Once upon a time in a land called North California, there lived a family of three orangutans and they were very happy. Then one day, one of the big orangutans died and soon the other big orangutan died and that left their three year old son all alone in the big land called North California. And he became very sad. He was so sad that he stopped eating. The animal doctors tried to treat him as his health began to fail but the poor, sad animal did not respond to the medicine. I don't think there is any medicine that can fix a broken heart.
The animal doctors believed the young orangutan would die and so they sent him off, as a last chance, to their animal treatment center.
On the way, the zoo keepers found an old, sickly dog in the park that was part of the grounds at the zoo where the orangutan lived. They took the dog there, too, since he was very very sick and they hoped to keep him alive.
Quickly, the dog and the orangutan sized up one another and quickly they became inseparable souls. They are inseparable to this very day and they have both found a new reason to live.
This is not a made up fairy tale; this is a true story about two living breathing creatures who have discovered the meaning...and the power...of true friendship.
Hi. It's me, Beej. I hope you are having a good day even tho I heard a rumor that the price of stamps is going up again. I know it's not like you're pocketing money. In fact, you probably are losing money because people can email for free. (But I think it should not make folks hate your guts the way they do.)
Anyway, I have a question; I hear that the U.S. postal system is really hurting for cash. Does this mean you have been hiring folks with less education and maybe even a few extra handicapped people? The reason I am asking you this is because I think the person who delivers our mail might be blind.
I'm all for hiring the handicapped but I worry about whether our mail deliverer is blind because, you know, she does drive a truck and it might be extra hard for her, considering that the steering wheel is on the wrong side.
ANYWAY..."Why.." you might be asking, "Why do you think she might be blind?"
Well, it's like this, Mr General, Sir; a couple of weeks ago she delivered to our house what looked like a handwritten letter, that's cool and all, BUT! It was addressed to somebody I never heard of to an address that is no way mine. It's even an entirely different street. So I put it back in our mailbox and put up the little red flag and she took it way..
...for a few days..and then there it was again, in my box. That's when I figured she might be handicapped. I am a kind person so I put it back in the box and set that red flag back up.
And guess what, Mr General Sir! I got the mail today and there it was again! Now I do not believe that anyone our government would hire to deliver our mail (which keeps going up an up in price) would be that stupid! So I'm going to believe she is blind.
I am sure you provide her with medical insurance. I think it would be a kind thing if you dropped her a letter and recommended an eye exam. I know she will listen to YOU!.. ..if she gets the letter that is..
Anyway, thank you for listening to me. I'm sure you have better things to do than read about blind mail deliverers.
Yours and SWALCAKWS, Beej
ps you may have forgotten what SWALCAKWS means; it means 'sealed with a lick cause a kiss won't stick."
He wasn't the nicest man. He could be cruel and hard hearted. But he was a complicated soul with a talent that was large as it comes. This is so classic Lennon.
blogger is having a problem with posting moderated comments. Just to let you know, I'm not ignoring your (appreciated) comments. just that I'm unable to post them. Hopefully, this will be fixed very soon.
I'm always full of fear on the fourth of July; I fear this will be the year when someone I love will blow off an arm or burn a house down. Or that my dear dog Abby will have a heart attack from all the explosions going on.
The men in my family are pyromaniacs. I swear they are. If it's loud and it's fiery, they are there. On this day, they all answer to the nickname 'Torch.' Years ago, when we lived in the country and had acreage, we were the hub of the activity on the fourth. We would set up tents and set out tables of food and buckets of beverages. It was an open invite sort of thing. Neighbors and friends and co-workers would gather at our home. The kids would traipse through the field and woods across the road to get to a secluded cove whose water was rated as a 'class A' meaning it was sparkly clean. They would gather fresh mussels and haul them home on a rubber raft. Once there, the kids would load the mussels into a tub of water and we would put them on a grill. Deliciously fresh.
One year, after the kids were told we had enough mussels and to hold off on a trek to the cove, they decided it was too much fun to give up so they sneaked. With all the company and laughter and music and noise, (and daiquiris and beer..) nobody noticed that they continued to fill the rubber raft with mussels. We also didn't notice that they hid the loaded raft in the woods near the house..and where they promptly forgot they put them in the excitement of Uncle Joe revving up his Harley and giving each child a ride on the road in front of our house and down around the horse farm which neighbored our property.
A couple weeks passed in the July heat and we couldn't help but notice a sickening stench emanating from somewhere nearby. It got worse and worse and we even considered the possibility that a) the cove had become polluted or b) our septic had malfunctioned. Then the dog found it, a black raft covered with rotted mussels. Our children were given the job of hauling the putrid mess far far into the back acres and dumping it.
Now we live in a neighborhood. We don't have the acreage needed to hold that sort of shindig. The kids have grown and moved out. I don't have the fear of MY house being bombed by mistake. However, my son has taken over the nickname of 'Torch.' And last night I feared for his safety.
I love the quiet of an empty nest. But sometimes I find myself missing the big fourth of July celebration and I am overcome with bittersweet nostalgia. I even think back fondly on that time, years ago, when my entire property smelled of rotten shellfish.
Yesterday I got stuck behind TATTY again. It never fails; if I'm running late for work, I inevitably will get behind the white minivan with the license that reads,'TATTY.'
What do I do when this happens? I cuss. Like a sailor. 'TATTY' is the old retired judge who lives on the next street over from my house so I try not to cuss real loud because I'm sure the judge still has ties and I certainly do not want to get arrested for cussing out an old respected judge. But what I would like to do is ram the back end of his shit ass white van and send him flying through the air and out of my way.
'TATTY' drives anywhere between 10 and 20 mph. He does it on purpose, I'm sure. Maybe he does it only to me as pay back for my 20 year old son who travels like a bat outta hell on our roads, I dunno. (I've spoken to my son about this, Yer Honor, yessiree I have! Many times over! I don't like it either but it's no reason to make me late for work!)
Anyway, as I was saying, yesterday I got stuck behind TATTY and I was already running late for work and I still had to make a quick stop at the store before I got to the book store. I finally got past the old bastard judge and to the store and was making my purchase when I realized the man behind the register was being trained. Plus I think he was deaf because he made me repeat every thing I said to him. Unfortunately, he needed my birthdate to process my card and for some reason, he could not understand/hear what I was saying. And he spoke sllllllllloooow as molasssssses..
"I am going to be late for work!"(I am smiling through gritted teeth at this point which is not an easy thing to do..)
The lady who was training him shot darts out of her eyes toward me.
"He..is...almost...done." she says just above a whisper.
Finally I am out of the door and at the bookstore. I am late as I thought I would be and there at the door is........!
Judge 'Tatty.'
"Young lady," he scolds me.."you are late. And that's not fair to your customer."
"Sorry sir. I got stuck behind a slow driver." I said.
"Maybe you need to leave your house earlier." he said, with a wink.
