Tag Archives: marriage

Geezer

 

I slip into two pair of Jockey© shorts

one on top of the other while she’s in the bathroom taking off her face.

I refuse to wear Depends© at my age.

 

 

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Cosmic House Slippers©

 

I was disconsolate as I nursed a soft drink in a back booth of

The Enchantment. That’s a dingy roadhouse on the outskirts of

Letongaloosa. Every college town needs a joint like the

Enchantment to maintain its academic accreditation. The

Enchantment is where I go to have a soft drink and relax. On that

night I had gone to The Enchantment to brood. I had goofed up,

and I was feeling low. Then, happily, my robot friend Kaybe rolled up

to my booth.

Do you believe in aliens from outer space? I do. I’ve been friends

with one for decades. KB-11.2 doesn’t have green skin and luminous

eyes like the aliens one sees in sci-fi movies. Kaybe looks like a giant

tuna fish can.

Erector Set® arms sprout from the curving sides of his body,

and three spindly metal legs drop down from the underside of his flat

stainless steel torso. He has ball bearing wheels for feet. A floppy

two-foot antenna, with three sensor-eyes, stick out of the middle of

his lid. Kaybe comes from the Alpha Centauri star system. Many

years ago on a visit to Earth, Kaybe saved my marriage. Now here

he was again to cheer me up.

My wife Emmaline and I had taken a vacation to Northwest

Florida where we used to live. We had spent a lovely week at a

hotel in a room overlooking the beach. On the last day as we

packed and got ready to leave for the airport, I realized I hadn’t

packed my house slippers.

But there was not a smidgen of room in any of our luggage.

These house slippers were brown suede. And they were OLD. The

rubber sole of the right one was flapping, and the tops of both were

heavily spotted with toothpaste. So I stuffed them into an already

loaded trash basket, and walked out the door.

I felt a pang of regret immediately. I had worn those house

slippers forever. They were with us on our trips to the Smoky

Mountains, and with me on my journalistic assignments to Central

America and the Caribbean, South America, and Africa. Yet now I

had callously left them in a trash basket in a tourist hotel room far

from home. It wasn’t right.

Emmaline, practical and logical, said it was long past time to

get rid of those house slippers.

“The sole of the right one was coming off, and they were filthy,”

she said. “Filthy,” is a relative term with Emmaline. The word covers

everything from something that is undeniably dirty, to a tiny spot on

an otherwise pristine necktie.

Emmaline was right, of course. It was past time for the slippers

to go. But I loved them. And I was born in the year of the Dog. In

Chinese astrology, people who are born in the year of the dog are

innately loyal to their belongings. Even, apparently, a pair of worn

out house slippers.

As the plane took off, I thought how those dear old house

slippers would soon be lying under a heap of trash in some

malodorous landfill.

I continued to brood even after we had unpacked our

suitcases and put them back in the closet, and I had picked up the

mail that the Post Office had held for us.

“You need to go to The Enchantment,” said Emmaline. “Go

have a soft drink and get this out of your system.” That’s where I

was when Kaybe, my alien robot friend, rolled up to my booth.

Kaybe communicates and takes nourishment telepathically,

and he’s highly intuitive. Kaybe ordered a nonalcoholic beer from

the waitress, Four Finger Fannie, who is also an alien. I watched the

brew disappear from the mug without Kaybe ever having touched

it.

His words filtered into my mind, “You loved them, right?”

“Dearly,” I said. “They didn’t deserve to be abandoned like

that.”

“Then be of good cheer. Your house slippers are safe and well,”

said Kaybe. “I pulled them from the landfill, and I flung them into

space. Your dear slippers will sail happily through the galaxies

forever. Now go home and get some sleep.”

I tried. I really did. I said goodbye to the patrons at The

Enchantment, walked out and drove back into Letongaloosa.

Emmaline was asleep when I got home. I undressed in the walk-in

closet off the master bedroom and put on my pajamas. Then I

automatically tried to slide my feet into my dear old house slippers.

Duh! How dumb was that? I just walked back out to the living room

and collapsed on the sofa.

“I’ve got to get those back from outer space,” I said to

myself. It was late, but I got in the car and headed back to The

Enchantment.

Kaybe was there. He felt bad when he saw how glum I

looked, and few days later Kaybe located and retrieved my house

slippers from a Florida land fill and brought them back to

Letongaloosa. Bless him!

