Just a note, the storm has passed

I want to thank all of you who are thinking and praying for us. The eye of Irma came through last night just west of us. It is now north almost out of Florida. When it came through, it was loud. It was noisy and downright scary. Sounded like some kind of monster. Guess it was showing off. There are still gusts. None of us will forget this one for a long time.

Unlike so many, I was fortunate that damage to my property was minimal. Unlike so many near us we didn’t lose power. Now the clean-up begins.

As bad as it was, it could have been a lot worse. If anything, Harvey, Irma, the earthquake in Mexico and the fires on the West Coast are reminders of how little control we have over our circumstances. And they are also reminders how much we need each other. That community is important. These events leave us stunned. So stop and take a moment to be thankful for the blessings we all have. Most of all, we have our lives, our families and our friends. Everything else is just icing on the cake.

Once again, thank y’all.

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God is not dead. He’s moved to Phoenix, Arizona instead.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, then he moved to Phoenix, Arizona. He didn’t have any choice. It was doctor’s orders.

“Look,” Dr. Job said. “You have to get out of Florida. The humidity and the mold and the pollen are killing you.”

“I can’t leave. I can’t sell the house.” God tucked his shirt back into his pants. “This is the worst market I’ve seen since the Romans tried to sell a lot of bad real estate to Attila and the Huns. We all know how that turned out.”

Recently God bought way more house than he could afford. Had financed it with an adjustable rate mortgage, hoping to flip the house and make a killing. At the time, it seemed like a good play. Then the market crashed.

“Then,” Dr. J said. “you’re going to have to find a renter. Maybe your Son can rent it.”

“All he wants to do is go fishing. Him and his buddies. His disciples he calls them. Disciples, hah! Lazy bums more like it. Besides I don’t think I can trust him. Pretty soon he’ll move the homeless in and start a shelter. Don’t know what’s happened to him. I raised him to be a good capitalist and he’s turned into a socialist. Next thing I hear the pope will be taking his side.”

“Kids, I know they’re all alike,” Dr. J said. “Mine wants to be an actor. Run off to Hollywood and be a star. That kid couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag.”

“No appreciation,” God said, “for all the hard work it took to get us where we are today. All my hard work, I only did it for him.”

The doctor handed God a prescription. “All I’m saying,” Dr. J. urged, “if you get another attack like the one you just had, that’s it. No more God. God is dead. It’s the writing on the wall.”

God looked at the prescription. “This isn’t going to cost me an arm and a leg, is it?”

“Nope, it’s a generic. Besides Medicare pays for it.”

“Well, where should I move to?” God sighed.

“Phoenix would be good. I hear housing prices have dropped so much you can get a new house for a dime.”

“That so?”

“Yes, and you’ll be close to the Grand Canyon. I hear the view is downright awesome.”

“You mean in Arizona?”

“That’s the one.”

“I did put a lot of work into that canyon. It would have been a big sinkhole if I hadn’t done my thing. Nice job, if I say so myself. And then there’s those folks in Sedona. They do seem to have a knack for healing. I get a healing and I’m back in Florida.”

“Why do you like Florida so much?” Dr. J wanted to know.

“Oh, the weather’s nice here. Everywhere else it seems to have gotten out of hand. I mean, forest fires, earthquakes, floods, tornadoes. At least, I can see a hurricane coming several days ahead.”

“Sounds like it’s time for a Rapture and a Second Coming. All this weather and the wars and rumors of wars. The Middle East is coming unraveled. Makes me think Armageddon. ‘Course I don’t believe in all that stuff.”

“Oh, you don’t?” God asked.

“I’m Jewish,” Dr. J said. “Reformed, you know.”

God sticks out his hand. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m Jewish too.” The good doctor shook God’s hand. “Orthodox. Do you keep kosher?”

“Did Moses write the Torah,” Dr. J said. “Darn right I keep kosher. But you know it’s getting harder and harder to find a good kosher deli in the neighborhood.”

“Tell me about it.” God put on his coat and straightened his tie. “Seems like everything’s going online. Even the kosher delis.”

As God walked out into the waiting room, he heard the nurse call the next patient. “Mr. Satan, the doctor will see you now.”

God drove straight to the pharmacy. As he waited on his medication, he thought over what the doctor said.

Of course, I’ll have to transfer my job. Hopefully there’ll be an opening in Phoenix. One thing is for sure. If this doesn’t work out and I don’t get any better, I swear on a stack of Bibles I will come back and smite that s.o.b. of a doctor. He thinks he’s seen boils. He ain’t seen nothing compared to what it’ll be like when I’m through with him.

