NOTHING BUT THE GEORGE

  Happy Anniversary to my best girl, Shugaluvs. It’s been 37 years now. Since raising 3 kids, including housebreaking 1 scoundrel of a husband, she’s had 2 heart attacks, 3 stents, and 4 grandkids ranging from 1.5 to 20 years of age.  She is the Matriarch, the Sister, Aunt, Mom and Grandma. The Queen Bee, the Momma Bear, and as my buddy Mark refers to her, the Rooster.  She can whip her weight in wildcats.  She attends medical appointments and leads the medical professionals in dialogue. She questions everything and then questions it again. She makes them earn their money and I’ve seen them leave an exam room sweating. She advocates for anyone and everyone she comes in contact with.  She gardens with the intensity of a thousand suns, which is how it feels when she makes me help. Her endurance puts mine to shame. Her everything puts mine to shame, cause I ain’t even got an everything.  She cans vegetables, crochets, and sews on a machine, and recently taken ...

A recent visit to house/kid/pet sit at my oldest residence in Virginia was a most enjoyable time met with one significant challenge.  Washing myself.  Specifically, I shower. Like Lewis Grizzard said, “I don’t like to wash my face with water I’ve been sitting in.” I require very little when it comes to washing-soap, washcloth and a towel to dry off. I’m a no frills guy.  I quickly found myself in a situation where the key ingredient of my shower—a bar of soap-a mere sliver even—was not there. Actually, I would discover post shower that  it was on the dish by the sink, but presently I am naked, soaking wet (and afraid) and begin looking thru the assortment of showering/bathing supplements in order to find some body wash or whatever.  By the way, this is my granddaughters shower.   Every corner on the naked side of the curtain contained products to take care of one’s body and hair. I have an abundance of one and less of the other. I find nothing initially, so...

The Devil is in the Details  Preface: “The devil hath power / To assume a pleasing shape” Hamlet (Shakespeare) There should be no controversy with what I’m about to say in regard to one of the greatest edibles of all time, the deviled egg . While there are lots of different ways to prepare deviled eggs, I think most of the population can agree that the business of deviling eggs must be comprised of 1) boiling eggs, b) peeling eggs then cut in halves and 2) yolks processed to some degree which are placed/inserted/injected somehow back into/onto the aforementioned egg halves.  But that’s not important right now. The method by which they’re prepared can vary. Verily, you are free to devil your eggs by any which recipe you deem necessary and appropriate, the devil be damned. Some folks use sweet relish , some use dill relish , some use zero relish. Others use green olives , black olives , zero olives, mustard , paprika , or any manner of other things so they can make their deviled...

 A wise man once told me “Never pass up an opportunity to pee.” Many Soldiers I served with wisely stated, “Better p***, time to move out!” Truth be told, there are a lot of wise men and Old Soldiers who told me this.  It is, perhaps, the one thing I haven’t learned.  I’m reminded of the Southern Maid ‘No Burn’ bacon commercials, where one guy remarked to the audience “He’ll never learn” (pronounced like Hee-uhl Nevah Lurnnn) IYKYK Anyhow, back to my Lima bean sized bladder.  I’ve recently determined that my life can be broken down into two distinct categories. 1) Holding my pee and B) Peeing.  At this point I really should clean this up a little and refer to the process as tying my shoes.  This is how my longtime friend, mentor, trumpet player  and illegitimate Father Larry McClendon refers to it. It’s discreet, non offensive and has a tone of elegance and sophistication, which I do not possess.  To quote Bill Shakethespear; “It is better to tie ...

  Satchel Paige Fisher 18 Oct 2016-2 June 2025 Satchel Paige Fisher, 8.5 years of age, crossed over Rainbow Bridge on Monday, June 2nd, 2025, after a short illness. Satchel wasn’t trained, never attended obedience school, didn’t fetch, didn’t mind, didn’t share the covers, and didn’t let you eat in peace. What he did do was change our lives for the better. We loved him and he loved us back—unconditionally, as long as he got his way. He chewed up a couch, a pair of reading glasses, and two pairs of house-shoes as a puppy, but as he grew up was able to manifest his pent up energy into food consumption, his favorite pastime. His favorite meal (also his last) was a Wendy’s Baconator (no bun) and a Frosty. Satchel was a purveyor of fine dog treats, hot dogs, various sandwich meats, ginger snaps, and Frosted Pop Tarts, which had to be placed in the middle cabinet out of reach of his jowls and manhole cover sized paws. Additionally, he ate dog food. His other hobbies included chasing bicy...

 " These are the times that try men souls. ” (Thomas Haynes, wearer of underdrawers)   Todays topic transcends politics , unidentified flying drones, the status of NIL Lamborghini driving College Football players,   o r the  age-old problem of “ What’s  for Supper?” I speak from a place we all know and hold close, and that’s underwear.  (As for undershirts and socks, this  doesn’t  include you. I will address you at another date) .  To be specific, I mean  underpants. What  my Old Man  refer red  to as  ‘ drawers ’ .   In Southern  English  its pronounced ‘draws’. The  Scientific community and other learned multitudes , for example, may categorize by Genus and Species, e.g. , Ubi , Brevi s (briefs) ,  or Ubi  Pugil ( Boxer), or even Ubi Femoralia (drawers),  but  if you say “Draws” most folks know what you mean. Another Genus and Speci e example would be Genus: Co-Cola Species: ...