I thought about getting busy on the long-promised, oft-delayed book. And this year, just maybe…
I could put together old columns that might bring joy, laughter, passion and anger to others.
But the one I would really like to write involves sharing this great life so far. That will take some more work. If I could do it, my goal would be a deep-seeded laughter that makes your eyes water.
But I’m putting resolutions away. Shucks, the only one that ever stuck was last year when I gave up cigars after Papa Kenny decided to make gumbo for God. In fact, I have a great humidor I’d like to give away or sell on eBay.
My Cajun friend visits every once in a while, when out of nowhere, a whiff of a heater will hit my nostrils. Vicki swears she has smelled it too. Whatever beach he is at, he’s probably beside himself waiting for the LSU-Clemson game.
I can only imagine how hard he would laugh at my LSU coach Ed Orgeron impression.
Recently, I’ve gained an affinity for taking Chester, the sweetest English Crème Retriever ever born, on neighborhood walks.
We’re both getting older, not as nimble as we once were, resulting in the distance of our treks getting shorter.
The bright side is that he doesn’t need a leash. And for now, neither do I.
Whoever called today a gift because it’s the present, knew their stuff.
These past few work-free weeks hit home that retirement is a long way off. I honestly don’t know what I would do, except driving Vicki and others crazy.
Having to register for Medicare is a real gut-punch. And whoever said payback is a real Lassie knew their stuff.
While working at a family grocery store, my teenage posse amused ourselves by hiding the shopping carts of crochety customers. Forget about registering for Medicare. These folks looked like they were an eyelash away from being eligible for death benefits.
We worked in teams, sharing the task of distracting the customer, while the other hid the cart two aisles away.
Remember, the prerequisite for this special attention required the customer to be crotchety par excellence.
I didn’t know those high-haired women could out-cuss the beer-truck drivers. As we got further into our teenage years, we tried to make them our friends, in a futile attempt to get the Teamster to give us free samples.
It never worked.
Nowadays, someone is hiding my things.
How else to explain the events of a week ago when I went to see “Richard Jewell” at The Collection. Upon sitting down to watch the trailers, hoping to give a thumbs up/down to the future movies I might see, my specks were nowhere to be found.
Not in my car. Not in the theater. Poof! They had disappeared.
Vicki saved the day by finding the glasses in my console.
Trying to figure out whether the glasses had hopped in there independently, or if a teenager had gotten in my locked car, seeking to confuse me, would keep me up at night.
I vowed to get new glasses, ones that were compliant and obedient. No bifocals that had minds of their own.
It was then, my mind started hearing Elton sing “Circle of Life.” Except instead of animals dancing on the savanna, I though about those ladies searching for their wayward “buggies” (I love that we call carts “buggies” here in the South).
Whether it’s blaring the TV or welcoming my new breakfast friend, All-Bran cereal that has allowed me to share certain traits with Pumba the warthog, the “circle” has arrived.
Living this amusing life, writing about it, and having plenty of material, makes me realize that being here is a gift.
I just asked Chester who woofed and gave me a paws up.
Mike Tasos’ column is published every other Sunday. As promised, he saw four movies over the holidays, even ‘Star Wars.’ Comments can be sent to email@example.com. He is also on Facebook.