But I still had a problem. For Emmaline, those ratty house

slippers were objets non grata. What could I do with the sorrylooking

things?

Then I had a burst of inspiration. I would have my house slippers

near at hand without ticking Emmaline off.

Emmaline wanted me to toss the house slippers because they

were old and ratty looking. I had a plan to transform them. The idea

had come to me after Emmaline and I attended a baby’s first

birthday party and saw one of the gifts.

I transformed my ratty old house slippers from objects of scorn

to objets d’art. And now the dear old things occupy a prominent

place on my office shelf—as bronzed bookends.

-30-

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bound For Buenos Aires ©

Hello!!

This is a true story. It chronicles one of my many adventures as a foreign correspondent. I was a young 27-year old writer back then and throughout the years, life has taken us on quite the journey!! My wife and I just celebrated 58 years of wedded bliss. Enjoy!!

Chris and I got married in mid December (1960) and in early February were scheduled to take a freighter from New Orleans, bound for Buenos Aires. We were supposed to sail at noon. Chris gets really seasick so she took two Dramamine tablets. Then, when we got to the dock, the ship was still being loaded. The Purser said it would be a three hours before we could board. he suggested we go to a movie at a theater near the dock. We went. Chris fell asleep before the movie started, and was still asleep when it ended. I had to practically lug her back to the ship. We boarded and got to our cabin. There were six other passengers. We ate with the captain and the crew. Chris was encouraged by my father, who had sailed to fight in WWI by way of the Caribbean. He said, “The Caribbean is a smooth as glass.”
We sailed that afternoon. As we got out of the Gulf of Mexico and into the Caribbean the sea got rough. The Caribbean wasn’t as “smooth as glass,” as my Dad had experienced. It was rolling and pitching. The captain said, “I’ve never seen this part of the Caribbean so rough. Chris said, “That’s because I’m on board.
Passengers ate in the dining room with the crew. There were eight passengers on our freighter: Chris and me—the young marrieds; a mother and her late teen daughter; a Brazilian couple bound for their home in Santos; a pair of American Catholic priests, bound for Rio de Janeiro to spend the rest of their lives in in church service in Brazil. One priest was in his fifties, the other in his late twenties. The younger one, like Chris, didn’t have “sea legs.” He said that he belonged to the “Railroad Irish,” who didn’t respond well to travel on water. The young priest and Chris didn’t come up on deck much during that Caribbean crossing, and neither came to meals in the dining room. The captain told me to tell Chris to limit liquid intake and to eat hard rolls. I took hard rolls to our cabin for Chris after every meal. Somewhere off the northwest coast of South America the sea became calmer and both Chris and the young priest got feeling better.
Ships continued to steam into Santos Bay until at the height of the dock strike and port congestion there were 26 ships waiting to be serviced. It was a week before the dispute was settled and the port authority authorized ships to dock and let passengers debark. The port authority took the ships in order of their arrival—virtually all ships were cargo vessels. A few, like ours, had passengers as well as cargo. Those were allowed to land first. So Chris and I and the passengers got to the dock and into Santos. The ship was going to be two days in port unloading and taking on supplies. Passengers were allowed to stay onboard but were encouraged to go into town, and, if they wished, take public transportation up the steep coastal mountain to Sao Paulo. Sao Paulo then, as now, was one of the most populous cities in the Western Hemisphere.
Before we left the U.S. Chris and I had contacted a member of the LDS Church who was a friend of a friend. Gary Neeleman had been a Salt Lake City broadcaster and reporter. He spoke fluent Portuguese because he had served a two-and-a-half-year mission for the LDS Church in Brazil. He returned to Brazil with his wife and two-year-old at Sao Paulo bureau chief of the United Press International. Chris and I had contact information for the Neelemans so we got in touch by phone. Gary was at work but, when apprised of our circumstances—that we had to be in Santos/Sao Paulo for two days, she invited us to come stay over night. The Neelemans took us out to dinner and gave us a very welcome bed for the night. The next morning we were awakened , early, by the Neeleman’s little boy who came into our room and said good morning. That boy, a toddler at the time, grew up to be the founder and owner of the international airline Jet Blue.
Meeting Gary and Rose Neeleman was to be a crucial and vital part of our time in Argentina.
After rounding up our hand luggage, we debarked at the docks of Buenos Aires, wishing a kind farewell to the crew and remaining passengers. We got a taxi into town and checked in the Fulbright Commission, then part of the United States Information Agency (later subsumed into the U.S. State Department) that was a contact entity for U.S. citizens. I was on a private, not government fellowship (with the Inter American Press Association) but the staff at the Fulbright Commission was very helpful. They suggested we check in at a new hotel down near Rivadavia (a major thorough fare that runs across much of Buenos Aires). We had gotten some dollars changed into Pesos at an commercial money exchange. Inflation was high in Argentina and the government was keeping tight control on transactions in which dollars and pesos were exchanged. The official rate, as I recall, was three pesos for a dollar. But there was a demand for dollars ( a solid currency) Argentines who wanted to travel abroad or buy goods abroad, so there was thriving black market in pesos. People approached us in the streets (our clothing and especially our American shoes gave us away as foreigners—not our skin or hair color. Seventy percent of the Argentine population was directly from Italians or came directly from Italy. The dollar seekers offered to take us to money exchange houses that were paying much more than three pesos for a dollar. We got a good price for initial exchange of dollars, and with pesos in pocket took a cab to the Hotel. We were greeted warmly by the hotel (I’ll ask Chris if she remembers the name of the hotel—years later I went back and stayed there during one of my assignments) for we were among the first guests to check in.
After rounding up our hand luggage, we debarked at the docks of Buenos Aires, wishing a kind farewell to the crew and remaining passengers. We got a taxi into town and checked in the Fulbright Commission, then part of the United States Information Agency (later subsumed into the U.S. State Department) that was a contact entity for U.S. citizens. I was on a private, not government fellowship (with the Inter American Press Association) I was later to receive (over the decades) a three USIA fellowships. The staff at the Fulbright Commission was very helpful. They suggested we check in at a new hotel down near Rivadavia (a major thorough fare that runs across much of Buenos Aires). We had gotten some dollars changed into Pesos at an commercial money exchange. Inflation was high in Argentina and the government was keeping tight control on transactions in which dollars and pesos were exchanged. The official rate, as I recall, was three pesos for a dollar. But there was a demand for dollars ( a solid currency) Argentines who wanted to travel abroad or buy goods abroad, so there was thriving black market in pesos. People approached us in the streets (our clothing and especially our American shoes gave us away as foreigners—not our skin or hair color. Seventy percent of the Argentine population was directly from Italians or came directly from Italy. The dollar seekers offered to take us to money exchange houses that were paying much more than the government set price three pesos for a dollar. Technically it was against the law to exchange dollars anywhere but at the government exchange. But everyone did it. We got a good price for initial exchange of dollars, and with pesos in pocket took a cab to the Hotel. We were greeted warmly by the hotel (I’ll ask Chris if she remembers the name of the hotel—years later I went back and stayed there during one of my assignments years later when the hotel was no longer new) for we were among the first guests to check in to the new hotel.

