Maybe It's Just Me...

 And it usually is but my half-gallon of ice cream is now 48 ounces instead of 64. I know they aren’t saying it's a half-gallon but they (grocers) and stocking it where the half-gallons used to be.

Here’s the problem; for most of my life I had a half gallon figured out to five servings. We had five in the family; three scoops for each of the kids, four goes to my wife, and I get five. (I’m the breadwinner and bigger.) As the children left home I adjusted to the ration of ice cream but by the time all the kids left home, I could get an extra night or so of ice cream for my wife and me. And I will admit to still taking the lion’s share.

Suddenly while dishing out the ice cream I noted a shortage of sorts. In order to get my five scoops they had to be adjusted smaller. It was then I checked the package and noted they were now 56 ounces. I adjusted. The result was buying an extra 56-ounce container every month. I think the ice cream people knew this all along.

Now mind you, the price never went down. It stayed the same for a while but soon raised.

Now we’re at the 48-ounce container. And the price in some instances is almost three times what was paid for 64 ounces. I'm not buying more ice cream just more containers.

Here’s what is really crazy; a pint of Ben and Jerry’s cost as much as some 48-ounce containers. Now thank you. 

So I’m warning everyone; ice cream is merely a leading indicator. A gallon of gas will soon be 100 ounces instead of 128. You heard it here first.

The Jittery Goat Is Back

 The Jittery Goat has returned.

It really didn’t go anywhere. Nearly two years ago the name was changed to The Short Story Cafe. At the time, I thought it might better reflect the site's content.

In the last year or so several have asked, whatever happened to The Jittery Goat? Thus the site’s original name has returned.

A problem did arise; the jitterygoat.com domain name was purchased by someone else. Likely they saw tremendous financial potential in owning that domain name. The site URL is now www.jitteryg.com. It’s the best I could do. However, the site remains The Jittery Goat.

A warm thanks to all those who have visited. 

She Said, He Said; Something Special for the Weekend

 “Mom is spending the weekend with us,” she said, “is there anything special you want me to pick up at the grocery?”

“Nah,” he said, “but stop at the hardware for some rat poison.”

She Said, He Said; A Real Gentleman

 “Why don’t you open the car door for me anymore,” she said.

“My car has a center consul,” he said.

She Said, He Said; First Kiss

 “You know what today is, don’t you? she said.

“No,” he said.

“Thirty years ago today we had our first kiss,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, “I licked the mustard off your chin and you went for it.”

New Novel Just Released; "A Place Called Serenity"

 My latest novel, A Place Called Serenity, is available on Amazon; digitally or in paperback. 

It has been serialized on The Short Story Cafe for the last few months.

The novel’s backdrop takes me back to the days before going to school. My memories are vivid of a small rural neighborhood my family lived during the late forties and early fifties.

The book is fiction. The characters in the book are based on those I remember. The events are fiction yet based upon a vague and foggy memory.

The location of the mythical settlement of Serenity is about 2 and ¾ miles south of Lima, Ohio. It’s just east of an overpass on State Route 25.

The main character, Bo Tanner, returns to civilian life after World War Two. His desire is for an uncomplicated and quiet life. However, for a reason he’s not quite sure, he returns to Europe several years after the war to resolve things in his mind.

He found that war erased something from his memory; something he could not live without.

Purchase and enjoy.

Whistling And Missing

Today, for some reason, I found myself whistling the song Three Coins In The Fountain. (I don’t whistle well.) It is a song few know or remember. It is a Sinatra song and made popular at the same time the movie entitled Three Coins In The Fountain came out in 1954.

I immediately thought of my sisters, Becky and Charlene. They were teenagers then and if still alive would be in their 80s today.

They gushed over the male leads in the movie. The plot developed around three American girls who worked in Rome and hoped for love.

I remember my sisters singing the song when it came on the radio.

“Three coins in the fountain

Each one seeking happiness.

Thrown by three hopeful lovers.

Which one will the fountain bless.”

Likely they dreamed of venturing to Rome; finding happiness, blessings, and romance. They never went to Rome—and I hope they found the other things.

Anyway, I was just whistling and thinking about my two sisters and how much I miss them.

I've Been Gone

Well, not really; just sort of a break. Not really; been writing. And currently recovering (I hope) from COVID--bummer. 