Short Story Wednesday: A Good Man is Hard to Find

Short Story Prompt: “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor

By the time Jimmy Lee’s grandmother rode to Florida with him, she was working on her third husband. She felt that it was another chance to get the husband thing right. But Jimmy Lee knew that his Gran was the kind of woman who would fall for anything in pants if the man threw a smile her way.

Her wandering eye was how she lost her two husbands. If another man smiled at her just right, she could not resist. As soon as they did, she took off after them. Come hell or high water she was going to enjoy the pleasure of that man. In Moslem culture, she’d have lost her head for looking the wrong way at a man who wasn’t her husband. Thank Allah she wasn’t a follower of Islam. She belonged to that congregation known as barely a Christian.

Husband Numero Uno was a jackass anyway. That is a Jack with a capital J, Ass with a capital A. So she didn’t mind foolin’ around on the side. Served him right. Thing was he took her for everything worth taking her for. Jimmy Lee’s mom was the only good thing to come out of that marriage.

Husband Numero Segundo was a preacher she met when finalizing her divorce from Uno. The Reverend Lyle Taggart counseled her right into bed, then into marriage. That was where she got the Barely-Christian from. As she recalled, this husband was as good in bed as he was a-preaching. Unfortunately she got bored in her role as Mrs. Perfect Sunday School. So her eyes began  wondering in the wilderness. But it was a mighty long dry spell. There weren’t that many men in the small congregation of two hundred folks who would give her the smile she was craving. Pretty soon she was craving it something bad.

Then the church got itself a new deacon. Before you know it, she was diddle-dadling with that Deacon. When she took a liking to the Deacon and the Deacon took a liking to her, all hades broke loose in that church she was barely the Christian of. One Sunday that preacher husband of hers looked down from his pulpit like God must look from On High. It was a couple of weeks into her adultery. He pointed his finger right at her and said, “Repent, Woman, or thy name is Jezebel.”

Right then and there she decided Jezebel might be a good name to have. It rolled off the tongue something easy and it was downright Biblical. She stood herself up in that pew, the special one that was reserved for the preacher’s wife and other VIPs. She gave that husband of hers the finger, you know the finger I’m talking about, then she grabbed the hand of her eight-year-old daughter. With that child in tow, she sashayed herself right out of that church. There would be no more praying or Bible studying or singing the praises for her.

Last she’d heard of that second husband of hers he went and married one of the good sisters of that church six months after that marriage was dead and buried. Good riddance to the both of them.

On the trip south to Florida in her grandson’s automobile, she smiled, thinking of the what-for she’d given to those hypocrites that day. It was a real hallelujah, five-star perfect day.

From that time to this, she’d spent running from man to man, looking for Mr. Perfect and mostly settling for less. It was like her mother used to say, “A good man’s hard to find.” Nobody could say she hadn’t tried though. Thing was her wandering eye was ready to settle on one man if’n he was the right man.

She was sure her luck had changed. Her astrologer told her it was written in the stars. He ought to know. He’d laid her life out for her so many times before. She was absolutely certain, as certain as a being can be, that Florida was the place she was about to find a jim dandy of a husband. She’d heard that the Sunshine State was the place a lot of men hightailed it to when their wives passed on to the other side. They went there for a good tan and a new lease on life. She was the very one to give one of them that lease. She wasn’t even going to pass up a younger man if he’s a good ‘un with a fat wallet.

She took a good look at herself in the rearview mirror. She looked ten years younger at least than her true age. And she still had a damned fine figure. She could cougar with the best of ’em. One thing was for sure. She wasn’t about to spend her last days in the poorhouse. She had done that way too much.

There had been a time she’d thought she’d just give up. She’d about given up hope. Finding her a husband she’d be pleased as punch with was almost as impossible as a smarty ass Yankee saying a proper y’all. It couldn’t be done. Then Jimmy Lee came back up from a semester of his cooking school. Cordon Bleu Something-or-Other he called it. He offered to take her to the Promised Land. As they say in church, she was reborn and ready to give that old demon Discouragement a kick in the backside.

Jimmy Lee crossed the Florida-Georgia line on I75 and continued southward. Then he looked Gran’s way and said, “You’re going to love my fiancée, Gran.”

Gran knew she would. Gran was the only family Jimmy Lee had left, his mama and his daddy killed in an accident five years earlier. Going to Florida and school there had been the only way the twenty-year-old could escape his grief. And she knew that he knew how to pick ’em. He’d never go for a girl that didn’t have a good heart. He was a good boy like that.

