Posted on November 1, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

                                         ( Printed with permission from LAMD )

There’s only one thing scarier than Halloween night and that is spending time in Walmart the day after Halloween.  I’m a small town guy and I still haven’t quite adapted to big box stores.  As a matter of fact I don’t do particularly well in small stores either.  In other words, I’m not much of a shopper.  I can occasionally be found in the aisles of the local five and dime, a throwback to an earlier era when customer service and quality North American products were the norm.  The only other stores I spend any amount of time in are the supermarket, sporting goods retailer and book store – another entity facing extinction.

And yes, once a year, I make my pilgrimage to the big city to Moores Clothing for Men.  The people at Moores know and love and feast on men just like me.  They know we would rather have a root canal without freezing or dengue fever than to shop for anything, especially clothes.  I walk through the doors and tell them what I want, how much I have to spend and how long I am prepared to wait.  And, presto, I’m usually out the door in fifteen minutes, toting a few bags and, get this, hemmed pants.  The lady who lurks behind the curtain, a seamstress at the rear of the store, must be a distant relative of Houdini.

So here I am facing the Walmart greeter with a solitary pursuit – a bag of kitty litter.  You see, later today we leave for vacation and this is on the critical “to do” list.  We all know what it’s like trying to get out of town for a holiday.  You usually have six hours in which to complete twelve hours of tasks.  Getting chores done efficiently and promptly are paramount.

I would rather have my teeth flossed with a band saw than go into a big box store.  These stores have a penchant for confusing shoppers like me.  I have a better chance of navigating a corn maze while intoxicated than finding anything in Walmart.  After a few false starts I find the aisle with the kitty litter and miraculously, in less than five minutes, I am nearing the checkout lines.  I size up the situation and it is clear to anyone, that the short line, the line for speed and precision is number 4.  There are only two people in this line and one has just checked out.  The lady in front of me has nothing on the conveyor belt so I’m guessing that she’s picking up the National Enquirer or some chewing gum.  Checkout number 6 has several serious looking shoppers, a lineup to be avoided at all costs.  At this rate I will have achieved my quest – door to door in world record time.

Lineups are peculiar things.  When you are in a big hurry you will always choose the wrong line.  Always. I lift the box of unscented, clumping kitty litter onto the belt and wait to have my purchase rung in.  Unfortunately, the lady in front of me has cleverly concealed twenty half-price Halloween costumes over her arm.  She and the clerk are obviously friends and co-conspirators whenever they see a man in the lineup.  One by one, the costumes are laid out, scanned, fondled and commented on as if they were among the castoff wardrobe of Scarlett O’Hara.  Fifteen minutes later the torture session ends.  Of course, by this time, the other lineups are long gone and those people are starting their vacations early.  And when they finally open the third checkout, I am nearly trampled to death by the people behind me.  When I tender my $7.49, I am the only person left in ANY of the lineups.

As I am leaving the store, the thought crosses my mind.  I wonder if it’s possible to toilet train a cat.

Posted on October 31, 2013 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

“Heat Wave” was a smashing success and the good news is that I survived unscathed. I received a lot of feedback on my website, on Facebook and out on the streets. Several women told me about some of their “episodes” in regards to their spouses. What a hoot.

I have three new stories more or less ready to go. One has a sports theme ( A Fall to Remember ); one is political satire – Question:  how do you get a skunk out of a window well? Answer: offer him a Senate appointment. Politicians and skunks all neatly wrapped up into a lovely piece called ” Something Smells.” The last story has to do with our love affair with cars, especially cars that reduce our carbon footprint. I was chatting with a friend who was regaling me with a story about her purchase of a hybrid vehicle. This brought back vivid memories ( notice I didn’t say fond memories ) about the first time a drove a hybrid. It was a rental and if you don’t know anything about hybrids, just getting them to start can be problematic. Coming soon… ” Hybrid Hysterics.”

And Facebook continues to deliver juicy story ideas along with a thousand recipes. One person was lamenting ” student discount days” at the grocery store, equating it with Saturday night at the pub.

