Friday, January 02, 2015

2015: So Far, Mixed Results

Scene opens on living room. Rick is on one end of the couch, Nance--ensconced in jammies, fleece robe, and fleece blanket--is on the other. She looks pale and is holding a bottle of Tums. Rick--fully dressed in jeans and pullover--is holding his bigass smartphone.

Nance: Rick, I hate to ask you this, but will you give the kittens their dessert? If I have to deal with that wet cat food, I'll just--
Rick: (interrupts)--Of course. Right now?
Nance: No, not yet. They ate late, so wait until they ask for it. (belches loudly) Ugh. This is ridiculous. I feel awful.
Rick: (while studying something on his phone) I know you do. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?
Nance: No. Feeding the cats for me will be great. I wish I knew what this was, though. You feel fine. We ate the same food and we (belches) drank the same water. We didn't do anything differently. I've been fighting these waves of nausea and weakness all day! I had one small glass of wine on New Year's Eve. You finished the bottle. What IS this?
Rick: I know. And I don't know.

(After several more minutes, the cats begin to stare fixedly at Nance. When it becomes undeniably sinister, Nance says, "Kittens, do you--" at which point they catapult from their position and, in a single bound, land at their dishes at the back door of the kitchen, where Rick, at his leisure, feeds them.)

Nance: (upon Rick's return) What kind was it? Beef? That would have done me in for sure.
Rick: I have no idea. I just opened it and fed them.
Nance: Oh. Well, it was a new can. Did you sing the New Can Day song?
Rick: (gives her the side-eye) No.
Nance: Did you make sure to move aside any dry food in the dishes and put the wet food in a clear spot?
Rick: (looking at her now; patient) Nance. I never put wet food on top of dry food.
Nance: Did you mash it down with the fork for them?
Rick: What? No. I plopped it down in the dish. It was pretty soft to begin with.
Nance: But they don't bite it off of a big chunk, you know. They lap at it with their tongues. They don't eat like dogs.
Rick: (only slightly exasperated) Here they come. They look like it went okay.

(The cats saunter in licking their chops. They casually jump to the top of the couch back in order to look out the window; first, however, they each take an elaborate paw bath.)

Nance: Well, thank you for doing that...(here, Rick stares at her intensely, waiting; Nance inhales, pauses; exhales) very much. ( Smiles. Inwardly, Nance congratulates herself on keeping two Resolutions: (1) Choose to be gracious; (2) Choose to be grateful. Yes!)
Rick: (smiles) You don't have to thank me, but you're welcome.

End scene



  1. That man is a saint! Glad you pulled off the gracious thank you in the end. ;-) So sorry you're feeling bad though, Nance. I thought you had enough of that in 2014 to last at least a few months into 2015 ...


    1. Shirley--He's very nice. I'm plenty Celestial myself, thank you, when it comes to lots of Rick's little idiosyncrasies. He just doesn't have a blog.

      I still feel yucky today. I must have picked up some stomach bug someplace. Thanks for your kind words. I am hoping it will vamoose by tomorrow.

    2. Chuckling ... on Rick's idiosyncrasies and no blog for us to know about them and, of course, on "Celestial Nance"! You are very often pretty phenomenal in a celestial way I must say. Sending more get well energy your way, dear.

  2. Classic. Everyone I know, including me, was sick last month. I rarely get sick but had that ear and throat crud that's been going around. Hope you're better.

    1. phoebes in sf--Thank you. I know lots of people suffering through colds, bronchitis, and varying degrees of upper respiratory maladies. It's awful! This has no components of that; rather, it is primarily weakness and nausea. Hopefully, it will run its course and be gone by tomorrow.

  3. I was picturing the cats coming over to you to thank you (even though Rick fed them) and giving you a big beefy burp in the face, throwing you over the edge. Sorry you're feeling puny at the moment. I hope it passes soon.

    1. Oh my! Now, Zydrunas (the grand-dog) would do that, but Piper and Marlowe are not burpers. Z is also a very cheerful farter as of late, so although we miss him, we are glad that his visits are not quite so frequent until his diet gets sorted.

