YESTERDAY I executed a Mugabe Manoeuvre outside a shopping mall. In other words, I tripped and fell. Now the older you get (and I am within spitting distance of 80) the harder you fall.
I could not get up by myself and I’m too heavy for my wife to lift. However, three friendly parking guards managed to lift me to my feet.
They carried me to the car and then one of them fetched the store’s first-aid man, who did his thing.
Of course I was grateful and so I offered all three a largish tip – which they politely declined. And then I understood: this was about compassion, not money. What they had done was to help a fellow man in trouble.
So I, after I was patched up, asked all three of them to help my wife arrange her stuff in the boot. Then I tipped them.
The tip was received with much smiling and thanks. I realised then that they are car guards and expect to be paid for their job. But by trying to tip them for helping me, I had insulted their pride.
Something that all of us don’t always understand.
And by the way, my wife is a keen birdwatcher. Later, when she looked at the bruises on my chest, she said, “Oh good! I have never had a pair of blue tits in my garden before.”
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Herewith an amazing clip. The drone has changed the entire concept of war. This shows the US military attacking IS terrorists.
It is on a very dark night but note how clear the images are. The man behind the FLIR camera and guns is not even flying it, but controlling the drone from another country. What a level of sophistication without collateral damage. Even the mules and donkeys are spared.
But there is one problem: What happens when ISIS gets its own drones?
Click on the following clip on internet: (Thanks BJ)
https://youtube.com/watch?v=eBEU-OiEvII
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And now a nice little Jewish story. The year is 2016 and the United States has elected the first woman President, Susan Goldfarb. She calls up her mother a few weeks after election day and says, “So, mom, I assume you’ll be coming to my inauguration?”
“I don’t think so. It’s a ten-hour drive, your father isn’t as young as he used to be and my arthritis is acting up again.”
“Don’t worry about it mom, I’ll send Air Force One to pick you up and take you home. And a limousine will pick you up at your door.”
“I don’t know. Everybody will be so fancy-schmantzy, what on earth would I wear?”
Susan replies, “I’ll make sure you have a wonderful gown custom-made by the best designer in New York.”
“Honey,” mom complains, “you know I can’t eat those rich foods you and your friends like to eat.”
The president-to-be responds, “Don’t worry, mom. The entire affair is going to be handled by the best caterer in New York, kosher all the way. Mom, I really want you to come.”
So mom reluctantly agrees and on January 20, 2017, Susan Goldfarb is being sworn in as president of the United States. In the front row sits the new president’s mother, who leans over to a senator sitting next to her and says, “You see that woman over there with her hand on the Torah, becoming president of the United States?”
The Senator whispers back, “Yes, I do.”
Mom says proudly, “That’s my daughter. Her brother is a doctor!”
* * *
When I was in standard one in the late fifties, there was a guy about five years older than us in standard three. When I reached standard three he was in my class.
And when I reached standard five, he was still in standard three. Years later I heard that he had become a postman.
Life was tough in those days. If things had been any different, he could have been president. (Thanks Scorpio)
* * *
Yesterday my daughter e-mailed me again, asking why I didn’t do something useful with my time.
“Like sitting around the pool is not a good thing?” I asked.
Talking about my “doing-something-useful” seems to be her favourite topic of conversation. She was “only thinking of me”, she said and suggested that I go down to the senior centre and hang out with the guys.
I did this and when I got home last night, I decided to play a prank on her. I e-mailed her and told her that I had joined a parachute club.
She replied, “Mother, are you nuts? You are 78 years old and now you’re going to start jumping out of airplanes?”
I told her that I even got a membership card and e-mailed a copy to her. She immediately telephoned me and yelled, “Good grief, mom, where are your glasses? This is a membership to a prostitute club, not a parachute club.”
“Oh dear, I’m in trouble again,” I said, “I really don’t know what to do. I signed up for five jumps a week!”
Life as a senior citizen is not getting any easier but sometimes it can be fun.
(Thanks Ingrid)
