Monthly Archives: March 2015

It’s all about the Chicken

chicken-648668_1280I went to my writer’s group yesterday and Bill was reading a passage he wrote — about chicken feed; you know, many jobs pay chicken feed nowadays. Some professions have seen a raise in recent months, but many have remained status quo since the recession and chicken feed prevails. Actually, he is from Canada and Canada has retired the penny because the paltry cent is basically considered chicken feed, but you could save the pennies and cash in 10,000 of them for the grand total of $100. Chicken feed! I wonder how long it would  take to collect 10,000 pennies? All that chicken feed is heavy when you have to lug it around in your purse or pocket.

Sparking that idea about chicken got me thinking how much we use chicken in our language. Now, this has nothing to do with that good ‘ole southern fried chicken so few of us eat today because of that good but bad fat, but has everything to do with when you chicken out of something because you are too afraid to do it; you’re just a chicken because, face it, you’re just a scaredy cat; or don’t be such a chicken shit, that’s what I will call the scaredy cat when he is too afraid to do the deed. (OK, you can call me that because I take too few risks when it comes to fear.)

I know I’m no spring chicken, but I wasn’t around when Hoover used the term “a chicken in every pot” during his campaign in ’28. Shoot, King Henry IV of France used the term in 1589 when he wanted his peasants to have a chicken in their pot every Sunday. Just Sundays? I wonder what they had in their pots Monday through Saturday, and did they get the chicken in their pot on Sunday? I think Hoover and Henry was talking about the real deal — you know, the chicken we eat.

Now that I am retired, I do not have to run around like a chicken with its head cut off, and I’m old enough to have paid for all those misdeeds of youth, so I am not going to worry about the chickens coming home to roost, and I quit counting the chickens before they hatched a long time ago. Which brings me back to chicken. The kind you eat. All this talk about chicken has made me hungry. So, the question is, do I worry about the good but bad for you fat and have the baked chicken, or splurge and have the southern fried chicken?

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Life in the Follies

Saturday night a group of friends and an entire theatre of like-minded people attended the 2015 Kings Point Follies. We journeyed back in time via music and dance to the 1950s and 1960s. Fun, fun, fun. Since I am younger than the teens of the 50s, I can only remember my sister dancing and singing to such songs as Little Grass Shack, All of Me, or Mack the Knife. One of mother’s songs was King of the Road. Me, well I enjoyed travelling back in time to Sonny and Cher singing I Got You Babe and Connie Francis’ Where the Boys Are. I am really a rock ‘n roll kinda girl and even heavy metal!, but I enjoyed the trip down memory lane to me as a young teenager.

In the midst of all the singing and dancing, I was thinking of the word “Follies”. Yes, we associate it with a song and dance routine with elaborate costumes and much reverie for a few hours. But, “folly” does not have such a meaning. Basically, it means foolishness, lacking good sense, and the past tense of “folly” is “follies”. So, the past tense follies has nothing to do with the follies I saw Saturday night. Or maybe it does. I can tell you I had many follies in my youth as I danced the night away and I did not think all that dancing was a folly. I have had many follies as I drove through snow and ice storms in winter months, and, boy, have I made some stupid mistakes, some follies, in my life. Hasn’t everyone? The Kings Point Follies were not foolish or rash or showed senseless behavior; and in my life, I never thought my follies were foolish, rash or senseless. It’s just looking back that I see the follies of my behavior.

And on that note, I have to reiterate a joke that was given Saturday night.

This young couple was on their way to get married in the Catholic church when they were in a horrible car wreck and both were killed. They went to the Pearly Gates of Heaven and while waiting to see St. Peter, they wondered if they could get married in heaven. Once St. Peter came to the gate, they asked him their request. He told them that question was never asked before and he would have to go and find out. St. Peter left. He was gone for a long time, a couple of months, and during that time, the couple start thinking. Well, if the marriage does not work out, can we get a divorce. Finally after months being gone, St. Peter comes back and tells them they can get married. They then ask St. Peter their question, if the marriage does not work out, can we get a divorce? St. Peter slams down his clipboard, and says, “It took me three months to find a Catholic priest to marry you, do you have any idea how long it will take me to find a lawyer”?

Until next time….

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