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Category: Fretless Foibles

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Flu Fret

Flu Fret

“If you’ve got your health, you’ve got everything.” Well, then, I am lacking. I am afflicted. But so are many. My conditions are my constant companions. They’ll shuffle along this mortal coil with me for as long as I shuffle along upon it.  But there is a gift in my conditional state: my chronic ailments fortify me against the indignities of aging. When I was a child–back in the dinosaur age–there was a limited artillery in the asthma fighting arsenal. Compromised since my first wheezy breath, I was a Marax kid. (Marax shouldn’t ring a bell with many – it’s no longer manufactured in the USA because Ephedra, since banned, was an integral part of the formula.) I was a… READ MORE

Q-Tip Fret

Q-Tip Fret

Cleanliness is next to Godliness. And when this drought-conscious Californian vacations in a state with ample water, the showers are long and luxurious. I revel in this watery heaven enveloped in lavender steam with warm water pouring down from a rain-shower head. But these indulgences have consequences: annoying droplets of water that worm their way into crevasses where they shouldn’t. Like in my ear.    Happily, this is never an issue, thanks to the blessed cotton swab. They’re always there for me–on the basin at home, in a hotel bath, on a guestroom vanity.  I’m not talking about the generic, plastic tube abominations those will never sully my ears. No, my ear canals shall only be wiped well and good… READ MORE

The Writer

The Writer

I talk. A lot. I can talk to a tree. But I do listen. That’s why I write.  To prove that I do hear the other side of the pas de deux of conversation. It may seem that because my lips flap so much of the time that I don’t.  That I’m too busy trying to come up with the next bon motte to hear your reaction to my last turn of phrase. Untrue. I listen. That’s why not all my material lands – sometimes I’m too invested in listening so forgo those precious moments in my head. “Well….” Ronald Reagan started many answers drawing out this word …. To buy him time. Just a second or two to compose… READ MORE

The Touch

The Touch

I Have the Touch* Of a community that doesn’t want me afflicted. Of literal embrace. Of phones that would be answered in the middle of the night. I am touched. “Have you heard?” “No, what?” “I have Parkinson’s Disease,” I share my then-recent diagnosis as I join the parent posse outside of our children’s school. “Oh, I’m…” says one of the fathers who squeezes my shoulder and looks into my eyes as he departs from the pick-up point toward his tyke. Later, I get a text apologizing for awkward words I’ll never remember. “Your shoulder squeeze said it all,” I type back. He has the touch. Shake those hands, shake those hands• Give me the thing I understand• I’m not… READ MORE

Semiconductor Fret

Semiconductor Fret

There is a “law” in the semi-conductor industry that semiconductor speed — since extrapolated to knowledge — will double every 18 months. True. The technology in my phone exponentially trumps the semiconductor speed and knowledge that originally sent man to the moon.  Extraordinary… Frightening? Inspiring. So, why do mothers everywhere, across generations commiserate about the same problems?  Where the heck is our maternal semiconductor model?  Why can’t there be an MSM for that? Sure, my generation of parents understands better than our parents before us that toddlers are testing gravity when they drop their food onto the floor. Again. And again. Repeatedly. But there we are on the floor picking up the little devils’ wasted food like our mothers and… READ MORE

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