“Is it dinnertime yet?” inquires the persistent Mister Boo. “How about now? Now? NOW? NOW!!!”
My suffering knows no bounds. Herself is tormenting me from Hawaii with still photos of snorkeling, videos of playing bikini-clad footsie with the Pacific, and tantalizing tales of fresh fish, guacamole made from homegrown avocados and free drinks.
Meanwhile, packed like a sequence of overstuffed Irish bangers into pants, socks and long-sleeved shirt I wrangle Elly Mae’s critters, burn my brand onto some wandering word count and push a whole passel of pixels in the service of what passes for bicycle journalism in these parts. There has been little free time for tomfoolery in the ocean Bibleburg does not border or the eating of the avocados it does not grow.
As novelist Thomas McGuane had a leathery 60-year-old rancher put it in “Nothing But Blue Skies,” “Why does the Lord want me to serve him in this way?”
Who knows? The Lord works in mysterious ways, or so I’m told. So do I, although the mystery lies mostly in why anyone would offer me work. Or marriage, for that matter. As Richard Pryor once said of himself in “Live On the Sunset Strip,” I am no day at the beach, especially when the beach is there and I am here.
We do have sand, however. And before I reapply nose to grindstone this morning I believe I will go out and run on it, or ride in it.
And you needn’t fear that I’ll be doing it in a Big Tex-style banana hammock, either. I ain’t no tri-toad, and anyway, it’s 30 degrees, f’chrissakes. Oh, to be a son of a beach instead of the other thing.
Tags: Hawaii, Herself, Thomas McGuane
Mad Blog Media 
October 8, 2012 at 10:41 am |
Sounds to me like the critters have you just where they want you; laboring to pay for and produce the food, then serving it up on demand. I can just imagine the conversation. Turk: Who’s gonna wake him up at 5:30 tomorrow morning? Mia: Not me, I did it yesterday, and it took a 12 hour mid-day nap to catch up on my beauty sleep. Mister Boo: I’ll take it. I have to get him up anyway to let me out to pee. I’ll just add the food whine on.
October 8, 2012 at 9:27 pm |
It may be 30 degrees there and Herself is in Hawaii but you have Boo and the kitties to keep you warm….
October 9, 2012 at 6:24 am |
Boo’s plea reminds me of Krusty the Klown’s immortal “Mt Splashmore” song:
[audio src="http://www.talkingwav.com/simpsons_songs/simpsong_23.wav" /]
October 9, 2012 at 2:31 pm |
Avocados? That is something I miss, as I just will not pay the ridiculous prices they get for ’em in the supermarkets in Iowa. Probably because to most Iowans guacamole is that stuff sold in the plastic tub in the deli section…AGGHHH! Last time we lived in SoCal the shack we rented had a huge avocado tree in front. When we signed the rental papers we inquired about “avocado rights” and were assured we could have as many as we could harvest. I was down at the local home-improvement joint straight away to get one of those long-armed pickers! Traded those babies for quite a few favors during the short time we lived there, besides enjoying way-too-many of ’em.