Today's Menu . . . and a Startling Revelation.

 



Tuesday. July 22nd.  2025.


My little chickadees . . . 


The biography of Mark Twain I’m currently reading has finally given me the answer I’ve been looking for to solve this terrible physical separation between Amy and I.  She is in Woodbridge, Virginia, nursing our grandson Diesel, who was involved in a horrific shooting accident.  I am here in Provo, in our rent-controlled apartment, just blocks from the City Center temple, where she and I have spent many many blessed hours together.

Last night I read about Twain’s success and obsession with his lecture tours.  He gloried in the performing and in the attention it garnered.

Reading this, I got to thinking and then finally admitting to myself that I’m not through as a performer or focus of attention yet.  I have to have an audience – this business of taking my poetry sign out in public just doesn’t cut it.  Not enough action.  Not enough attention. Not enough challenge to my creativity.

But I don’t want to live in our daughter's house in Virginia.  I don’t really like Virginia and our daughter keeps inviting people to come live in her house, so right now Amy has to share a single bathroom with four other people. Five other people if I go there. So up until last night I was determined not to be forced out there.

But here’s the thing . . . 

We pay no rent or utilities to her. We get to keep all of our social security, which means I can at last afford to get back into podcasting/vlogging, which I have always wanted to do. I’ve dabbled in it before.  It’s performing and with some canny marketing I’ll soon have a growing audience to admire my japes and jabs and jibbering, and the physical comedy I can still do while sitting down.

I’m making a comeback . . . on the Internet, baby!


This project makes living at our daughter’s house in Virginia bearable – it might even turn out to be enjoyable.

I’ve talked this over with Amy and with our daughter, and it’s a green light.

I plan to be at our daughter’s house in Virginia, gone from Provo, by the end of August.

If my kids here will help me, we’ll hold a giant yard sale in the next few weeks, and I’ll be giving away a lot of my canned goods and dry goods.

After the Pioneer Day Potluck this coming Thursday, I will no longer be cooking for others.  I’ll just be using up what I have to feed myself.


But do not fret – today I’m going door to door with a pot of rich and tangy white beans simmered  with pork neck bones.


Oh, and I’ll still be going out today with a poem to display at City Hall:


My wife and I are happy.


Because we find affection


Blinds us to each others


Lasting imperfection.



That’s all, folks!


Heinie Manush.

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