just told you, but then my words would’ve simply evaporated into thin air. This way, you can save all these words forever in a drawer and bring them out on a rainy day to reminisce about the time I sent you a letter that says I wrote a letter to your brother and his wife. And if that isn’t old-timey romance, I don’t know what is.

Dear Mom & Dad: I’m sorry I never wrote many letters to you two while you were living. It would have been a nice way to keep you informed with all the events in our life, and vice versa.  Of course, we did keep each other up to date through electronic means, but a lot of those emails/texts are lost in The Cloud, and I don’t see it raining anytime soon. Digital correspondence is all about ones and zeros, fonts and point size, legible words mostly spell-checked and approved. Physical letters are all about ink to paper, anticipation and excitement, trying to decipher what is actually written.

I’m guessing we could keep all our emails on a tiny flash drive stuck in a box somewhere, but that’s just not the same as rifling through a pile of letters, all rubber-banded together, and knowing it came straight from your hand to mine.

Ah, the things we should’ve done but didn’t; the things we didn’t know, but now do.

Dear Kids: I’m sending you this text message instead of writing you a letter because I’m not sure you know how to open a real envelope without getting paper cuts. JK. LOL. Hello? Is this thing on?

Wife of a snorer

My wife doesn't sleep with me anymore.
She says it's because I snore.

She says
sleeping with me
is like sleeping with a
freight train
using five engines to pull
195 railroad cars
filled with trucks,
lumber,
patio furniture,
bricks,
refrigerators,
and ice cream
up and over a mountain pass
it has no business trying to climb.

She says
sleeping with me
is like sleeping next to an
outlaw biker
riding 80 mph down the interstate
on a Harley Fatboy
followed by hundreds of his
leather-clad friends
wearing sunglasses,
long beards,
smoking cigs,
hauling ass and biker babes
to Sturgis for the weekend
and then maybe on to Canada. 

She says
sleeping with me
is like sleeping on an
Air Force base
at the end of the runway while
fighter jets
punch their takeoffs with
afterburners,
screaming engines,
low fly-bys,
strafing runs,
flying on training missions
over the ocean and back again,
or some secret mission to the Middle East.

She says
sleeping with me
is no guarantee of 
sleeping
at
all.

Which is so strange
because I sleep like a log.


It's Friday, it's my birthday!

I try to eat healthy.

Every morning for breakfast, I have either home-made granola cereal with fruit, oatmeal and fruit, or avocado toast, hold the fruit.

And coffee.

Every morning.

But today, even though I've already had breakfast (granola cereal with fruit), I decided to have a SECOND breakfast.


More than likely
my heart will stop today.
Because it's Friday.
And it's my birthday!



Plans for the new year

I have no idea what’s going to happen in 2024. None of us do. We remember all that’s gone before (thanking our lucky stars that it wasn’t a whole lot worse), and then quietly say to ourselves, “This new year has got to be better. Oh please, it’s just got to be.”

You wanna know how I always start off a new year? I start it off by refusing to take down the Christmas tree until absolutely necessary. Sometimes it comes down mid-January. One time I kept it standing well into February. This year, I have half a mind to leave the tree up until next Christmas, but the other half of my mind (the side my wife owns) says, “Jan. 4 is the perfect day to take it down, seeing you won’t have anything else better to do. And while you’re at it, don’t forget to vacuum the carpet and empty the cat’s litter box.”

It seems like only yesterday we were bracing for The New Millennium, Y2K and airplanes falling out of the sky. Now look, we’re almost halfway through the 2020s. The French referred to the 1920s as “anne├ęs folles,” the crazy years. I wonder what teachers will say to our grandchildren about the Roaring 2020s?

“Children, the 2020s didn’t really ‘roar’ at all. The people back then were slightly nuts. Well, not all of them, but some were, especially the ones who thought the Earth was flat. They gathered at yearly conventions to convince each other they weren’t completely wackadoodle.”

“You’re kidding us teacher, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. And then other people went to comic book conventions and dressed up like space warriors and superheroes and… Was that the bell? Ok, kids. Don’t forget to put on your gasmasks before you go outside. The air is a bit thicker than usual today.”

I should really try to keep a journal this year, but I have a lousy history with them. I tried keeping one back in the 2010s, but I kept forgetting to write in it. Eventually, I forgot where I put it. It’s possible I’m just not a journal-keeping kind of guy, but I won’t know until I try. Again.

Actually, I do keep track of how much I exercise each day, which usually looks something like this: Monday, walked a mile around the block; Tuesday, thought about walking a mile around the block, but couldn’t find my favorite socks. Wednesday through Sunday, decided walking is dumb. Read a book.

Speaking of reading books – I don’t understand why more people don’t. There used to be a time when families sat around a single candle, Pa in his nightcap holding the latest edition of “Master Humphrey’s Clock,” reading the newest chapter of “Barnaby Rudge” by Charles Dickens. Not as good as the “Pickwick Papers,” but better than just sitting in the dark, watching the candle burn out. I doubt 2024 will be known as the year recreational reading came back into vogue, causing the demise of FaceTik and InstaTok, but I can dream, can’t I?

“So, what do YOU want to do tonight?”

“Go to the library, of course, and check out some new books.”

“Wow! I was thinking the same thing!”

And before we knew it, more than 18 billion people across the world had free library cards; they checked out more than 57 books a year per person on average; not a single living soul doubted humanity’s effect on climate change; and the world was round again, just like we knew it was all along.

C’mon, 2024. Bring it on!