Starting Monday, September 19th, my newest novel, A Place Called Serenity will be serialized. 

The setting is the first years after World War Two. Bo Tanner returns from the war. He tries to pick up on a life that barely started before going off to war. Bo trudges through life looking for answers and meaning. To reveal more; well you'll have to follow along.

Often folks wonder where novels spring from. I don't know about other folks. This novel comes from a time when I was very young. I remember the men who came back from the war and just went on as if nothing happened. They didn't tell war stories. In fact, it was the absence of war stories that fascinated me. 

Does it carry a message? Indeed, the absurdity of war. 

The goal, as in the past, is to post three episodes a week. Sometime before serialization is complete it will be made available in its entirety on Amazon.  

Hope ya'll enjoy. 

LGBTQ-Friendly; What Does That Mean?

I’ve noticed lately a few retail companies and restaurants post a notice they are LGBTQ-friendly. Does that mean they weren’t at one time and now they are? So they’re letting everybody know they are now? Are they now reformed? When did this reformation come about? How can we be sure every vestige of intolerance has been eradicated. What has happened to those former intolerant employees? Have they moved on to a competitor? This only creates too many unanswered questions.

If I were L, G, B, T, or Q it would start me thinking. Why all of a sudden are they so friendly? Have they got something up their sleeves? Are they trying to lure me in only to beat me up or exploit me?

Aren’t these places supposed to be friendly to everybody anyway? The old business motto used to be the customer is always right not the customer is always straight.

So if a place declares itself LGBTQ-friendly, are they unfriendly to “straights?” Just asking. Can a redneck, straight, homophobic guy expect the same level of service as a flaming, transgender, dike lover? Just asking.

No one in US society has ever been more discriminated against than blacks. Have we ever seen a retail company or restaurant proclaim they are “black friendly?” What about “Asian friendly?” What about “Jewish friendly?”

However, in one way, LGBTQ sounds like it’s the kind of place kids or straights ought to shy away from. You know, like those places that say, “Adults Only or Pretty Girls.” I don’t want anybody being “friendly” to me, one of my kids or, grandkids—if you know what I mean. Actually, a waitress, clerk, or stewardess being a little too “friendly” gives me pause for concern.

It’s all that they call virtue signally. It is their way of declaring their moral superiority over Hank’s Muffler Shop, who treats everybody the same except little old ladies who are a little short of cash.

Likely, I have an unusual way of looking at things, just treat everybody good. And I’m a little skeptical of people who feel compelled to proclaim they’re good and morally superior.

Manager Wanted

If we listen carefully to how a person responds to a simple greeting, it tells us a whole lot about that person. An unconsciousness and seemingly innocent response is the window into a person’s psyche; who the person really is—his soul.

For instance, you see an old acquaintance, Joe.

“How ya doin’, Joe?”

“I’m managin’.”

It sounds sort of lame. It almost sounds like Joe ain’t doin’ so good. But scratch below the surface.

That says a lot about Joe; he’s managing. Look around you; 90 % of the people you see from day to day aren’t managing it. They’re overworked, overdrawn, overextended, over mortgaged, overweight, and by the looks of things, over the hill. And they’re underpaid, under stress, underdressed, under-achieved, and under the gun. In other words, they ain’t managing it well but good ole Joe, “I’m managin’.”

Then you see Frank; haven’t seen Frank for about as long as you haven’t seen Joe.

“How ya doin’, Frank?”

“Hangin’ in there.”

It almost sounds like Frank and Joe are walking shoulder to shoulder in some sort of miserable mundane macrocosm of life as we know it today.

Let’s look at Frank’s words a little more closely; “Hangin’ in there?”

Where? Where’s Frank hanging? We know it’s not in a closet, from a streetlight, or from a flagpole; else we wouldn’t be seeing Frank. If he was hanging from a flagpole he could at least say, “Hey, I’m up here, hangin’ in there.” But Frank is lying. No rope, no chain, no hanger, no string, no hook. Frank is unreliable. Maybe he means he’s hanging out—but where? He’s not there. He’s not where he should be hanging. He should be there if he’s “hangin’ in there.” We don’t even know where there is. If it was here, we’d see Frank hanging off something. The least he could do is bring “there” with him, so we’d at least know where he is supposed to be hanging.

If I was hiring, I’d hire Joe before I’d hire Frank any day. At least Joe can manage.