“And you’re going to like her dad too. Emmy Jo’s dad raised her all by hisself. His wife. the one he calls his one-and-only, she died in a car accident ten years ago. Drunk driver hit her.”

“Sounds like he is a good man,” Gran said.

“The best,” Jimmy Lee said.

How ’bout we stop for some refreshments?” she said. “My legs could use a good stretch.”

So they stopped at a Cracker Barrel. Had themselves a fine meal. Besides the food, it gave Gran a chance to brag on her grandson. And one thing she loved to do was brag on the boy which she did to the waitress.

“You do have a fine looking grandson there,” the waitress responded to her praises. “I’m sure I’d be proud if’n he was mine.”

On the way back to the car, Gran said to the boy, “I sure do like this Florida hospitality.”

Jimmy Lee opened the door for her, then he said, “I knew you would.”

Before she knew it she was in Orlando. There was so much sun out she swore she had never seen so much sun. After a couple of nights settling in at Jimmy Lee’s apartment, it was time for him to take Gran to meet his girl.

The two of them drove up in front of a two-story house with a white picket fence. The kind she’d always dreamed. Jimmy Lee straightened his tie in the rear-view mirror, turned to his Gran and asked, “Do I look okay?” He was as nervous as all get-out in that suit and tie of his.

“You sure do, ” Gran said.

The two got out of the car and walked to the door. Jimmy Lee pressed the doorbell. Before you could say “Hallelujah. Praise the Lord” three times, a tall, gray-haired man answered the door.

“Well, hello, Jimmy Lee,” he said, then asked, “Melissa Sue Maryann?”

“I’ll be,” Gran said and laughed. “If it ain’t the Reverend Lyle Taggart.”

“Jezebel, may you rot in hell,” Tall-and-Gray said, then slammed the door behind him.

Jimmy Lee stood there in front of that door, surprise all over his face. “What was that?” Then his voice turned to anger. “How dare him call my Gran that name.”

“Didn’t I tell you it’s my second name. He give it to me a long time ago. He’s my second husband and he always was a son of a bitch.”

Getting Jimmy Lee away from that door was like pulling a thing glued with crazy glue from another thing. But she did.

Jimmy Lee reluctantly started the car and turned to his Gran and said, regret in his voice, “Guess that’s one girl that won’t be marrying me.”

“I’m sorry,” Gran said. And she was. She really was.

“You know I always thought there was something about that man. He seemed just too good to be true. Seemed to not have one fault.” Jimmy Lee pulled away from the street parking and drove straight toward the stop. When he stopped, he took a deep breath and said, not so much to his Gran but to himself, “Well, there’s more fish in the ocean. I’m sure I can catch a good ‘un sooner or later.” Too bad thing’s had turned out the way they did. He sure liked that girl.

“One thing is for sure. There goes another of my not-so-Mr.-Rights.”

She laughed and laughed and laughed like she hadn’t laughed in years. And Jimmy Lee laughed right alongside of her. They didn’t stop laughing till they were back at his apartment.

Next Wednesday’s Prompt: “Harrison Bergeron” by Kurt Vonnegut.

A Little Bit of History, Or Maybe Not

It was Y2K, the year 2000, and Florida couldn’t seem to make up its mind. Would it be Al or would it be George W? In case you don’t remember Al Gore, he’s the one who done invented the internet and global warming. Who would go on to be sheriff or who would end up on Boot Hill? It was a raucous rootin’ tootin’ shoot-out at the OK Coral. Despite we Floridians’ best efforts, Florida couldn’t seem to make up its mind. Until finally…

What does Kennedy and Bush have in common? Kennedy made his brother Attorney General, Bush made his brother President.

In those long ago days of the two-oughts, Paul McCartney even wrote a song about Osama Bin Laden called “Band on the Run”. And speaking of a band on the run, do you know why all those bunkers in Iraq had sh on their doors. That sh did not stand for Sadam Hussein. It stood for “Shhhh. I’m hiding.”

