” Tomorrow may rain so we’ll follow the Sun.”

Tennessee Williams wrote “snatching the eternal out of the fleeting is the great magic trick of  human existence.”  Who has the sign up sheet for that trick?  How many times have we aspired to carpe diem-and una vita vivere (one life to live) adages that we extracted from the “you never know category?”

Too many times we immerse ourselves in the possibility that second chances happen often. Can we all love better, care more and buoy those in need? 

On the daily we become mired in our own discomforts and try to morph the ephemeral into the permanent. 

So just for today, in a nothing stays the same fashion, lighten your load by adding something grand to change the alchemy of your woes. Catch up with an old friend and really lend your ear. Perhaps enjoy the majesty of a glorious sunset. In the you never know category, we don‘t. Have a great day!

Take Care of Ourselfism kinda day.

Hello, I just dropped in from the 60’s.

And then one day we just stayed in bed, under the covers, eating Hebrew National pigs in the blanket and drinking Whispering Angel.

With so many things on our “to do” list, we are taking a take care of ourselfism, time out day.

In our throw precautions to the wind mindset, we shop for chopped meat and hope our cholesterol levels don’t recognize that our creatively stuffed peppers disguised the meat. We click channels between Turner Classic Movies and the sitcom from the 60’s and 70’s channel MeTv. We look for reruns of Dobie Gillis, I Married Joan,Topper and Leave it to Beaver. We turn back to TCM when The Beverly Hillbillies comes on. Jed Clampett was not a favorite.

Ok, one episode at a time, pre-binging.

In a look in the rear view mirror way we derive comfort in exhuming memories of eating Buitoni ravioli after school before leaving to go to our algebra tutor. Did anyone really need to know what a parallelogram or a quadrilateral was, ever? Can you do the math?

Ah, the simple joy of listening to AM radio and Cousin Brucie, the prototype for the DJ in our Gen-X era.

The glory days when one of our pleasures was listening to the Temptations, cause we were “not to proud to beg” while we waited to be built up by buttercups, knowing at this point it was the “worst that could happen.” Run on sentence counters, I know.

Guilty pleasures were driving under the tressel at Third Ward Park and the endorphin rush in spotting our friends cars.

The long ago and far away days, we so long for now. If only the worst of frustrations came in the form of busy signals and not because we had to upgrade our cell phones due to out dated-technology.

We lovingly remember setting our Curl Free straightened hair with big, pink plastic rollers, spritzing Aqua Net hairspray and adjusting the awkward tubes from our portable hairdryers. We looked forward to our snacks of peanut butter-and jelly on Ritz Crackers, Ring Dings, Funny Bones and Yankee Doodles- always grabbing a can of Tab, the acronym for the first (Totally Artificial Beverage). All this came without hangovers. With lots of quarters, nickels and dimes we’d stop for snacks at the local candy store on Main Avenue. What a run. So back to today – under the covers and milking our day of pleasure until we go back to packing up our sock drawers. Throwing out so many single socks.

We long for the times when Cosmo Topper, married Joan and the only thing unstable were the rabbit ears on our black and white Tv’s and -that was an easy fix. Have a great Monday!

We sit down at the table, pass around the basket of bread.

Our menu in our hands, ordering we do dread.

Pasta, pasta everywhere, but not a drop to eat.

We love to see our peeps, we eat and then repeat -AGAIN?

With some laps around the clubhouse pool.

And a walk around the lake.

Another fettuccine bolognese we really cannot take.

Our pants are getting tighter, as the buttons they do pop.

And then we order dessert and pull out all the stops.

Four forks around the key lime.

Or a spoon for creme brûlée.

A holy moley to the cannoli.

Decaf cappuccino on the side.

We glance into the mirror, as it really tells no lies.

Our girlish, curvy figure, so very far away.

When we get up in the morning we start a brand new day.

A scoop of some plain yogurt- add a banana to the bowl.

We have yet to stand on the scale.

The Veal Milanese has taken its toll.

As we dress for one more table and another group of friends.

The caring and conversation we trust will never end.

If we eliminate the bread, skip the pasta page indeed.

Perhaps some broiled salmon, is exactly what we need.

Have a good Saturday-

“When I was just a little girl I asked my mother what will I be?

Here’s what she said to me.

Que sera, sera, whatever will be will be.

The future’s not ours to see.

Que sera, sera.

What will be will be.”

And then she let go of my hand and “what will be” became what is.

How much easier life would be if we had a crystal ball for which to see.

The future unfold before it came.

Minimize the struggles, our choice of game.

Challenges and misfortunes factored into the fold.

Gives us our backbone, our strength to behold.

With times so uncertain, a future unclear.

Our nearest and dearest become more clear.

But just for a moment with a dream in place.

Take away the name, add a new face.

If we could throw our troubles back into a pot.

Would we accept beshart?

Be grateful for what we got?

I suppose we would, but just for today.

With a dream, a prayer and fantasy intact.

We’d trade some for sure, not take ours back.

With less of that and more of this.

Our hardships, our strife wouldn’t be missed.

As fate unfurled, at our front door.

The cards were dealt, we tallied the 

score.

Divine order in place, sensibility kicked in.

Focused on blessings, called it a Win.

“When I grew up and fell in love,

I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead?

Will we have rainbows,

Day after day.

Here’s what my sweetheart said-

Que sera, sera

Whatever will be will be,

The future’s not ours to see

Que sera, sera”

Make it a good day!

There’ll be swingin’ and swayin’ and records playing.
Dancing in the street. Unquote.

