Scattershooting while wondering whether it is now a State Law in Oklahoma that the Sooners are not allowed to play defense.
I remember when a trip into town used to be fun stuff. Today I picked up my artificial arm from one repair place and had some work done on my hearing aids at another.
Trust me, you simply have not lived until the hearing aid lady has squished a huge syringe of plastic goop into your ears to make molds. I have no words.
Still, if you look hard enough, even in middle-age, you can find many things to be grateful for.
- I am grateful that I only need to see the doctor because of Campylobacter and not because my prostate needs to be rotated again.
- I am grateful that New Zealand — a lovely Second World country with First World Hobbits — did not, on any frequency, broadcast the Cotton Bowl.
- I am grateful that I did not get to watch the Cotton Bowl at the Sky Tower sports bar, where I was assured “gridiron” would be aired, because, about mid-way through the second half, I probably would have been sitting next to this guy about 300 feet up.
- I am grateful that, after I had spent two hours today cutting back trees and bushes under the hot New Zealand sun, that I had returned the very sharp lopper to the shed before the GM Finance started fussing at me for cutting stuff.
- I am grateful that the two times this week I stepped on dog poop they were cute, little Crack Puppy poops, rather than mooseloads… But I still miss the Moosedawg.
- I’m grateful that, even though I am becoming more forgetful and bionic by the day, I am pretty sure I could move back to the States and get a defensive scholarship at OU.
- I’m grateful that I can make people laugh, although, for the life of me, I cannot understand why my Chinese relatives still double up in laughter on the rare occasion when I try to say something, anything, in Chinese. (You’d think after 30 years I could say something.)
- I am grateful that we will soon inherit another doglette (he is the ‘mule’ on the right) when my sis-in-law goes on mission work in East Timor.
- I am grateful that not a single teen-age sales clerk this Christmas referred to me as “that old felluh”, like last year.
- And I am really, truly, and eternally grateful that the hearing aid lady with the syringe of ear goop did not go anywhere near my prostate.