I struggle with struggle. I probably love happiness too much, and conversely, abhor unhappiness to the tune of the stench of that damn fetal pig on our desk 54 years or so ago in Jr. High Biology. Patooey.
I see Political posts, either way, uplifting 'the perfection' of one party, whilst demeaning that 'stench' of the other. It makes me wanna barf, pee on it, throw rocks at it, shower them with powdered sugar.. (Huh? Yeah, we did that in college. If we were PO'ed at someone, we'd sprinkle powdered sugar allover their nice, bright, white sheets right before bedtime...long about 2am, thanks to natural body heat, they'd wake up a sticky, sticky mess.) Too bad you can't throw that crap at Facebook.
See? See? I digress. I see the happiness of dog videos, watch hounds do amazing things, demonstrate unwordly loyalty - then that vision, or 'better yet' taste bud feeling of walking by the City Park Dog Pound as a child. Stench. Patooey. So much greatness within, but the aura of stench, make me wanna vomit, surrounds. It's an up down world I rectum.
So, I've decided to post yummy moments. By posting these moments that bring me joy, happiness, the want to live to be a hunnerd, maybe somehow I'll remind myself life just ain't so bad after all. And- besides, even though (thanks to Medicare) I can go to WallyWorld Pharmacy and get my don't-go-crazy generic meds for four dolla, free is much better.
A firework display. Have you ever laid on a blanket on the 4th of July and watched a firework display and felt the immediate urge to tell your neighbor, boss, Political Party opposite, a person you've relinquished to a 30 day snooze - to Yippee Ki Ya? (Paul Harvey and Die Hard will tellya the rest.) I ain't. I love a fireworks display. It's all right. I don't mean "just ok", I mean it's "ALL RIGHT." I mean, what better than the Finale'? Reminds me of... well.. reminds me of...anudder yummy moment... VICTOR! Relax, I'm talking about that ding from the microwave letting you know 'ready.' Uh huh, sure.
The vivid memory of exactly what Grandma's Christmas Tree looks like. What better? The liquid bulbs.. The popcorn strands we'd sewn the night before begging "can we open just one present, huh canwe?" The pile of presents where their usedta be carpet. Ham, turkey, fat bellies. Cousins, aunts, uncles, granny, grandpa, sibs, folks - all around. Happy. Whenever I feel alone, I hold my head up high and whistle a happy Silent Night or White Christmas, close my eyes, and I'm standing there in 1960 infronta granny's tree.
The comfiest chair at the comfiest time of night, the hound pooch on your lap emoting that endearing "you are my everything" look of thanks. Or, the here kitty kitty on one's lap, giving you that "I am your everything" look seeking thanks. Either works, each comes with smile, laughter, happiness.
Friends. That gathering of friends. Folks roughly same age, you've been thru JFK, MLK, hula hoops, surfer shirts, Beatlemania, "That's one small step for man.." Carson, Leno, Letterman, prepubescence, Hell No We Won't Go, Woodstock, Maynard G. Crebs "WORK!", retirement, this wife, that wife, inlaws, outlaws, kids, grandkids, male stretchmarks (belly dunlapped over).. that. You've shared. They've been there, you too. Maybe golfing, or, for you chickies, a day at Macy's, or maybe a wine venue somewhere. Little joyous things happen.... such as......
Our 99% of the time composed buddy who is having a really shitty day golfing. Long about getting the 6th ball outta his bag, lofting it 45 degrees into the woods on the left, followed shortly by the javelin throw of his 7 iron 45 degrees in the other direction into the woods - and that walk of shame to retrieve once coming to his senses. Ya don't dare say anything, maybe a sheet-eatin grin, but that's all. But then. Victor, you can't start a sentence with but. Butt out. But then, the NEXT time you all gather to play, everyone involved (except the club thrower) is wearing a bicycle helmit for their own safety, but moreso to let said club thrower know what a dumbass he was to display that. Yeah, that, that makes me happy. Friends gathering with friends makes more-bills-than-bank, hemorrhoids, the recent spat with the old lady (I know I know, but when she's with friends she's using the term dumbass, so we're even.) Anyways, friends. Friends is good. Friends is yummy.
Grandkids. When I first got grandkids, it was so awesome (and sure, has continued to be so.) But (there you go again Victor with the but thing)... but, the first few times you have the grandkids on their own, you go to the playground, for Happy Meals, for whatever-in-the-heck they want, BUT, before you go home, you GOTTA buy them chocolate ice cream cones. Cause they drip. Allover. Their hands get sticky. Clothes need laundering, bad. Worth it. Kinda pays you back for all your kid's poopy diapers, all the hours trying to get them outta bed to get their butt to school. All those teenage years that coincide with less hair on one's head. All the times they said "Can you spot me a hunnerd til payday?"... Grandkids. I never wanna say Yippee Ki Yay when I'm with grandkids. Cepting maybe under my breath to their folks. Grandkids = happiness. Maybe even moreso, watching your kids deal with your grandkids when they are doing the same thing to them, that your kids used to do to you. Ahhhhhh, yes. Again, a moment what ya don't necessarily say nuttin, but you offer that shit-eatin' grin. It's wonderful.
Finding a penny, either side up. Tails, ya flip it over and leave it for the next lucky person..heads, you make a wish - put it in your pocket. Only better monetary feeling is putting on a paira jeans and discovering a $20 in your pocket. Yippe Ki Yay.
Music. Oh baby, music. I am not sure if there's a better feel than one alone, with the music of their choice, cranked to the level you want it at. Well, there is that Finale' (mind outta gutter, we're talking fireworks here, and NO, not that kinda fireworks.. BUT.. if my relatives ain't here reading, YES, them kinda fireworks are yummy too!)
So, there's a short list. Fireworks. Christmas. Family. A pet on the lap. Friends. Grandkids. Pennies, making a wish. Music. Only Heaven could maybe be better.
So, I'd better run. Well, I'm 68. I'd better walk away now. Clean the house, damnit. Fill the gas tank, criminy. Grab my umbrella. Stroll thru Facebook, Joe's dementia, Donald's arrogance and conspiracy theories.
Yippee Ki Ya.........
Love, Victurd
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