Febraury 10: An Apology

Please accept my apologies for being absent last night.  I was shoveling out from a huge snowstorm and also planning my lessons for today's classes.

Tomorrow, I will be rested and ready to post something of substance.

Tonight, Saint Marty is dead tired.

Too tired to laugh . . .

November 23: An Apology, Mission Accomplished, Vickie

Allow me to apologize for my blogging absence these last two days.  I had to take a little vacation from Saint Marty in order to finish my annual Christmas essay.  Perhaps I wasn't missed.  Perhaps nobody was worried.  If you were concerned about me, I apologize.  If you weren't concerned, screw you.

Just kidding.

My Christmas essay is done.  I finished it last night around midnight.  I'm so relieved.  Last Sunday, I was in a panic because I had exactly two paragraphs written.  Tonight, after I'm done typing this post, I'm going to have one of my "special" hot chocolates (Kahlua and Swiss Miss) to celebrate.  And tomorrow afternoon, I will be going to the radio station to record it.  Then it will be out of my hair.  Figuratively, of course.  I don't have much hair to be out of, if you catch my drift.

Tonight's happiness is a little bittersweet for me, however.  The Book of Common Prayer says, "In the midst of life, we are in death."  My wife just spoke with a friend of hers on the phone.  Vickie has been very ill for quite some time.  About two months ago, she announced she was cancer-free.  This evening, after a trip to the hospital, Vickie was told she has two or three days left to live.  The cancer has returned and metastasized.

I don't know Vickie.  I've only spoken with her on the phone a couple of times in passing.  She has been calling my wife almost every day now.  Vickie is very frightened.  She told my wife this evening that she doesn't want to go to sleep because she might not wake up.  Vickie's also been talking about things on her bucket list she's not going to be able to do.  Like ride a roller coaster at an amusement park.  Or pet a pig.

Vickie has no family.  She's been a ward of the state since she was 18 years old.  There's nobody close to her to mourn her passing, except her nurses.  The people closest to her are phone contacts, like my wife.  Tonight, when she was saying goodbye to my wife, Vickie said, "Promise that you'll pet a pig for me."

Saint Marty's asking you to pray for Vickie tonight.  Pray for her peace and happiness.

This one's for Vickie

August 24: Pneumonia and Die, an Apology, an Appendix

Finally I sat down on this bench, where it wasn't so goddam dark.  Boy, I was still shivering like a bastard, and the back of my hair, even though I had my hunting hat on, was sort of full of little hunks of ice.  That worried me.  I thought probably I'd get pneumonia and die...

Yes, Holden comes close to dying in Catcher.  By the end of the book, he's really sick, mentally and physically.  But he's a survivor.  You never doubt that.  He's going to pick up the pieces of his life and live it on his own terms, no matter what.  I think that's why Holden is such an iconic figure in American literature.  He speaks the truth, and he calls out people who are false in any way.

Well, I owe all of my disciples an apology for pulling a disappearing act these last couple of days.  I swear I haven't been in hiding or on some desert pilgrimage.  I have done a lot of praying, though.  A lot.  But it wasn't deep and theological.  It was more like, "Please, help me, God.  Help me.  Help.  Help."

I ended up in the ER last night after experiencing stomach pain all day.  I got there at 7 p.m., and I was in the operating room by a little after midnight.  I thought it was some kind of gallbladder attack, that I was going to get some pain medication and be sent home.  Instead, the ER doc came in after my CT scan and said, "Well, you have appendicitis."  Pretty soon, a surgeon was standing next to my bed, and within the hour, I was talking to an anesthesiologist.

Yes, I gave birth to a bouncing, pink, inflamed appendix.  I think I'm going to name her Pia, because she's given me quite a pain in the ass.  Hospitals don't keep patients very long anymore.  I was discharged around 11 a.m. today.

I'm sore.  Tired.  Hungry.  And in need of another pain pill pretty soon.  I'm going to try to get back in the saddle pretty soon, but, tonight, this little apology/explanation is all I can manage.  I'll try to be a little more creative tomorrow.

Right now, Saint Marty needs to get his little Pia to bed.

I think she has my eyes

July 8: A Quick Dip, Magic 8-Ball Monday, Contests

I realized just a few minutes ago that I haven't blogged once today.  I have been running non-stop since around 4 a.m., and I am beat right now.  So, I'm going to cut straight to the meat of this post:  Magic 8-Ball Monday.

I'm going to do a very quick Rye dip tonight.  The only things on my mind tonight are the writing contests I've entered this summer.  The winners of both contests are supposed to be announced some time this month.  I'm getting a little anxious.  My question for the bible of Salinger is:

Will I win at least one of these writing contests?

And the answer from the mouth of Caulfield is:

"I'm sorry, sir, but we have our--"

I wasn't really hoping for an apology.  That doesn't bode very well for my chances.

Perhaps Saint Marty should forget about writing contests.  He doesn't have a very good track record with them.

Not me!

June 9: An Apology

I am so sorry that I've been absent this weekend.  I've spent the last three days watching dancing.  It was dance recital weekend for my daughter, so I was in a dark auditorium all day yesterday (watching rehearsals and the recital itself).  I pretty much did the same thing again today.

Now, I'm tired, and I'm going to watch the broadcast of the 2013 Tony Awards.

Saint Marty will be back to his regular programming tomorrow morning.  Thanks for your understanding.

Yes, this is how I relax.  Deal with it.

January 13: An Apology, Irrational, Animal Cruelty

I guess this morning's post upset some people.  Well, it upset at least one person.  A gentleman named Chuck left a comment for me, expressing his disapproval of my tactics in the dispensing of my rodent problem.  He called my use of the glue traps cruel.  Either that, or he called my suggestion of taking the live mouse outside and smashing it with a snow shovel cruel.

Let me express my apologies to Chuck and any other lover of filthy, disease-carrying rodents I may have upset.  It was not my intent to encourage rodent cruelty, rodent discrimination, or any other kind of rodent violence.  While I. myself, cannot embrace the rodent as a creature of God because of my irrational phobia, I certainly would never do anything to throw rodent culture into chaos.

Therefore, please don't take my previous post as anything more than me trying to come up with something funny to say.  If you are currently in a serious inter-species relationship with a rodent, I will not judge you.  If you believe in rodent free love, God speed to you.  However, I will not be throwing any rodent dinner parties any time soon, unless the main course is d-Con.

Saint Marty just ain't a lover of mice, rats, chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, bats (which are just rats with wings), gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, or anything of that ilk.

If you're into this, I wish you well