Now in a former life, I was a rapper. My moniker was N. Cognito and I performed a duet with none other than A. Nonymous. Some of our big hits were “Last Bridge Out of New Jersey (Chris Christie’s Lament)”, “Between Iraq and a Hard Place”, “The Ozone Layer of Love”, and “Mission Accomplished”. My most famous title, however, was “Bushwhacked Blues” about the Bush/Gore duel:

My name is Chad and I have a dimple

I tried to vote but it wasn’t that simple

I gave it a punch and tried that twice

The hole wasn’t there so I asked for advice

“Your vote won’t count less you vote with haste”

Was all they said at the voting place

Got me a lawyer, took it to court

If my vote was to count time was short

So I asked a judge in a big black robe

To tell me that I could have some hope

We had us a trial to protest and all

It looked real bad so hard to call

The judge was cool the trial was fast

He said: “Count his vote the one he cast”

But Katherine Harris* would not certify

Any vote with a hole for the Jewish guy

So off we went to Tallahassee

To get our votes for the presidency

Counted the way they’re ‘sposed to count

For Gore was down but he wasn’t out

Till the highest court in all the land

Ruled that W was a big, big man

And Governor Jeb** down in Florida state

Gave his big bro George some help with fate

It was Christmas time so he gave him a gift

Miami-Dade*** and a nice, big fifth

The whole damned state to Bush it went

Soon he would be the new president

He’s Governor of Texas who struts his stuff

Wears a big hat and he’s tough enough

He’s going up to Washington, D. C.

To be the President of you and me

He’ll charm his way from here to there

Saddam**** and Congress had better beware

He’ll sick Dick Cheney on all those folks

If that don’t work, he’ll dash their hopes

So two-thousand-four I’ll take my mallet

To the voting place to punch that ballot

Hit that hammer and chisel me a hole

That’ll have to count cause it’ll be bold

Though Al and Joe***** they’ll be gone

And George W. will have to stand alone

We’ll stand tall and a whole lot more

We’d have been better with President Gore.

*Katherine Harris. Florida’s Secretary of State.

**Governor Jeb. Jeb Bush, Governor of Florida and George W. Bush’s younger brother.

* **Miami-Dade: south Florida county.

****Saddam: Saddam Hussein, dictator of Iraq.

*****Al and Joe. Democratic Presidential candidate Al Gore and Democratic Vice Presidential candidate Senator Joe Lieberman from Connecticut.

Now that is some mighty fine history, don’t you think?

The Miseries

It’s that time again. Every year about this time I get the sneezes. Better known as allergies. I live in Florida and winter is upon us. Then spring is upon us. Then winter again. Then spring. Again. And all this may occur on the same day. The weather is having a knock-down-drag-out with itself.

The plants die. Then they are reborn. Then they die. Then they are reborn. Happens every year. I see a flower blooming this time of year, I know I am in trouble. Instead of an achy-breaky heart, I get an achy-breaky nose.

They say misery loves company. My sneezes prove that proposition. They come in threes. And I don’t get just an itsy bitsy ah-choo. My sneezes could send a man to Mars. Just one of my sneezes could light up Los Angeles. Too bad I can’t figure a way to can them and sell them. I could make a mint off the utility companies.

In an effort to combat this conflict, I have pulled out the big guns. First it was one medication. That worked for some years. Then I tried another. It worked wonders. I didn’t sneeze. But it upset my stomach. Darn those side effects. Now I have a truckload of a third medication pull up to my front door in January and dump its load into my living room. I know sneezing time is just around the corner. It doesn’t completely stop the itching and the sneezing. All it does is keep it under control.

Soon April will show its pretty face and the miseries will come to an end. Before it does though, the weather will have one final go at me. It will do an April Fool’s. The weather will warm up late in March, then we get another cold snap along about April First. That’s nature saying, “Fooled you.” But I have taken to singing, “Won’t Get Fooled Again”. I’ll double-up on the meds and have one last go ’round. Then I don’t have to sing this song anymore:

It’s Sneezing Time

(Sung to the tune of “It’s Crying Time”, written by Buck Owens, recorded by Ray Charles.)

1.Oh, it’s allergy time again, sneezes gonna leave me

You can see that itchy look in my eyes

You can tell by the way the pollen holds me

It won’t be long before it’s sneezing time

2.Now they say that plants give the world wonder

When they do bud, their blooms they grow

And they say that my sneezing won’t get stronger

What the hell do they think they know?

3.Oh, it’s sneezing time again, sneezes gonna leave me

I can see that in my very stopped-up nose

I can tell by the way my eyes are itching

Won’t be long before sneezes hit my toes.

4.You say gesundheits make me feel better

That’s the way it’s happened every time before

As sure as the flowers bloom tomorrow

Sneezing time starts when plants bloom some more

5.Oh, it’s allergy time again, the sneezes gonna leave me

You can see that itchy look in my eyes

You can tell by the way the pollen holds me

It won’t be long before it’s sneezing time.