GreenEye Wire

After 30 years of marriage Jacqueline and her husband Mark went for counseling. When asked to describe her problems, Jacqueline went into a passionate, painful tirade listing every problem they had ever had in the 30 years they had been together.

She went on and on and on: neglect, lack of intimacy, emptiness, loneliness, feeling unloved and unlovable, an entire laundry list of unfulfilled needs she had endured over the course of their marriage.

Finally, after allowing this to go on for a sufficient length of time, the therapist got up, walked around the desk and, after asking Jacqueline to stand, tore open blouse with buttons flying everywhere, ripped off her b ra, started tongue kissing while he embraced her, then put his hands on her breasts and fondled them and kissed them passionately.

A side glance at her husband, and then he then put his hand up her skirt, ripped her panties off, and fondled her wildly while her husband Mark watched with raised eyebrows and mouth wide open.

Jacqueline, flushed, tried to cover herself with the torn blouse and quietly sat down as though in a total daze.

The therapist turned to Mark and said, Now do you understand? This is what your wife needs at least three times a week! Can you do this?

Mark thought for a moment and replied, ‘Well, I can drop her off here on Mondays and Wednesdays but on Fridays, I play golf.’

Ba Da BAH.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12….doo do do do do do do do do do DOO. Funny. It didn’t seem so retro sounding when I was a kid.

A two day old bruise on my toosh from crashing on rollerblades. Notice road rash in the lower left corner.

I tell you this not because it is obscene, but because you might want to put on a pair of sunglasses. Or perhaps a welding helmet.

This post should also make clear why you want to learn how to rollerblade (or in my case remember how to rollerblade) before attaching your eager dog to pull you.

Actually, rollerblading wasn’t my problem. Stopping on the rollerblades without crashing was my problem.

Broadcasting legend Paul Harvey died today, at age 90, in a Phoenix hospital. — Time.com

The first time I saw his picture was today when I read his obituary. I thought about putting his picture on this post, but somehow, no picture could do his voice justice.

As a young child, I would either ride with my dad in the tractor while he was working, or, later on, we would work the fields together. And we always listened to Paul Harvey speak about this or that. His voice was unmistakable. It was soothing and fascinating at the same time.

Paul Harvey. The name makes me think of sitting in the shade of the pickup while eating sandwiches or crunching on apples in the field with my Dad; the smell of diesel and dust in the air and the ubiquitous Kansas wind dancing through the prairie grass and the sound of pump jacks ‘pop pop popping’ in distant fields.

I loved his ‘rest of the stories’. I remember that my Dad and I hanging on his every word. Even if you didn’t agree with everything he said, you couldn’t help it: his voice was that mesmerizing.

I remember one story he told involving a 5′ 5″ 135 pound woman who lifted a car off of her child when it backed over him. She pulled every muscle in her body, but was otherwise healthy.

The rest of the story?

Four months later, she gave birth to a healthy baby.

And there were so many more. It was the closest thing, I suppose, to the radio shows of old. And usually at the end of the ‘Rest of the Story’, we’d have a good chuckle. We’d put our empty sandwich bags back into the lunch box and toss our apple cores into the ditch for the coyotes. And we’d start the day again.

Paul Harvey always ended his radio show with

Paul Harvey *Pause* Good Day!

So I say: Paul Harvey — Goodbye.