Earlier today I was visiting a bank in Port Hawkesbury where they don’t know me and they offered me the senior’s chair at the counter. THANK GOD. I’ve arrived. The only thing that would have made it better was if it was cheque day. I missed it by one day. I was waited on by a lovely lady and it was only near the end of the interview did I confess to being a writer of humor stories. She seemed terribly concerned about whether I would “out” her. Luckily, Mary didn’t give me her last name! When she passed me a document to be signed, it got mixed up with the invoice from the company that shreds documents. What I received was a “certificate of destruction.” How can I not write about this.

Speaking of Port Hawkesbury, I will be doing a book launch there on Thursday, December 12th. at 7:00 p.m. in the Shannon Studio at the Civic Centre.

Exactly one year ago, I wrote a story about a trip I made to Walmart the day after Halloween. It is only fitting that I release it on Friday…. the day after Halloween. It is a theme that you’re probably tired of but it’s about me, shopping, lineups and checkouts. It’s called ‘ “Of Ghosts, Goblins and Checkout Lines”

And then it’s off for a little R@R.

Posted on October 29, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

“Whenever I’m with him

Something inside starts to burnin’…”

Heat Wave by Martha &the Vandellas

I can remember very clearly, twice in my life, the moment that I felt I would spontaneously combust from overpowering heat.   Anyone who has ever run the Highland Games 5 mile road race knows that, without fail, it is always stifling hot the afternoon of this particular race held in July each year.  When you enter and exit The Landing, it is like immersing yourself in a sauna. One year it was so bad that the Fire Department parked the pumper truck beside the race course and turned on the hoses to cool down the runners.

The second time was just a few years ago when the temperature soared into the 90’s at the Boston Marathon.  Only the generosity of the million good souls along the route enabled runners to make it to the finish line.  The spectators provided mist tents, water cannons and garden hoses all along the way to keep us from overheating.

That’s all well and good.  But what if you’re a woman and you don’t have a million people to help you or the fire department is not readily available when a hot flash hits you at two in the morning?

Menopause manifests itself in many different ways.  It is a natural process and part of maturation.  Men, take my advice.    Show compassion, demonstrate understanding … and give the woman in your life a very wide berth.

It somehow seems appropriate that I am writing this advice column for men just after Fire Prevention Week.

If your wife suddenly disrobes in the middle of the night, do not think for one moment that love is in the air.  There is a very good chance that if you suggest anything romantic you will be visiting the first aid kit in short order.  A woman in the throes of a hot flash wants nothing more than to be cooled down, so unless you are running an ice bath for her, say nothing and do nothing.  Roll over to your side of the bed and pretend that you are dead.  Because, if you say the wrong thing, you just may find yourself in exactly that condition.

I know of what I speak.  My lovely wife is currently maturing like a good bottle of scotch while, in her eyes, I am regressing; like a bottle of beer left on the counter too long.   A “change of life” for men typically involves sports cars and younger women.  Instead of chasing after women I decided to pursue them in a different way… running marathons.  And my idea of a sports car is our five year old Yaris.  Add to this a new writing career and voila – my mid-life crisis, à la carte.

Menopause is an interesting term.  Those of us intimately acquainted with it know that it comes from the ancient language of the Amazon women meaning “take a break from men”.  Sometimes men in general, sometimes one man in particular.  Man-o-pause.

Now is the time for women to enjoy time with the grandchildren … or with that bottle of Nova 7 at the back of the fridge.  That course that she always wanted to take?  Go for it – and make sure that the other participants are also women of a certain age.  Who said that learning can’t be fun?  Hopefully the forty-something male instructor is enjoying himself too.

Many of my female friends are in that age range.  They don’t need to explain anything.  Occasionally their eyes well with tears or their cheeks suddenly become flushed when I am speaking to them.  I never had that effect on women when I was a teenager and my deep suspicion is that nothing has changed. And when they tear at their blouses and start flapping the collars, to the point of levitation, I know that this is not some ancient mating ritual.

Menopause.  The pause that refreshes.

Always a hot topic.