From Bonnie and Clyde to "Bonnie and Clyde" and Back Again!

Back in 1934, tens of thousands of people showed up for the funerals of Bonnie and Clyde. Similar numbers showed up to view the body of John Dillinger just a few months later. (He was dead at the time, as well.) Only three years earlier, Al Capone was sent to prison. Not sure how many visitors he had.
America's perverse idolatry of Wealth has had numerous and, shall we say, interesting effects on the nation's moral compass--at least as portrayed in the tabloids, scandal sheets, Hollywood, and (of course) Sunday morning church bulletins.
Before we legalized insane redistributions of wealth through the lottery system, poor folks' fantasies hung their hats on the occasional embodiment of the legendary Robin Hood figure to tip the scales of injustice, so to speak. Rags to riches stories were great, but there was nothing better than some thug sticking it to The Man and sharing the wealth at the same time. It also struck a chord in another twisted American "virtue": If the inherent inequalities of the economic and judicial systems can't be eradicated, just give us vengeance. ("If Jesus ain't comin' back in my lifetime, at least let me see rich folk get what's comin' to 'em!") 
I have mentioned before that, in America, one's moral vision is usually connected to one's station in life. in other words, "How much morality (or immorality) can I afford?" I also posited that the morality/immorality of the very rich and very poor are strikingly similar, for they both flaunt middle class conventions (the bedrock of American greatness) with reckless disregard. The rich can because they can afford lawyers and have nothing to fear. The poor can because they've got nothing, hence nothing to lose. Both can embrace a brand of nihilism (again, "...at least as portrayed in the tabloids, scandal sheets, etc...") that finds its greatest expression in phrases like, "Life sucks, then you die". It's also been in more well-received phrases like, "Me first!", "Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps!" and "Looking out for number one!" 
[I saw a coffee mug in a store that said, "World's Greatest Dad" on it. It was on a shelf with twenty more that were just alike. As usual, I'm thinking that most people don't see the irony there. I mean, if you bought one of those mugs, logically, you would have to buy ALL of them. Otherwise, you'd be sending that great dad a mixed message--if he was paying attention, that is. I'm guessing that people who buy such articles probably had miserable childhoods. For in America, we revere the Ideal, pay homage to the Ideal rather than the Reality, in family matters as well as politics.]

Oh yeah, moral compass. 
If you've been paying attention for the last forty years or so, let's say, you've noticed a rather dramatic shift in the moral compass of the middle class, although the Sunday morning church bulletin is largely unchanged. The vices-turned-virtues of Selfishness and Greed have opened (once again) entirely new vistas for self-improvement, self-satisfaction and self-realization while overshadowing, if not obliterating, old-fashioned ideas such as self-control and self-respect. At the same time, another liberalism was proposed: the U.S. Constitution originally was built upon the notion of the primacy of the individual rather than the dignity of the individual, and all the rights and freedom such dignity deserved. Suddenly, people in the public square were perfectly comfortable talking about "my rights", "my freedoms", "my money", "my tax dollars", etc. It wasn't coded language, by any stretch of the imagination. It was a bold assertion that life was nothing but competition amongst socially isolated individuals, survival of the fittest. Humans' understanding of themselves as a part of a whole--a family, a clan, a community, a nation was no longer seen as the result of random chance or unavoidable Fate, but as a choice. Because we belonged first and foremost to our self, we were free to attach our self anywhere we chose. More importantly, we could unattach our self from any form of commitment we felt was arbitrary or contradictory to our self-ish whims (now called "rights"). In other words, traditional values became obsolete because we were not around to help decide what these "traditions" should be.
As a lover of irony, I would be remiss to point out that this vehicle of the unattached self, turning its back on an intrusive past, concerning itself only with its own desires, has become the vision, the poster child, claimed by those calling themselves "conservatives". As I take a moment to laugh out loud, the idea pops into my head that walking to Mars is less of a delusion than the success of such a vehicle in achieving anything but the end of any society that it infests. If we remove any ephemeral statistics that contain dollar signs and look instead at the glaring consequences of ignoring our unavoidable dependence on each other and our environment, we have no choice but to admit defeat.
And, lest you get a little cocky, absolving yourself from this mindset, be aware that this self-centered view of Reality is very insidious. Knowing of its existence and deleterious effects does not exclude one from absorbing and implementing many of its thoughts and habits. For in very simple terms what it boils down to is putting one's wants ahead of someone else's needs.

