Tag Archives: humour

Saturday Morning Humour

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Photo by Alyona Pastukhova on Pexels.com

A cool but sunny morning. I couldn’t get my early morning fix in the greenhouse. The door was frozen. No way it would budge. I had to wait a couple of hours for it to warm up from 5+℃ to 10+℃ before I could get in. Everything is hunky dory in there. And in a short time the temperature went up to 10.5℃.

Talking about hunky dory, some people might not know what I’m talking about, especially the younger crowd. Hmmm. I’m aging myself. I was surprised that my nephews didn’t know what going to the biffy meant. (bathroom) So I was greatly amused to read a friend’s post on FB about this. I have to share it.

No wonder generations don’t understand each other:
Heavens to Mergatroyd!
The other day a not so elderly (I say 75) lady said something to her son about driving a Jalopy; and he looked at her and said, “What the heck is a Jalopy?” He had never heard of the word jalopy! She knew she was old …But not that old.
Well, I hope you are Hunky Dory when you read this and chuckle.
About a month ago, I illuminated some old expressions that have become obsolete because of the inexorable march of technology.
These phrases included: Don’t touch that dial; Carbon copy; You sound like a broken record; and Hung out to dry.
Back in the olden days we had a lot of moxie . We’d put on our best bib and tucker, to straighten up and fly right.
Heavens to Betsy!
Gee whillikers!
Jumping Jehoshaphat!
Holy Moley!
We were in like Flynn and living the life of Riley ; and even a regular guy couldn’t accuse us of being a knucklehead, a nincompoop or a pill. Not for all the tea in China!
Back in the olden days, life used to be swell, but when’s the last time anything was swell? Swell has gone the way of beehives, pageboys and the D.A.; of spats, knickers, fedoras, poodle skirts, saddle shoes, and pedal pushers.
Oh, my aching back! Kilroy was here, but he isn’t anymore.
We wake up from what surely has been just a short nap, and before we can say, “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” Or, “This is a fine kettle of fish!”
We discover that the words we grew up with, the words that seemed omnipresent, as oxygen, have vanished with scarcely a notice from our tongues and our pens and our keyboards.
Poof, go the words of our youth. Where have all those great phrases gone?
Long gone: Pshaw, The milkman did it. Hey! It’s your nickel. Don’t forget to pull the chain. Knee high to a grasshopper.
Well, Fiddlesticks! Going like sixty. I’ll see you in the funny papers. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Wake up and smell the roses.
It turns out there are more of these lost words and expressions than Carter has liver pills.
This can be disturbing stuff! (Carter’s Little Liver Pills are gone too!)
Leaves us to wonder where Superman will find a phone booth.
See ya later, alligator! After a while crocodile. Oki-Doki artichokey

So how’s everybody on this fine Saturday morning? 10 days left for the Ultimate Blog Challenge. 10 days left to do my taxes. Yike!

STAY CALM, BE BRAVE, WATCH FOR THE SIGN

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I’ve reached that rocky spot on the road where I want to say, Enough! I feel crummy. I don’t want to do anything any more. It doesn’t make me feel better so I’ve taken up another saying instead. “Stay calm. Be brave. Watch for the sign.” It’s a bit of Canadian Cree humour.  You might have to be Canadian and a CBC Radio fan to understand. It came from the radio show, Dead Dog Cafe. Like all good programming, it is now also dead.

Humour, even if it’s off beat is better medicine than whining and feeling sorry for myself. I got off my duff and moved here, sitting, flexing my fingers and tapping away the aches, blues and what have yous. There is action. I’m doing. It’s a verb. Now we’re talking. Sheba’s hanging loose, like a limp rag on the rug. She can sense when I’m in a mood. It seems she absorbs it. She gets underfoot, dogging and bugging me even more. It soothes her when I soothe myself. It’s best to stay calm.

We are brave, too. We’re like the postmen of yesteryear. We’re out for our walk, rain or shine. And can you imagine it. There was a bit of freezing rain. I guess that was the sign. Watch out! Slippery ice. It didn’t last long. We did our full walk even though I had the urge to cut it short. I always do but I always stuck it out, not wanting to cheat Sheba her sniffing and smelling the coffee time. I try to think of it as my walking meditation. Sometimes I count my steps. Sometimes I listen to the tap of my walking stick on the sidewalk.

Some days all of life feels gall darn hard. I would just take a swallow, sigh alot and carry on. The sighing is my deep breathing. It helps to fulfilling my daily mission of :

Yesterday, I only managed to do just one of the three. Some days are like that. I have to use my judgement. There are some days when it is wiser to let go and relax. There are other more pressing priorities. It is all about balance. But today, I’ve done all three. Horay for me!

 

 

 

HUMOUR IS THE BEST MEDICINE

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mime-attachment1Humour is the best medicine.  How often have you heard that expression?  When I’m drowning in my quagmire of angsts, I do not want to hear mention of it.  I’m liable to wack you one if you suggest that.

However, if you are clever enough or clownish enough and can cause me to break out in uproarious, heehawing, guffawing laughter, it would probably disrupt my brain waves and bust me out of my misdemeanor.  Is that the right word?  No matter!  It has the right sound.

Lacking humour and laughter, I’m having to resort to tapping out my mean and unrighteous feelings.  Oh, how can people do such things?  Oh, HOW could they?  Have they no conscious?  WHERE are their morals?

26021_382532410886_4015549_nYou know what?  This is working!  The demons in me are leaving through my fingerstips with each tap, tap on the keyboard.  Hallelujah!