Tag Archives: George

Me and Fiorello La Guardia

When George is sick, he likes me to read the funnies to him.  In Austin, we have two pages devoted to the funnies which is better, in terms of reading them to another person, than Houston which had FOUR pages.  I don’t know WHY he likes me to read them.  Sometimes it’s because he’s really sick and doesn’t have the strength to hold the paper.  Other times, the surgeon has told him to lie flat so the incision will heal.   However, I think the real reason is because it amuses him.  I’m all for cheering him up when he’s not well.

What makes him laugh–silently because he doesn’t dare to chortle if he wants me to continue–are the voices I use.  So he can tell who’s speaking without being able to see the pictures, I use a high voice for Blondie and a gravelly tone for Dagwood.   I tried a hip-hop speech pattern for one guy.  I don’t do it well.  I’m really a failure on accents.   In Get Fuzzy, before Satchel speaks, I say, “Woof”, so George knows a dog is commenting.  

 I don’t know why I’m telling you all this but George felt this was worth blogging about so, to make him feel better, here it is.  Also, I’m available to read to you–for a small charge.

Why do I mention Fiorello, the “little flower”, La Guardia, mayor of New York City from 1934-1945?   In 1945, the newspaper delivery drivers went on strike so no one could get the paper.   On the first Sunday of the strike, when the mayor was preparing to do a show, he decided it would be nice to read Dick Tracy to the kids.  Every Sunday from then on, he read the comics to children on the radio and made them happy.

Okay, I don’t read to a city full of children who missed their favorite cartoon characters.  No, I read to George which cheers him up.  That’s a pretty good reason.,

Anyone else have a favorite Fiorello La Guardia story you’d like to share?

What should I get George?

I have probably the best, wittiest, and most intelligent husband in the world.  I would say “sexiest” but I write the sweet books and don’t want to shock  anyone with that word.  ANYWAY, he is also, as I mentioned in my last post, wonderful at choosing gifts that I’d never have thought I needed.  He’s also creative, choosing gifts I’d never have guessed what they were before I opened the package.  For example, one Christmas he gave me a stuffed animal–a cocker spaniel because we had several live ones as pets-with a radio in its tummy.

But I’m terrible at thinking of great gifts for him.   He has plenty of T-shirts and has told me to buy him no more University of Louisville or Houston Texans shirts.  We’re retired so his supply of ties from  when he was a minister is sufficient to last until at least 2050, should we–and the earth–still be around.   He orders and reads whatever books he wants on his Kindle.   He’s not a smoker or a drinker and has plenty of Bibles and commentaries and meditations.    He refuses to wear those onesies retired men wear and prefers sweatpants.    He plays games on his computer and hates puzzles and does make stuff.  Keep in mind we live in an apartment and have little space.

He does like chocolate but there’s a  limit to how much I can get him.  The one present I give every year is food.  I go to a store with a nice display of gourmet foods and get him cheese and pickled treats and sardines.  He has mentioned he’d like a new mattress but that’s not very Christmas-y and it’s hard to wrap.

Time is getting short.  Please help me or George may find no packages for him under our tree!

The Perfect Christmas Present

George comes up with the best ideas for presents.  Many years ago, he gave me a microwave oven when I didn’t really want one.  He knew me well enough to know I’d use it ten times a day.   He’s also much more romantic than I.  For our anniversary many years ago he gave me a pair of peach-faced lovebirds.  Beautiful creatures.  Sadly, they hated each other–that’s another story–but the idea was lovely.

In late November, he told me he’d ordered a present, a perfect gift, for me and not to open any packages that came by UPS.

First, however, I must explain that I am a TiVo addict.  I record programs to watch later so I can fast forward through commercials or rewind to see a great basketball play.   I do record programs at the time they start but wait twenty minutes to watch them.   Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of wandering off, putting the remote down, and not being able to find it again, a tragedy when one is as dependent upon one’s remote as I am.  I’ve considered having it surgical implanted in my arm.