The story of the little boy throwing the starfish he finds washed up on the beach back into the ocean is germaine here. Asking whether or not he realizes that he can't rescue all the starfish on all the world's beaches is unimportant and clouds the reality of our situation. The real question is, "Why has the man who asks this question given into Despair?" Absolute freedom, ironically, leads only to Despair. The opposite of Despair is Hope, and that is where salvation lies. The self-centered human cannot conceive of the need for Hope, because, by definition, Hope speaks of the immeasurable limits of the individual, of our very real need for others.

In 1969, Bonnie and Clyde were resurrected by Hollywood. Between their funerals and the opening night galas was a little event called "World War Two". And during those intevening decades between machine gun blasts in Europe and Asia and machine gun blasts on the silver screen, mass media helped Americans get their moral compass back. New and cherished traditions sprung up. Suddenly, the nuclear family instead of the extended family became the norm. Rosie the Riveter was domesticated and learned again how to sew and bake. Children's cheeks never looked rosier, come to think of it. Might made right and ruled the day. Law and order was black and white. Justice was blindfolded, but as we suspected, She was peeking under her blindfold.
And then Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway appeared, and cursed and drank and smoked and robbed and killed and fornicated, all to thunderous applause. Tens of millions lined up to witness their demise, many, no doubt, staying in the theater to watch it again!  If they weren't celebrities before the film appeared, they were now. The outrage of middle class morality against this kind of decadence was swift and predictable. A Pandora's Box of pestilence had been opened, and it would take the moral conviction of all Americans to shut it tight.

Today, the battle to shut the Box continues, but it's tent has widened considerably. Think: Westboro Baptist.
Oddly, there was one disease that remained unnamed by the great, silent, moral majority. And that is "Celebrity". In this video age, celebrities flood the airwaves and the Internet, blooming and dying as if  in time lapse photography. So, the "original" Bonnie and Clyde might have been celebrities during their heyday, they might even have been immortalized, but they are not godlike the way celebrities quickly became in the years after Mr. Barrow and Ms. Parker succumbed to the effects of numerous bullet holes.

Whether lining up for a funeral or a film, or crowding around a TV to watch Super Bowl commercials, the impulse is the same: people watching the Unfettered cavort in a world that bears no responsibilities, hence no consequences. The coffins that held the remains of Bonnie and Clyde might as well have been mansions in the Hollywood hills. Eternal life in America finds no better articulation than the numerous handprints on the sidewalk outside Grauman's Chinese Theatre. 

Today, the battle to shut the Box continues, but only when its soldiers can fit it into their busy schedules. Meanwhile, they too watch the Unfettered of All Ilks (UAI) cavort not only on the silver screen but in the halls of legislatures and in glitzy pulpits all across this land. As Christopher Lasch pointed out forty years ago, we once admired a person's character, but now it is Personality that we crave. And what is Personality, after all, but the unfettered Self descending from Mount Olympus, carefully nurtured and cultivated, giving the appearance of someone who has it all, who has always had it all. Always will.

Speaking of "Pandora's Boxes", it appears that I have opened one of my own. And, in splended mixed metaphor style, I have only scratched the tip of the iceberg! Yes, I recognize that this is a rather superficial examination of the madness of American ideals and realities. But here 'tis.

Facebook Posts from September 2018

At the end of August last year, I returned to Facebook against my better judgment, which is usually what brings me the most success. In another attempt to force you to become my dutiful minions, I'm posting old Facebook stuff on my blog rather than post any new nonsense on Zuckerberg's cash cow. 
See how many allusions you can figure out. When I talk about a grown man who enjoys acting like the playground bully and, in the words of numerous conservative writers, has single-handedly destroyed the office of the President, you'll probably guess who that is. There's also allusions to the weather and political intrigue in the nation's capital. Mostly, it reflects the madness of the times, and the insanity in some folks that such madness can create.
Feel free to leave comments. And, if you notice any typos, please pass that information along to me.
Zuckerberg's own minions tell me that my account will be deactivated soon after the Labor Day weekend. Labor? That reminds me...The first time I went with Anne to see the OB-GYN, he asked her when the contractions started. I said, "With the invention of the apostrophe!"
Yeah, don't mess with an English major!

