Particle Board Piano

I once insulted my neighbor completely without intention. I hate that, because insults really ought to be funny, cruel, and intentional. But to be fair, I believe he was pressing me too hard on a subject I simply didn't know anything about.

This neighbor, whom I'll call Cloyce just to give him a name, is a musician, and he is a very fine one too to give him his due. One day as I passed by he called me into his house to show me his new piano. Well, not new, but an excellent used grand piano.

I have to admit it looked stunning, a deep, shining, well polished ebony. He was proud of it and rightly so. He sat to play a few bars and the sound to even my untrained ears was magnificent. By all appearances it was clearly a superior instrument.

After Cloyce had played a bit he began telling me all about the piano, stuff I didn't understand but hey, when someone's really happy about something it's a courtesy to let them talk, right? So I listened, trying to sound properly impressed at points where it seemed I was expected to be.

When the descriptions were all over Cloyce asked, "So what do you think it cost, Marty?"

I tried to sidestep the question. "Oh, I have no idea what a grand piano would cost."

"Come on, just take a guess," he persisted.

"I don't know, Cloyce." I was really hoping he would just tell me so that I might again show how impressed I was supposed to be.

"Just take a guess, Marty!"

So I took a stab. "Oh, uh, I dunno, a thousand dollars?"

Cloyce's face fell faster than Wile E. Coyote off a cliff after a harried chase of the Roadrunner. "A thousand dollars?" he asked, obviously insulted and indeed crestfallen. "What do you think it's made of, particle board?"

"I'm sorry, I just don't have any idea what grand pianos are worth," I protested. It turns out they are worth quite a few dollars more than my ridiculous guess. I want to say he he paid $11,000 for it but it's been long enough I don't recall with certainty.

I truly didn't mean to hurt his feelings though. Particle board by the way is a very low grade of plywood. I don't think they use it on grand pianos.

Mother's Day 2023

The other day I took the last coffee pod from a box of 80 and, for whatever reason, it popped into my head that Mom was with me when I bought those pods last August. I sighed heavily. Strange how something as mundane as wanting a cup of coffee can trigger such a reaction.

Now, don't feel too bad for me, as I don't really mean to create melancholy. Yes, there was a sadness when it happened just as there is now as I type. Yet it was and is followed by a kind of contentment. 

I was fortunate to have had the last several years of Sundays to ride her around, seeing the countryside, cruising through old neighborhoods, eating cheeseburgers, and even buying coffee. We owe our parents that respect. I was glad to have the chance, and there were many great rides and reminiscent talks along the way. Whatever else I do today, I think I'm having a cheeseburger for lunch, and maybe buy more coffee pods.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.

Joke About Congress

The Mexican War was declared on this date in 1846, even though fighting had already started. Typical of Congress, you know, to see things after the fact. "What, there's a war on? Ought we to declare it or something?"

Or better: "You started a war without us? How could you?"

Or perhaps even better than that: 

Congress: "Let's declare war on Mexico."

Someone shouting from the gallery: "It's already on."

Congress: "We'll call for troops, authorize extra spending for the military, draw up battle plans...wait, what?"

Not Really Saving Anything

Back, oh, fifty or sixty years ago, me Grandpa Joe had several delivery drivers who worked for his welder rental business. One in particular, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, seemed to have a mental block about putting gas in his truck. And it drove me Pops crazy.

At the time you could fill up one of the trucks for around five bucks. Dad would give the drivers five dollar bills as necessary to put gas in their vehicles. Yet invariably Cloyce would return to the old barn on fumes, to triumphantly hand the five spot back to the old man proclaiming "I saved you five bucks, Bill!"

The trouble was that he wasn't really saving anybody anything. From a practical standpoint all it really meant was that on his next delivery Cloyce's first stop would be the gas station and not the job site. It would make more sense to gas up on the return from one trip, that job being done, than to take ten minutes before the next job simply to fill up the tank.

Cloyce did it constantly, and it irked me Pops every time. No amount of explanation could convince Cloyce that it was better to gas up today than add a complication to tomorrow, a complication which might easily snowball: you have to load the truck a few minutes earlier, then get to the gas station and it may be crowded, or the roads might be jammed, and so on. But all Cloyce could see what the he 'saved' five dollars today, not that he would just have to spend it tomorrow anyway.

Still, he saved me Pops a lot of Lincolns, one day at a time. If only Dad could have kept all those fivers, I suppose maybe he would have been rich.

A Not So Subtle Message

So, you think that Marty drives old cars? Well, he does, yes. But something happened to me brother Phil which has never happened to me. It's entirely true. He'll back me up.

Several years ago Phil was driving an old Pontiac Sunfire. I don't recall exactly how old, but it had some years (and rough driving) on it. I mean, people had begun to notice.

One day he stepped out onto his front porch and noticed that there was a flyer under the windshield wiper of the Sunfire. That wasn't unusual; we routinely have flyers placed on cars around the neighborhood for this or that reason. Yet me brother saw that no other car had a flyer. He stepped out to the street to see what the it might advertise.

The flyer proclaimed - I am not making this up (and it happened to him, not me) - that 'We buy junk cars!' and had a prominent phone number across the bottom. 

Apparently my new old cars aren't as new/old as his. Did I mention, BTW, that he had a second flyer put on that same vehicle a few months later?

Still On Our Own

Charles III has been formally installed as King Of England. We're still independent of the Crown.

Some things never change. I'm perfectly okay with that.

Canine Hold 'Em

The Ohio Cosgriffs were up yesterday. The family, other than yours truly (who isn't a huge garage sale guy) went on a shopping spree. There's an annual garage sale which runs the length of Michigan State Route 15 and they're participating. Happy trails.

I stayed home. I had some writing I wanted to do, and also felt it wouldn't hurt to keep their dogs company as they get a bit antsy when home alone. "What are you going to do with them while we're shopping?" me granddaughter asked.

"I think we'll recreate that famous velvet painting of dogs playing poker," I quipped.

That isn't as easy as it sounds. While searching for a template to determine how to pose the dogs I found that there are not one, nor two, nor three, velvet paintings of dogs playing poker. There are dozens.

I didn't expect that. It's as though it's it's own genre, it's own school of art. Future classes of art historians will speak of the impressionists, the cubists, the expressionists, the modernists, the minimalists, the realists, Art Nouveau...and the dogs playing pokerists. 

I have a flair for art after all.