Alright 25 show us what’s on “tap.”
Right-left-right cha cha cha.
24’s about to wrap.
Let’s do the hokey pokey.
Double down and bet the store.
We ‘ll turn on the victrola.
And dance across the floor.
A little twist and hully gully.
If that’s what it will take.
Then we’ll lindy hop and jitterbug.
No more dancing just in place.
Hit the ground and sprint ahead.
Add input to affect a change.
Come on boogie woogie bugle boy.
The top man of your craft.
“Stroll” into the New Year and bring along your draft.
Let’s “tap” into the Bossa Nova.
Rock and Roll and “all that jazz.”
Bunny hop and two step.
Swing dance with great pizzazz.
Step one, dance two.
Shouts The Chorus from the line.
Fine tune an Arabesque, stay on Pointe and redefine.
Add elbow grease to team effort.
Realign your goals in mind.
Offer a leg up, if anyone falls behind.
So as you chasse across the finish line.
Or Fred Astaire across the ceiling.
We will welcome in this brand new year.
Position one as we are kneeling.
Hit it Elton.
“So goodbye yellow brick road.
Where the dogs of society howl.
You can’t plant me in your penthouse.
I’m going back to my plough.”
And to all a Good Night!

                   ATE
Sometimes all it takes is 20 minutes of insane courage for something great to happen.
The 8 ball- eight card fit-eight hands playing at two tables – 8 is enough- Dinner at 8. 18 is chai – . Eight heart stealing Gomberg kid’s.

One thing the number 8 symbolizes is the ability to make decisions. With a legacy of parents who got a babysitter and then drove around trying to decide where to go and what to do, we have taken our primordial history and flipped it. Date book in hand, organize the games, get the tickets. Don’t let history repeat itself. Be decisive right or wrong. Make a decision. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t make decisions-end quote- 😎

The Pythagoreans called the number eight “Ogdoad” and considered it the “little holy number”. Number 8 – make it a Gr8 Friday.

Calling all first time nine hole-rs.

You’re only as good as your last shot. 

Is it just the positioning-or the synergy between you and the club. 

Or all of the above- or not?

Forget about precision.

Focus on one thing at a time.

  Just go out there have fun, you

   will do just fine.

“The time has come 

The Walrus said.

To talk of many things.” Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax—

Is it your eye on the ball, or the follow through, or simply the strength of your swing? 

The further you hit the ball.

The more you’ll double down. 

Outdoors and 9 holes breezy.

Or 18 as in chai.

Plant your feet on the course, hit a putt in just two.

Count blessings you’re out there learning something brand new. Phew!

We’ll Drink a Cup of Kindness yet.

For the Sake of Auld Lang Syne.

2025 let’s see what’s waiting at the door.

Signing off on 24,’

 and all that came before.

We’ll bring along our mojo.

Add an extra step to our beat.

Let’s try a new approach.

Pulling back on our bittersweet’s.

The unknowns are the challenges.

So far from our control.

We are ready, willing and able.

To the sound of the drum roll.

Creating a new template,

To diminish woes and strife.

The ultimate of goals.

To maintain a meaningful life.

We’ll add some new faces.

Replace the naysayers of joy.

Let’s welcome 2025

Hear, Hear the Real McCoy.

A you’re Adorable, B you’re so Beautiful.

Somedays a song enters our mind and we skip along -dot, dot, dot. 

“If they could see us now, that little gang of ours.”

Cause it’s a long, long way from May to December and I don’t want to walk without you Baby. Walk without my arm about you Baby.

I have often walked down the street before. But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before. All at once am I-  speaking of my Sweetie Pie only 60 inches high. Every inch is packed with Dynamite. That’s my little Honey Bun. Get a load of Honey Bun tonight.

10 cents a Dance. That’s what they pay me. Gosh how they weigh me down. 

Cause oh how we danced on the night we were wed. We vowed our true love, though a word wasn’t said. The world was in bloom, there were stars in the skies. Except for the few that were there in your eyes… This put us sitting on top of the world, rolling along, yes rolling along. 

Maybe I didn’t love you.
Quite as often as I could have.
Maybe I didn’t treat you.
Quite as good as I could have.
But you were always on my mind. Always on my mind.

Hit it.
One Day you’ll look to see I’ve gone. For tomorrow may rain and I’ll follow the Sun. “You might just make it after all.”

Have a lyrical kind of Saturday with a Fringe on the top. Mic Drop.

What happens when corned beef and pastrami meet on the corner of Potato Knish and Dr. Brown’s Soda? They bump into the Salami on rye with deli mustard sandwich and all get ready to watch as Mr. Ed whispers to Ozzie and Harriet a cute story about (who remembers their neighbor Thorny- Played by Don Defore? Yup! Run on sentence.

They are meeting over at Donna Reed’s house to watch the Beaver and his brother Wally take on Ken Osmond a.k.a. Eddie Haskell in a game of H-O- R- S-E, in their driveway.

After a pot luck dinner with bread pudding for dessert they sit around the piano and sing out loud with My Little Margie, Aunt Bee who got a ride over with Barney and was escorted by Opie. Oh “kay” then. They take out the game of Clue and wait for That Girl ( Marlo Thomas) to be Bewitched by (Elizabeth Montgomery) all the while Ann Sothern, who came with Don Porter is taking the minutes of the day.

In prances Eddie Albert with the fur clad, diamond bearing Eva Gabor from their Green Acres via Park Avenue Pad. And- a good time was had by all.

They also played monopoly trying to remain financially solvent while forcing their opponents into bankruptcy. So who let the dogs out?

The surprise guest was Jim Backus. He came in and announced “I Married Joan,” and they all agreed that everyone Loved Lucy.

The category is Sitcoms in the Sixites. We’ll take our fav Columbo for $1000.00. Please. And I quote – “Just one more thing. There’s something that bothers me. One more question. My wife. What did you pay for those Manolo Blahniks?

Make it a “Sunday in the Park” kinda day!