And away we go...

OKsolike...
(In case you're wondering)

I'm still teaching out at the juvenile prison. After three years, I finally have another certified teacher working in the "Intensive Treatment Program" with me. We're still housed in the lockup unit, just down the hill from the main school. Another certified teacher? That's good news. The bad news is she's a math teacher, so I don't get to teach math anymore. And while every day I enjoy working with these young men, being at a juvenile prison serves as a constant reminder about the lousy, horrible, pathetic way was as a nation treat those who are marginalized, for whatever reason. Ask yourself: if you were abandoned by your parents at the age of seven, if you were allowed to run the streets at the age of nine, if your mom asked the probation officer if the system could keep you until you were forty, if your father were murdered in a drive-by shooting...how would that make you feel? What would be the priorities in your life? What obligation would you feel toward those around you?

I'm not going back to edit this and shape it up nicely. It's kind of a rant. Rants should be harsh-sounding. Perhaps in a Slavic language. Or with lots of aluminum foil...

***

One day, I would like to be able to assist an egret by opening a door or window so that it might escape. That way, in telling the story to others, I can use the word "egret" and the word "egress" in the same sentence.

What next? Glad you asked!

Timbales and tamales.

And then, the most obvious:

Oak and breathtaking views.

A cube has six sides; a rube, only one.

A Rubik's Cube has nine square panels on each side.

I am starting with the yellow side (in honor of the color yellow).

Consider this post "Panel #1, Yellow". Or, "If Jackson Pollock typed instead of painted".

(I borrowed most of this from an old episode of "Ironside". Or possibly from my neighbor.

Parentheses closed.

Or m(or)e.

***

Long before we Baby Boomers got stoned on pot, we got stoned on TV. A gateway drug that seemed perfectly safe and perfectly legal...

"Good evening, officer!"

"Hey, kid--what you got sitting there on that backseat beside you?"

"Twelve inch black and white, officer. My mom said I could take it over to Jimmy's house tonight."

"OK, but you kids be careful. I hear Anita Bryant's got a new commercial for orange juice that can be pretty powerful!"

"Tropicana Orange, outta Miami, right?"

"So, you've already heard. You are some hip kids."

In the midst of the current opiod crisis, I think it prudent on my part to point out another unrecognized narcotic: consumerism. It's not a gateway drug like television. (Have you ever had to talk someone down after eight hours of binge watching?) But it is a gateway. To Perdition. But what a beautiful, glorious hell hole it is! And well-lit, too...

***

My tombstone: "I guess you didn't get my text".

***

SUCRETS.

Need I say more?

As a young child, I imagined Hell to be the place where, as soon as you finished one SUCRETS, another was popped into your mouth. Even when my mom started buying the cherry-flavored ones, I still had the urge to run to the bathroom, shove the dog to one side, and drink straight from the toilet. And, what was that original flavor? DDT?

I remember our folks talking about castor oil in much the same vein--as something solely intended to make you think twice about telling an adult that you were sick. Life was easier for our kids, though. If they complained, we'd just make them watch Barney, the Purple Dinosaur. (Their therapists assure us that the damage done is not as massive as they made it out to be.) And kids today? Don't get me started!

***

Facebook is asking me to "Add Bio".
But my schedule is already full, and I'm only doing electives from this point on!

Hippie doctor, making the rounds, checking up on all the squares. Magic rhombus in his pocket. At least, that's what Lady Bird told LBJ happened in her dream.

***

What have I learned over the last couple of years? (Not from personal experience but perosnal observation.) Two things: the only thing worse than being poor in America is looking poor. And, being poor is getting more and more expensive every year.

***

Hand crank ice cream churn. Hand crank pencil sharpener. Hand crank Google. Put on any record album. Turn the hand crank backwards and you will hear Anita Bryant propose to Pat Boone. In the days before he was drafted by the Pittsburgh Steelers. Or was it the Village People?