A few weeks ago,  a package arrived.   I  checked the label to see if it was addressed to George or to me.  When I did, I also saw the return address.  It came from a company with the name “Where’s the remote?”  That really ruined every bit of surprise.   He had me go ahead and open it.  Together, we attached the receiver to the back of my remote.  It’s about the size and shape as the remote that unlocks your car. 

I used it once or twice to find the remote when it fell off the end table or found its way under the cushions.  One day when I couldn’t find it, I picked up the transmitter.  The remote beeped from my purse.  On my own, I wouldn’t have found it until I left the house days later. 

Thank you, George.  As usual, the perfect present.   

On Thursday, I need all of you to help me think of the perfect present for George.  Please–I’m really bad at this.


Surgery + 3 days

I’d hoped I’d be better to see by now but still can’t write or watch much television and cannot read at all (so please excuse any spelling errors here) and I hate that!  I am a bookaholic.  Fortunately, my darling husband of forty-six years showed me the marvel of the talking Kindle.   Now I listen to my books.  The voice mispronounces words; for example,   chapel becomes chapelle, but it’s less boring.  I have convinced George that I cannot see well enough to cook or vacuum or load the dishwasher.  He knows I can.  He’s just to nice to mention it and he loves take-out.   I have increased font size on my computer so will be able to get some writing done today–thank goodness.  I have left Hannah and Gabe (book three:  The Wedding Planners) alone in the wreckage of the tornado and need to get them out.   

George took a picture of me a few minutes ago and I think the surgery turned out well although I’m not sure I’m happy with the lips.  What do you think?

I’ll be seeing you . . .

I’ve had trouble seeing for several years due to droopy–really, really droopy–eyelids.  However, I had a lot going on and more important health matters came up.  Just didn’t find time to get to the doctor for testing.

Then, allergies hit and I could see only through narrow slits with my eyes so puffy.    That happened the day of my signing in late April.   I’ve added a picture–it’s been on the blog previously–so you can see how much trouble I was having with my eyes.  I didn’t publish the pictures George took from the front because I looked like an over-inflated balloon fixin’ to pop.  

With that, I said, “My turn.”   I had the surgery Monday and wrote this over the weekend because I won’t be able to see for a day or two.   I look forward to being able to drive at night and to reading TIME magazine!

Why do we have these creatures?

On Sunday, I posted on Facebook about finding cat vomit under a piece of newspaper and asked, “What’s worse.”  Turns out there are a LOT of animal-related poop and vomit stories out there and my friends shared many.   On the Facebook post, I added a picture of our big, handsome boy cat, Scooter (on the left) because he’s just to darned cute.

But I may have blamed the wrong cat.

Yesterday, I tossed the clean laundry on the sofa and folded mos of it.  I left George’s T-shirts on the back of the sofa for him to fold.   That is also the favorite napping place of Maggie, the fat little girl cat.   Sadly, Maggie (to the right) is a one-person feline.  She adores me but isn’t as fond of George.   Sometimes when she’s sitting next to me on the love seat, he’ll tickle her feet.  She really hates that.  She threatened vengence–but who knew?

This morning, George went to pick up and fold the shirts and discovered–well, if you had to guess, based on my previous Facebook post, what did he discover?   Yes, cat vomit.  It had to be from Maggie because that’s her place.   And that makes me wonder who left the other offering.

Please forgive me with my constant harping on this subject.  I hope this is the end of it.   If George will leave Maggie’s feet alone, I think  this will solve the problem.

But probably not.

Help! Help! I’ve lost my nouns!

Help!  Help!  I’ve lost my nouns.

Writers work with words. That’s expected of us.   

However, at times, I forget a word.  Usually that word is a noun.  Oh, most of us have done that, but the older you get, the harder it is to come up with the right word.  Talking to my sister-in-law often turns into a fill-in-the-blanks quiz.  Thingy is probably the most important  word in Diane’s vocabulary.  She couldn’t complete a sentence without it.

My husband and I like a little variety.  We also use dealy and what’s-it as well as doodad, doohickey and gizmo.  This means we use sentences like, “Would you give me the dealy?” or “I’m going to put the thingy in the whatchamacallit.”