      I'm afraid my ending was far more pedestrian than you got revved up for. But I'm happy that I have not, as of yet, "refunded." Here's to all of this being over soon, and before I do. ;-)

  4. Here, again, is a prime opportunity to add a video - or at the very least, a recording - to your blog. Because while I have an inkling of what the New Can Day song might sound like, I think we'd still benefit from hearing it ourselves. And this reminds me of some pictures I found in an old album of my mom feeding her miniature poodle - with a fork. He wouldn't eat otherwise. It was hilarious.

    Hope you're soon feeling MUCH better!

    1. Bug--Oh, my dear. You could not POSSIBLY imagine what the New Can Day song sounds like because it is a terrible, sad, second-soprano lilting/chanting sort of thing that consists solely (usually, for sometimes I do improvise) of the lyric "new can day" in repetition, including a somewhat unimpressive three-note run. Marlowe, who detests all singing, tolerates it merely because it means dessert. There can be NO BENEFIT WHATSOEVER from anyone hearing it. It is SHAMEFUL.

      I have known several poodles in my life thus far. Suzette was a terrible bitch and had an enormous sense of entitlement. I disliked her hugely and glared at her every chance I got. Fluffy was elderly and inconsequential, but one of her owners was a tough hillbilly truck mechanic who used to take her in the front seat of his Ford pickup and say (and mean!) things like, "That asshole's lucky that I didn't let Fluffy tear his fool head off!" And Fluffy, who weighed about 6 pounds, would look out from under her topknot as if she wanted to hide.

  5. Shopping you're well by now! I can see me doing that for my cat as I already sing numerous songs to her like a variation/bastardization of "Bicycle Built for Two" subbing in Gracie's name! Never saw that trait coming! Happy New Year!

    1. Hello, Rose! I am well by now, thank you. I think it was all a migraine process, for as soon as a major Alberta Clipper and WSW front both came through, things straightened out completely. I often get other symptoms but no headache now.

      As far as you not seeing "that trait coming," surprise! I am quite musical, played an instrument for years, and sang in school, etc. long long ago. I love to sing, and I make up songs for everything. Like many artistes, I am simply not appreciated in my own era and by my audience. Sigh. LOL. When she was a baby kitten, Marlowe used to put her paw against my mouth to stop me from singing, so I curtail my Joy around her High Dudgeon. She's Mobile Disapproval all the time.

  6. Obviously I meant HOPING you're well!

  7. Happy New Year, dearest Nance, and I am glad you are feeling better.

    I am stealing your Grateful/Gracious resolutions. Especially the "gracious" part, as I am rarely gracious. Also, because my own resolutions have nothing to do with improving my character, although they will likely eventually have that as a side effect:
    1. Throw Stuff Out and Give Stuff Away.
    2. Throw More Stuff Out and Give More Stuff Away.
    3. Be absolutely brutal about it until the Excess is All Gone.
    Our recent little floor re-modeling job, which forced us to "empty" the entire contents of one room into another whilst it was being done, about gave me a heart attack when I realized just how much total junk I have in drawers.

    1. Ortizzle--Oh, the same to you, my friend. I do feel loads better, thank you.

      Once I retired I began the (seemingly) endless job of streamlining and shedding my extraneous stuff. Lots and lots of it went to the garage sale at the lake. Lots was donated; still more was worthy of only the trash bin. Even now, I feel a bit closed in by even furniture as I see so many occasional pieces that I really don't need but have to dust. The May garage sale may be quite an Extravaganza.

      You are probably far more gracious than you realize, having practiced that trait and its cousin Tact often in the classroom and in dealings with colleagues, students, and parents. Think of Gracious(ness) as Tact in opera gloves.

  8. "Graciousness is Tact in opera gloves." That needs to be etched in stone somewhere.

  9. I agree with Ortizzle, Nance. Well done!

  10. Ladies--Thank you. It's nice to know that, in my Retirement, I can still turn a Creative Writing phrase.


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