***

Sugar cone or waffle cone? Uncertain. What is certain is that there is no school tomorrow. One highly paid weather talker said that when the hurricane makes landfall, it will disperse energy the same way that a figure skater...disperses energy. The meaning of that statement clearly belongs in the cone of uncertainty.

***

After half a century of mass culture's decline into decadence and depravity, why is it a surprise that when we scrape the bottom of the barrel, we find out that he lives in outrageous luxury? Knows nothing about the religion he claims to embrace? Know nothing about the Constitution he has sworn to uphold?

To justify and rationalize indolence, selfishness and indifference, Americans have had to make willful ignorance a new kind of intelligent. (Willful ignorance, of course, is a polite way of saying "Stupid".)

Orwell was worried that the State would strip away all freedoms if people weren't vigilant. Aldous Huxley, on the other hand, predicted that people would gladly give away their freedoms for any and all pleasures that anesthetized or distracted.

Will Stormy Daniels seek to garner the support of evangelical Christians should she choose to run for office in the years to come? Wouldn't surprise me.

Kyrie eleison.

***

Pulled Garry Wills' book about religion and politics in America, "Under God", off the shelf and opened it to the bookmarked page. The chapter is titled, "With Ladies Present", and Wills begins the chapter by trashing the grand dame of moral outrage, Robert Bork. I'd forgotten just how much fun (and how enlightening it is) to read Garry Wills.

***

Kmart sent me an email inviting me to "turn it up"! How did they know that Anne and I were just talking about the possibility of getting hearing aids?

KMART!!!

I'm a marked man...

***

If Snoop Dogg can help a very nice looking young African-American man win $50,000 on his game show, Joker's Wild, why can't a buffoon bully sit in the Oval Office? Would we be at all surprised to see the clown from "It" strolling on the set, singing "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" while buttoning his cardigan?

Up is the new down and

Happiness is a warm gun and I have

nothing more to say.

But that's never stopped me before...

***

A new kind of Stupid. I know it's not that new, but they seem to be upping the ante with each storm. The body language--intentional or not--says it all: WTF am I doing out here? What is there that I couldn't be telling you from a cozy shelter?

And what's next? Will celebrity weatherman Al Roker be dropped into the eye of a hurricane from a plane flying overhead? Would there then be a televised benefit concert to raise money for his grief stricken family? A new reality TV show called, "Let's Find Al"?

***

On a whim, I wandered over to the beer aisle and turned over a twelve pack of Coors Light. Sure enough, it still had the FDA warning label: NON-POTABLE BEVERAGE. And yet? And yet? Where is the outrage?

***

Seriously thinking of changing my name to "Anonymous" so that whenever the names of donors are listed, everyone will know who the most generous one is. Humble, too. But "Humble" doesn't really work as a last name, does it?

***

It's almost here!

The much anticipated "Trophy Trophy Show"! Finally! An award show that acknowledges and honors all the other awards shows!

"Trophies"--as they will be called--will be handed out in 37 different categories, including "Best Host: Male", "Best Host: Female", and "Best Host: Other". And, in an unprecedented move, "The Trophy Trophy Show" itself will have entries submitted in all 37 categories in anticipation of having an incredible first show! Recently leaked rumors reveal that the hosts of the inaugural show will consist of eighteen characters named "Sheldon", ranging in age from a nine month old baby (that babbles and drools) to a 92 year old man (who also babbles and drools). Another leaked rumor (that was quickly quashed) suggested that the original name for the trophy was going to be "Cofveve", but the executive producers thought that such a name would suggest that the trophy was pointless and/or meaningless.

***

Who knew that there were schools for cathedral statuary? I stuck my head in the door of the first grade class. Absolutely adorable, those cute little garboys and gargoyles!

***

In the process of becoming a published haiku writer (which is, amazingly, ranked Number 23 on the list of the world's most dangerous occupations), I've learned lots of do's and don't's.

Do: focus only on Nature.

Don't: give your poem a title.

This one (509), from last summer, breaks both of these rules.

"American History: A Hit List"

Divine right of kings

killed by democracy. Next?