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

A Day Late, A Dollar Short

Hello, All!!

I’ve pulled a story from my archives called, “A Day Late & A Dollar Short” & it written in  2011. It one of my favorites. I hope you like it, too!!

They were married in the Manti, Utah in December 1960.

Today, and for the last fifty years, it’s been the same—he’s been a day late and a dollar short.   But she loves him anyway.  She loved him back then, and she loves him now. She loves him with a knowing sufferance that is sometimes masked by sharp tones. She loves him with a tenderness that reveals itself through a quick squeeze of his hand as they sit side by side on the worn couch in the loft, watching a rerun of some syndicated TV program.

One morning a month ago, they were in the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, two pillows propped behind her back. Ginger, the dachshund snuggled under the coverlet beside her.  He was on all fours on the floor on the far side of the bed.  She was reading the sports page. He was reading the main section of the local daily.

The bedroom TV, a relic of the analog age, flickered in silence.  Then, as Regis and Kelly walked onto the set, she reached for the remote, and there was sound.    Minutes passed.

“Regis and Kelly are sponsoring a love story contest,” she said.

“Uh,” he said.  He was reading the funnies.

“You’re a writer.  Why don’t you send our love story to Regis and Kelly?  The deadline is January 21st.” she said.

“Huh?” he said, absorbed in the intricacies of “Pickles.”

“You should write our love story, and win us a trip.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

As the days went by she reminded him a couple of times.

“Did you write our love story for Regis and Kelly?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will.”

January 21, 2011, 10 p.m.

“Did you write our love story?”

“I’ll write it tomorrow.”

And he did, but he was a day late and a dollar short.

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,