Happy Happenings

For her birthday our eldest daughter got a new puppy; she named it Bumble:

Jennifer loves her new puppy.

Her cat reserves judgment:

Friday two interesting phone calls came in.

In the first, a lady asked me if I knew any poor people. Her group wants to supply a poor family with a Christmas food basket—but they don’t personally know any poor people. She wondered if I had any suggestions.

“Certainly,” I replied.

Fill your food basked with goodies then take it to any Ford, Chrysler or GMC dealer with a note to send it to the company CEO. Those poor CEOs are begging for grocery money (they want 235 Billion dollars) from Congress. Poor guys don’t know that to get government food they need to fill our an application at the Food Stamp office instead of pestering Congress. Or they could apply at the Salvation Army.

I have a problem giving money to people who make more than I do.

I can see giving to people poorer, but giving to people richer doesn’t make much sense to me.

Of course I need to temper my resentment with the idea that perhaps we should all go a little hungry so that none may starve.

Anyhow, after my taunting the lady who called, I gave her the name and address of a family of recent immigrants with several children; Both mom and Dad were professional people in their own country, but here they both work menial jobs and are having a rough time making ends meet.

The second phone call came from my youngest son, Donald. He’s recently acquired a webcam and decided to become a film producer. He said he wanted me to star in a webcam film for the internet.

I told him that I will not undress on camera—that’s the only webcam stuff I know, but he assures me there are other kinds of films.

He brought his equipment over Saturday morning and filmed me (fully clothed) telling the Christmas Story.

Donald is editing the film and will post it online in a day or two. I’ll post a link when he does.

Our middle daughter, eve, invited Ginny and me Christmas shopping in Waldo with her and her husband, Mark. The little town of Waldo, about 70 miles from Jacksonville, hosts a gigantic farmer’s market and flea market where, on acres of ground, vendors gather on weekends to sell everything from turnips to jet turbines. Used furniture, lamps made of artillery shells, live chickens, antique bells, dolls, knives, flags, used clothing, pots, cement fish ponds—anything they scrounge and think might sell.

I proudly announce that I did not buy a copy of Michael Angelo’s statue of David, nor an Egyptian mummy case, nor olive jar fragments from a 16^th Century Spanish shipwreck, not…

One of my besetting sins is to buy any nick knack that strikes my fancy at a garage sale of fleas market. With Mark and Eve, I enjoyed browsing in this wonderland of junk but I resisted buying. I’m proud of me.

The kids wore out of shopping and left early. Ginny and I continued viewing crystal door knobs, Indian pottery, chenille bedspreads, swords, stuffed animal heads and other treasures.

One small problem:

Ginny drove, I navigated. I mean there are only two roads, so what could go wrong?

I told her where to turn.

We drove and drove.

After about 30 miles, Ginny finally realized that I had her driving south instead of north.

Ooops.

My mistake.

Do you know what she said about my goofed directions?

“This has been a really beautiful drive, Honey”.

Not one other word.

See why I love her so.