White man's divine right

The Great Bloviater pointed out that many women support his nominee for the Supreme Court in this "he said/she said" drama that is unfolding before us. This should come as no surprise. For an enormous segment of the non-male population, the default mode is still unquestioning deference to males, particularly white males. What I find even more shocking is the number of non-white males who still think that "white guys" should be given the final say on any and all pressing issues, something I witness firsthand almost every day.

When the dust finally settles (which is a lovely euphemism for the calm after a massive conflagration), the greatest beneficiary of the end of white privilege and male dominance will, I believe, be the white male himself--a true irony if ever there was one!

No more twisted mental gymnastics needed to make our own corrupted worldview sound like a healing balm for the masses, like calling slaughter "salvation" or domination "liberation". No more delusional belief that, "if I think it or do it, it must bear the irrevocable stamp of approval from my Creator because, hey, we think alike." (Pretty cool coincidence, huh?) In other words, the kind of mental health, serenity, and lucidity that can, indeed, be a healing balm for all people.

***

IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN I WASN'T SURPRISED!!!

***

What if Atticus Finch interrogated Lance Armstrong when allegations about doping first surfaced? What if Atticus Finch specialized in "He said/She said" law? I'm guessing that "He said" would still win out. 

Why do white men keep blowing it for white men?

***

Acrimony is the medium of exchange before divorce. Alimony, of course, is for afterwards.

***

When politicians of a certain proclivity talk about traditional values, they speak as if these values are universal and timeless. That family unit, for example. When the traditional family is paraded in front of us--on TV or in the movies--it is almost the nuclear family, parents and children. You know, the Cleavers and Huxtables and all the other family units. Well, except one family, which clearly was not formed as a result of World War Two suburbanization, but was the true traditional family--the extended family.

Of course, I'm talking about the Clampetts: father, son, cousin, 

and Granny. They were so much more aligned with what the family unit has been for centuries. And, like millions of pioneers before them, they headed west, looking for the Eden that lay just east of the Pacific Ocean. So...

Would it be so far fetched to call Jed Clampett of "The Beverly Hillbillies" the "20th Century Father Abraham of America"?

Clampetts vs. Cleavers--"Family Feud"

Jed's not the only one scratchin' his head here, and you better believe Granny's cookin' up something!

***

I wonder: are police officers in South Carolina told to holster their weapons if someone shouts out, "Don't shoot! He's white!"

Lest we forget, Officer Michael Slager shot Walter Scott in the back seven times, killing him, because Slager said he "felt threatened". Scott was running away from Slager at the time. It took a FEDERAL JURY to convict Slager because a state jury was deadlocked.

Let me repeat that: a jury of folks from South Carolina in a state courthouse could not convict a white police officer who murdered a black man in cold blood.

(Written in response to a white man who shot seven police officers, but was "taken into custody", a euphemism for the color of his skin.)

Week of August 11

Earlier this week:
I refused the dare to "lick a jicama" on social media.
But wondered if my jicama could get the jiccups.

Mermaids.
I know that you can adopt "washed-up" greyhound racing dogs.
I wonder...is there also a niche for adopting retired mermaids?
Or are they called "mermaid tribute artists"?

Being amazed that you find yourself laughing at a movie or TV show
that you thought would be pointless or boring or inane:
I guess you could all that "snicker shock".

The teacher yelled out: "Name an instrument that you don't have to tune!"
I replied: "A scalpel!"

As we approach the middle of August, a quick tabulation reveals that I am closing in on 300 haikus for the year. That's a little more than the number of "mass shootings" in the United States this year.
I wondered what, exactly, a "mass shooting" was, seeing as how we're about thirty weeks into the year, and we're averaging about ten a week. How many have made the national TV news, the final arbiter of what's "really" going on each day? Obviously, far, far less than that.

If you check out the websites, it appears that anytime four or more people are shot in one event, it's called a "mass shooting". I think that's sweet, because a lot of minimum requirement mass shootings appear to have happened in the African-American community--either at bars or in the parking lots of apartment buildings. So, in a sense, we have welcomed our black brothers and sisters into the holiest of holies: gratuitous gun violence. (I have no doubt that soon we will see--and hear--the voice of Martin Luther King, Jr. exhorting us to have a dream of driving a new Toyota. Can we call him Marty?)

