No Beans About It!

   Once in a while, my wife claims it’s frequently, I fall asleep during our evening TV time together. She doesn’t mind though, as it places my beloved controller back under her power and in her hands. She claims that when my lower lip goes slack, it’s girl-power time, and she can take the controller at-will!

   For the record, I am not sleeping—I am dozing. Sleeping is snoring, twisting, and wiggling about, while dozing is more like going the the refreshment stand at half time. It prepares you for the rest of a long show, and gives one strength to make it down the hall to the bedroom, for the real sleep period. It also provides enough energy to allow one to not sleep in their clothes again. 

   I tell her, I am listening intently but giving my precious eyelids a break. The eye lid is what keeps us humans from starring at the sun, full force, and closes down the brain link periodically to prevent snapshot overload—like when looking at Walmart people photos. It’s important to protect those babies, shut them down, and give them the rest they deserve.

   This whole pre-sleep thing seems to being getting out of hand lately, though, because we have a running battle of whether to wake/arouse me, with her eye lids OPEN command, or let me continue to energize. 

   I say it’s not right to unenergize me to tell me, “It’s time for bed.” Let me alone! My wife says she does it because she sleeps better when I’m in bed with her. This is nice, but insincere, as her body tells the real story when my cold feet hit her warm legs. I’m sure it is an unintended spasm, on her part, but her leg does seem to rocket out to protect her temperature stable spot. She doesn’t see the problem, but I am suspicious as her kicks are getting stronger and are moving up my thigh—I fear the inevitable.

   I have taken to solving the problem though, as any retired engineer would, by preheating my feet. I place a buckwheat-hull bag in the microwave, for precisely two minutes, and then put it at the bottom of the bed, on my side. The heat warms my feet and her heart. 

   However, here is a little life lesson. Anything that was heated in the microwave for supper, let’s just pick baked beans, that might drip, seem to transfer their essence to a foot warmer. Eventually, said transferee will waft out from under the covers. So, if you see our kitchen light on at midnight, you’ll know we just had to have a another plate of beans before going back to bed.


Morning Scare Hair


There is a certain warmth about the morning when the first light of day streams across the bedroom, making shadow ripples on the tossed covers. I rise up to greet the day and I can see myself stretching in the mirror. Hello mirror-me. Weren’t you here yesterday, too? It’s nice to see you back today, but you have to do something about that hair. 

The house is littered with mirrors so mirror-me follows me from to room. It’s ok when he is on my right side, or is it his left, never sure, but the other side is a scary-hairy-day indicator, if there ever was one.

How can sleep take such good care of one side and leave the other side alone? It must be that nighttime stylist at work. Remind me to tip her. Yet The other side seems to be preparing for a part in a Dracula movie, “Watch out kids, see the old man, he’s a scary-hairy-do Dad. That’s it, now scream! Oh, the site of it! The horror! My eyes are burning!” 

If mirror-me would take better care of himself I’d be fine in the mornings. He looks like his left side got caught in a pillow tufting machine, and they had to yank him loose. I’ll bet it’s the dry air of winter. Mirror-me just shock his head up and down in agreement. 

I stood in the bathroom and tried to explain the situation to mirror-me but that only lead to my wife calling the “Crazy Farm,” to see if they have an opening. That doesn’t scare me anymore; I know she has it on speed dial.

Perhaps one of the reflecting surfaces in the kitchen will be more helpful. Either that or I’ll have to get the clippers out. I wonder if that’s why so many older guys have short hair? If I wake up tomorrow and find my hair shortened, I’ll know something is going on in our bedroom? Is that scissors I hear being sharpened? Mirror me’s eyes just got big—

Be a Millionare: Blog for Fun and Profit – Hah

The advertisement said that if I started blogging, I would probably become rich, and I would get lots of new friends. Who wouldn’t want friends with money. If I can get rich from blogging, then how much more must people be making from reading somebody else’s nonsense—oops, blogs. I’m beginning to like this blogging thing, already.

All I have to do is write something—anything. I’m waiting. The page is still blank. My wife suggested I could do the dishes, to get some inspiration, or bring in the trash cans, change the oil— Wow! All of a sudden my mind is a firmament of ideas.

Maybe it’s not the writing itself that brings in the blog-money, perhaps it’s from an indirect source—a therapeutic effect? For example, if it keeps me from going to a shrink, it will be like “money in my pocket.” So, okay I’ll blog.

I have decided to pick a subject, logically (I am an engineer), and I think Daniel Webster would be proud. Thumb the pages.  Let the page-breeze fan my face; then stop! 

I forgot. I am a Ipad user now with only an electronic dictionary. No pages to fan. Therefore, I need an electronic method to select a subject to blog about at random. Something that will be totally new and unusual. I have it. I’ll go to the “T” section of my digital dictionary. My name, Terry, starts with T—this will work. My first name has five letters, so I’ll drop down to the fifth word —TARRY. Argh, defeated before I start!

The best advice and fastest way to learn is to follow the professionals, “get thee a teacher.” I’ll go and read some other blogs, then I’ll know what to write about.

I’m back. I have learned how to properly brew my tea, start a PinInterest site, and have verified that there is little, if any, money in reading blogs.

Maybe, I should pay someone to teach me to blog. But that’s negative-direction cashflow—not my plan. I’m funny, I could write humor pieces. Everybody needs a good, daily laugh. It’s also therapeutic (Thank goodness for autocorrect. You wouldn’t believe how I’ve massacred that word). My wife agrees with humor. She says the way I twitch when I sleep in my chair is hilarious, and my clothes choices some morning would make Walmart people snicker. Okay, dear, I get it.

Out West, in the old frontier, real men challenged the elements to get rich during the California gold rush. But few found enough gold to get back home again. Those who did well were the people who supplied the products the miners needed to find their fortunes. That’s what I will do, be a supplier for bloggers. I shall provide editing service, criticism, whatever support items bloggers need to help themselves get rich.

Forthwith, I now officially start my service. And with the speed of the internet I now have my first official customer. This is exciting!

“What can I do for you Miss? Anything, anything at all.”

“I just need one thing—What should I write about?”