Sylvia Earle
I hope that someday we will find evidence that there is intelligent life among humans on this planet.
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I couldn’t decide whether to go to Salt Lake City or Denver for vacation, so I called the airlines to get prices. “Airfare to Denver is $300,” the cheery salesperson replied.
“And what about Salt Lake City?”
“We have a really great rate to Salt Lake—$99,” she said “But there is a stopover.”
“Where?”
“In Denver,” she said.
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I had spent the late winter months waiting impatiently for signs of spring. When the first warm, sunny Saturday arrived, I eagerly unlocked the storm door and stepped onto our patio deck. I was pleased by the sight of green sprouts and the sounds of singing birds. More than anything else, I delighted in the sweet aroma of the spring air.
Knocking on the kitchen window, I beckoned to my wife to join me in enjoying the pleasures of the season. She quietly brought me back to earth when she reminded me that I was standing over the dryer vent, inhaling the scent of fabric softener.
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Our daughter, an ROTC cadet, was ordered to Fort Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania for field exercises. Since it was the Easter season, she requested permission to attend church services on Palm Sunday. The troops were in the field at the time, so the commanding officer agreed only if there happened to be a church in the vicinity of their maneuvers. When a small country church was seen along the road, our daughter entered quietly, hoping to be unnoticed in spite of her leaf-and-branch camouflage. But all eyes turned upon her as a small child cried in amazement, “Look, somebody came as a palm!”
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One spring day I was taking the roll in my secretarial class at our local technical college. One of the sun worshipers was absent. “Cindy won’t be here this afternoon?” I asked. “She went home to lay in the sun,” a young woman in the front row answered. Trying to correct her grammar without embarrassing her before the class, I whispered, “Lie.” Okay,” she replied in astonishment. “Cindy got sick and went home.”
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Every Easter our church stages an elaborate pageant. Last year the man who played Pontius Pilate had to work on the night of the dress rehearsal, and a chorus member substituted for him. As we began rehearsing Pilate’s solo, the conductor stopped the orchestra. “Pilate, I don’t hear you,” he called out. “You’re not loud enough.”
“Pilate is at work,” a voice on the stage shouted back. “We’ve got our co-Pilate tonight.”
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In Ohio, spring is always eagerly awaited after the long, cold winters. When I arrived at work one day in mid-March, I noticed a sign gaily decorated with flowers and butterflies. It read: “Think Spring.” The first day of spring blew in with a snowstorm and freezing temperatures, however, and another flowery sign was posted. This time the message read: “Forget Spring. Think Summer.”
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Twice a year, we change the clocks for daylight-savings time. And twice a year, my normally punctual assistant arrives late to work the Monday after we do so. I finally had to find out why. “Do you have a problem remembering to spring forward or fall back?” I asked. “Oh, no,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “What gets to me is staying up until 2 a.m. to change my clock.”
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Two doctors and an HMO manager die and line up together at the Pearly Gates. One doctor steps forward and tells St. Peter, “As a pediatric surgeon, I saved hundreds of children.” St. Peter
lets him enter.
The next doctor says, “As a psychiatrist, I helped thousands of people live better lives.” St. Peter tells him to go ahead.
The last man says, “I was an HMO manager. I got countless families cost-effective health care.”
St. Peter replies, “You may enter. But,” he adds, “you can only stay for three days. After that, you can go to hell.”
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A guy shows up late for work. The boss yells, “You should’ve been here at 8:30!”
The guy replies, “Why? What happened at 8:30?”
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“Martin Levine, owner of a movie theater chain in New York City, has passed away
at age 65,” the newspaper obit read. “The funeral will be held on Thursday at 2:10, 4:20, 6:30, 8:40 and 10:50.”
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A young man called directory assistance. “Hello, operator, I would like the telephone number for Mary Jones in Phoenix, Arizona.”
“There are multiple listings for Mary Jones in Phoenix,” the operator replied. “Do you have a street name?”
The young man hesitated, and then said, “Well, most people call me Ice Man.”
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Good morning everyboomie.
We are almost to another weekend.......for anyone who cares.
I had a great day here in Okie-la-homa.
Took Missy to the park first thing, and then went you know where, to Walmart again.
Came home and brought Beau over to play with Missy, and so I'd have two pups following me everywhere in the house.
I did my exercising, and then rested and watch some TV.
Then at about 6:00 I went out and finished all the mowing. Phew!
Now for some gaming.
I wish you all a very happy day.
joe
acebook
witter
Good Morning Joe, Ana and everyone. Coffee and tea are ready.
Had a lovely day quietly spent with family. 