I tell you, I can’t catch a break. Nothing goes right for me.
Just the other day I was watching a Youtube video by some 15-year-old boy who is known as The Backpack Kid. It’s called “Flossin” and it looked like fun. Being the fun-loving person I am, I decided to try “Flossin’.”
That’s when my body decided to remind me that I was a long way past 15.
My dentist told me that I should floss more. My creaky old bones said, “Not so fast, Fred Astaire.”
Now, thanks to Backpack Kid, I am Backache Man. Instead of “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” I’m groaning like an oldie.
Well, maybe Backpack Kid did me a favor. I threw my back out before I discovered “shuffle dancing.”
Sometimes I think a rain cloud follows me wherever I go.
I mean, Sara and I were at Wal-Mart a few weeks ago. She was grocery shopping and I was following her around like a dutiful husband.
“Should we get asparagus or zucchini?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” I replied absent-mindedly.
Then, suddenly, it was like I was in a Greek myth and I heard the siren call of the candy aisle.
“Jooohn …”
I followed the voice.
“Pssst!” whispered the Almond Joys. “Sometimes you feel like a nut.”
“Sometimes you don’t,” the Mounds bars countered.
“Over here,” the M&M’s softly called.
It became a musical serenade.
“Dig if you will a picture of you and I engaged in a kiss …,” the Hershey Kisses cooed.
As a diabetic I knew that candy probably wasn’t the healthiest option. But the cookie aisle was too far away.
Just then an unexpected surge of willpower overcame me. I started to leave the candy aisle when the strangest thing happened.
A bag of Sour Patch Kids leaped off the shelf! Rather than let those poor kids fall to their doom, I caught them in midair. The only way to save them was to adopt them, so I held on to them tightly as I followed Sara to the check-out.
I slid them nonchalantly toward the cashier. “Do you have ID?” she asked.
I was stunned. Did she know I was a diabetic trying to buy candy? Had the police issued an all-points candy bulletin for me?
I should have checked the back of the M&M box to see if my photo was on it.
“Seen this man? Don’t sell him candy!”
At least my attempt to rescue the Sour Patch Kids was eventually successful. Until, that is, I opened the bag.
What is going on with all this snow? Now, I know some people like snow. The scientific name for those people is Moronicus Idiotas, I think.
I moved to Arizona 14 years ago, after Rhode Island suffered through a hard winter with more than 100 inches of snow.
“I’m done with this crap,” I told myself as I gave away my winter clothes. I wouldn’t be needing them anymore!
Admittedly I didn’t know a lot about Arizona; just that it had cactus, sand and scorpions. I had never heard of the High Country. So I was a little perplexed when I awoke one morning in Window Rock and saw snow on the ground.
Of course it wasn’t like New England snow, which hangs around like an unwanted houseguest. Arizona snow fell during the night and was gone by 10 a.m. the next day. I don’t mind that kind of snow.
But this winter has been bitterly cold and full of snow.
I don’t know what you think about climate change, but when I see the temperature in Phoenix is lower than Westerly, R.I. in mid-winter, I know something is seriously wrong.
One thing I know for certain. If this winter was a harbinger of things to come, I may be moving back to Rhode Island, where it seems to be getting warmer.
John Christian Hopkins lives in Sanders, Ariz., with his wife, Sararesa. He is a veteran journalist – but never an enemy of the people. He is the author of many books, including “Carlomagno: Adventures of the Pirate Prince of the Wampanoag.” He is a member of the Narragansett Indian Tribe of Rhode Island.