In case you have the same problem, here are some tips for communication without using nouns. 

One tip I don’t include:  point   It’s not a suggestion because  this gesture can be misconstrued so badly.  When I point, George always hands me the wrong thing.  I’m still trying to decide if he does this on purpose or because he truly can’t see which thingamabob I want.  I’m pretty sure it’s to bother me.  After all, we’ve been married a really long time.

Okay, so here are some tips.

1)  If you can’t think of the word, describe.  For example, “Hand me that big blue thing with the spots.”

2)  Trail off, as if you meant to be mysterious.   “I need the. . . ”  Add a wave or a wink for authenticity.

3)   Use in context.  For example, if I’m sitting in front of the television holding two remotes and say,  “Would you put the dealy in?”  my husband usually understands I’m ready to watch a DVD

4)   Gestures can say a lot.     Although he pretends not to—yes, we’ve been married a long time–my husband knows I mean “fast forward” when I position my hand as if I’m holding the remote and pretend I’m clicking with my thumb.

4)  Wait and hope someone else fills in the word for you.  The problem with this is that the other person may fill in the blank with the wrong noun.  Here’s an example from a conversation between George and me.

George:          I need . . . [He waves toward the table.]

Me:                 [Looking around]  A napkin?

George:          No, no.  I need the black thing.

Me:                 The phone?

George:          No, the water . . .

Me:                 A glass of water?  A black glass of water?  [I have no idea what this means]

George:          No, furry.

Me:                 A furry black glass of water?  [Still confused]

George:          No, the cat.  The cat’s on the table.

This, of course, takes a lot longer than if George had just gone to the table and sprayed the black cat using the water-sprayer thingus.     

My greatest fear is that I will lose every one of my nouns.  Right now, I’m fairly confident with cat, husband, computer and keyboard and most people understand “Place where I sleep” and “Cold thing in the kitchen.” 

Actually, what I fear most is losing my verbs.  Then I could no longer form a . . . a . . .  you know, that thing with a noun and a verb and maybe another noun and those describing words.


What They Don’t Teach You in Seminary Part 1 by Rev. George Perrine

Guest blogging today is my husband, Rev. George B. Perrine III, a really nice guy, terrific minister, and my inspiration.  Take it away, George!  The blog is yours.

What They Don’t Teach You in Seminary

I.              Extension Cords

So here’s how it really works in churches:  Mary Lou is about to teach an adult class on the weekend and she has a projector to show her slides.  The only wall in the classroom on which she can project her pictures is the wall with the electrical outlet so Mary Lou needs an extension cord.  She finds one but it’s plugged into the coffee maker in the hall.  Since no one is using the coffee maker, Mary Lou borrows the extension cord and her class get to see her slides of Hawaii.  Question: Does Mary Lou put the cord back?  Of course not.  Here is Rule 1: in a church everything belongs to everyone and no one needs to put it back.

The pastor comes in very early Sunday morning and is desperate for a cup of coffee  but the extension cord to the coffee maker is missing so he borrows the cord to the church secretary’s radio (she is not in the building on Sunday anyway).  He makes his coffee, and does he put the cord back?  Of course not, see rule 1.

On Monday morning the secretary comes in and turns on the farm and market report on her radio but it doesn’t come on because her extension cord is gone.  So she borrows the extension cord in the pulpit which provides power to the light the pastor uses to read his sermon notes.  See rule 1 again.

The next Sunday morning the property chairman who is responsible to turn on the light on the pulpit finds there is no extension cord and he searches and finds one in a classroom attached to a projector.  The pastor has a light to bring Light to the worshippers and all is well.  Rule 1 has worked again.

Rule 1 also applies to masking tape, staplers and pens.  Pastors, you know the big drawer on the side on your desk which holds files?  In the back of that drawer is a big hole behind the files.  The wise pastor keeps a supply of extension cords, masking tape, staplers and pens in that hole, and he/she knows that once given out, they will never come back so the pastor never, never tells where they are!  Is that unchristian?  Well, do you want to read your sermon notes on Sunday morning?