As Marilyn Monroe once said, Oh, what the hell' has always been the right answer

Alright now, I am going to give this a try. My daughter says that it will help keep my mind sharp. She thinks because I am 92 that my thoughts are out in some nostalgic pasture somewhere. I tell her that her thoughts are at the bank where she is a Vice President of Screwing-Over-the-Unweary and that I would rather be out in a pasture in the rain than stuck in a vault on a sunny day. She didn't appreciate it, and told me that if I didn't start writing this thing she would have me found incompetent and send me to a home, which is what she says concerning everything from failing to brush my teeth after lunch to whistling at a pretty girl passing in the park. Hell, by the time I got finished with that judge they'd be sending her to a home.

My Veronica passed away a few months ago, and for the first time in my life I can admit to being lonely. I probably shouldn't call her mine; we never did marry, nor shack-up in any formal sense (and how informally we did so is none of your damn business). Maggie, the love of my life died back in '82. Veronica was what you call a companion, and of all of God's creation, a companion rates pretty damn high in my book. I am told that if I moved to Florida they would be all over me. But that's not really what I am after.

The boy and the mother moved out sometime ago now after a fine five year temporary stay. They haven't actually needed me for a while, but they thought I would be lonely. I've never been all that comfortable with the truth so I told them that was just nonsense. The mother has herself a fine friend now and they all moved in together.

I asked my poor Margaret who the hell I was supposed to be writing this thing to, and she told me anybody who reads it. That's fine I suppose. When I was a child I played the Vaudeville circuit with my parents. My father was the great vaudevillian Sean Houlihan. If you've never heard of him, don't worry about it. I would imagine that isn't the half of what you don't know. Anyway, I had plenty of experience reciting to folks I never knew and never would. They would applaud; we would take in enough each week to feel richer than God. It worked out pretty well. I am told that you can put up something called "pay pal" on these things and people will send you money for what you write down here. Dumbest thing I have ever heard, but that's probably more because I never bothered to remember all the truly dumb things I have heard.

Another thing is I am told that what you write first will end up being last. Who the hell thought that one up I wonder? I asked my Margaret if I was suppose to write the end before the beginning. She says its only your thoughts for the day so what's the big deal? I tell her like so much these days there is just no story in it.

 Anyway, I am sick of this already. I am going to head off to the park and see what is going on before the cold really sets in and I am stuck in this condo for the winter. It's a nice day here in Faithton. You might want to get your carcass out of that chair and head down to the park and see it. Maybe we'll meet down there. Sure as shooting we won't ever meet here.

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