Then, I wondered.
What if all of these acts of gun violence were committed by Islamic jihadists, hell-bent (but heaven-bound) on destroying the United States? Well, first of all, it's pretty obvious that the number of such mass shootings would never be allowed to reach such astronomical numbers. After a fraction of this number (fifty? twenty? ten?) the mighty arm of American Justice and Vengeance would swoop in and solve the problem. How? you ask. Well, what do you think? To imagine all Muslims being kicked out of the United States is simply ludicrous. I mean, that would include innocent women and children, and we certainly don't...never mind.

So, think again. Incarceration of all Muslims? Probably. Confiscating the guns of all Muslims? That, too. I'm guessing that the 2nd Amendment could be completely ignored in cases of such extreme emergencies, wouldn't you? Wait, aren't we in pretty much that exact emergency right now?
Never mind. Better not go there.

Anyway, there's a monster truck Christmas special coming on in just a few minutes. And the only thing that can stop a bad guy in a monster truck is a good guy in a monster truck. (Spoiler alert?)

"Bring Out Your Dead!" Mayberry-Style

A mortician who doubles as the town's TV repairman. Or is it the other way around? Could this be anywhere other than Mayberry, NC?
Reminds me of Pete Riegert's character in "Local Hero" (1983), where he plays an oil exec from Houston who goes to a small coastal town in Scotland. Wherever he goes, he sees someone he's seen before, but they're doing something different--the bartender fixing fishing nets down on the jetty, for example. He comments on this fact and one of the characters replies, "So, you've only got the one job, eh?"
So many great story lines and one liners for Andy on "The Andy Griffith Show" as well. One episode this morning found the town in a frenzy when a real Hollywood producer comes to scout the town as a possible location for his next movie. At first, the town council is against it. Why? "What if they make fun of us?" Andy says, "Now, what would they see that would make them make fun of us?" The mortician replies, "The way we talk; the way we dress; our tiny, fat mayor." The mayor is sitting right there, but he's too busy enjoying the power of his position to notice. But they give the producer the go ahead because Andy (of course) convinces them. Barney joins in the hysteria by wearing a spanking new uniform that looks like something Dudley Do-Right would wear. He tells Andy there's another one just like it for him to wear, courtesy of the mayor. Andy declines and gives Barney a dressing down, concluding with an order to "get out of that ridiculous uniform...Smokey Bear."
I woke up late this morning and came into the living room to an episode where a moonshiner and his whole family were in a jail cell on CHRISTMAS EVE! An elderly merchant hears festivities coming from the jail and is outraged to see Andy, Barney and Andy's "gal" decorating the jail for the holidays and treating the criminal family as if they were visiting relatives. The merchant, who wears a black suit and a black hat, then goes on a crime spree, hoping to get himself locked up for Christmas. Now, why on earth would he do THAT? Each time he commits a "crime", the townsfolk (except for Barney, of course) come to his rescue.Eventually, Andy (of course) figures it out and hauls the old man in, but only after the fills a suitcase with toys and gifts for incarcerated family at the jail.
I tell this last story because it reminded me of a Frontline episode I showed in class yesterday about the growing number of mentally ill people who are ending up in prison. One mentally ill convict in particular said that he needed to be in prison, and he wasn't looking forward to being paroled. Sure enough, a couple of weeks after his release, he stole a car and told the arresting officers that he was trying to go back to prison. (Of course) this documentary reminded me of what I see every day out at the prison: juveniles who have adopted the institutional mindset--the idea that being incarcerated is their best and only option. Just a couple of days earlier, a juvenile who scoffed at all the advice that the teachers (myself included), therapists, and security officers were giving him because A) he was eighteen, and B) he had it all planned out, was arrested on murder charges. He had been released from the juvenile prison just a few months earlier. I still cannot fathom this institutional mindset--where one feels freest, safest, and most secure in a place that controls almost every aspect of one's life. But then I realized that incarcerated folks are not choosing THE institutional mindset, they are choosing ONE of many institutional mindsets.
If we step back and take an objective look, we might just discover that the "successful life in America" is just another institutional mindset, where we don't have to think about where to live, or what to eat, or what to wear, because advertisers take care of those decisions for us. How many people take a serious look at their lives and say, "Isn't it remarkable that all my desires for my life just happen to have occurred in the minds of the folks on Madison Avenue?"
When we were little, we wanted to overpopulate the planet with ballerinas, astronauts, and cowboys, only because someone dared us to dream. Have we let other people do the dreaming for us? Is a dream job (like mine!) just an easy hoop we jump through so that we can further define ourselves by whatever everybody else is doing? Thoreau said from the moment of birth we are busy digging our own graves. I'm guessing he didn't get invited to very many parties.
Is your life authentic, or on auto-pilot? What does an authentic life look like, anyway? As David Byrne sang, "You may say to yourself, 'My God, what have I done'?" Well. That said, I'm gonna grab another cup of Starbucks coffee while I plan the best time to cut my front lawn, while waving to approving neighbors...

Mom Quotes: The Humor of Bernice Mueller

After another one of my dad's attention-getting, smart-ass comments (thank God it skips generations!), someone asked my mom why she's never thrown anything at him. Without batting an eye, she replied, "Because if I missed him, I might break something valuable!"

From February 16, 2014
Not a Mom quote, but a special memory:
Mom used her liberty pass today. I took the folks to their church in Knoxville for the first time in close to a decade. Mom was overcome as soon as the music started. They both went up for communion and stood the entire time. Before the last hymn, the pastor called them both back up so that he could give them a parting prayer. He then invited people to come up for a laying on of hands while he prayed. About half the congregation came up. That's when I was overcome. As my folks walked up, my dad said, "She may be older than me, but notice who's using a cane!" (He was.) The pastor then said, "Behind every good man, there's an even better woman!" Someone in the congregation said, "Amen!" Yeah, he looked a little bit like me...

Facebook post from December of 2013
Oh, and thanks for all the texts of concern and support. Especially the ones that keep waking me up! It's all about me, remember? Mom kept asking where she was last night which is cause for concern, but nothing new. She kept apologizing to me last night, and I finally asked her why. "Because of the way your father's behaving!" So, there's still hope...

Some time in 2014
So, Mom's getting testy because dinner isn't ready. I tell her that dinner will be ready in two minutes.
"Two MINN-ITTS? Two MINN-ITTS?"
"Mom, are you mocking me?"
"You betcha!"
"Is that why you had kids; just so you could mock them?"
"Yep."
Being 90 has its privileges, I guess...

From my dad's "autobiography", all 130 single-spaced pages...
(While in the Army, for a couple of years or so, my dad was stationed in Kaiserslautern, Germany.)
"For exercise, I played basketball and ping pong. I twisted my ankle (playing basketball) and spent several weeks on crutches. I had a bout of strep throat in the Spring of 1956, so part of that time I watched while they paved our street. Bernice became pregnant."
I read this excerpt to my mom and when I read "Bernice became pregnant", she said, "I did that a lot!"

Some time in 2014, posted on Facebook
Here's your LOL for today: My sweet, lovely daughter went to visit my mom this evening. During their conversation, Laura told Mom that when Anne and I met her boyfriend's parents for the first time, she was nervous. Without missing a beat, my mom replied, "I would too if my dad was your dad!" Thanks, Mom...

From May 2014, posted on Facebook
As my dad's condition worsens, the bad days outnumber the good ones. Mentally, he's still sharp as a tack, but he can't put together more than two or three words at a time. Instead, we play "20 Questions" and hope that we ask the right question. Because he cannot tell us what he wants, he will simply express his frustration by yelling "Help!" or "Help me!" When the aides ask him what's wrong, he'll say, "Nothing."
Well, one of the aides told me last night that she knocked on the doors of the assisted living apartments to remind the residents that it was dinnertime, and my mom came out in the hallway yelling, "Help me! Help!" The aide asked, "Miss Mueller, what's wrong?"
My mom said, "Oh nothing. It seems to work for my husband, so I thought I'd give it a try."
Gotta love that 90 year old mom of mine! "Mueller" has definitely rubbed off on her!