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Once upon a time I was walking afield

And the field was walking me.

From the ground I heard a Squeak

But upon visual inspection it was coming

Not strictly from the ground

But from a Field Mouse thereon

And upon aural inspection the squeak

Was actually the Mouse saying “Hey.”

“Yes, sir?” I politely rejoined.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself, O Mouse,” said I. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I give you a hug?”

“Thanks, O Mouse, but no. Impossible. You are too small and your forelegs cannot reach around me.”

“I can hug your ankle!” The Mouse squeaked,  imploring me with his or her eyes. —HIS eyes, I mused, eyeing his impressive, fur-enwrapped jewels as he stood up with his “arms” wide.

“Promise not to bite?”

“I promise.” And the Mouse gave my ankle a Ground Zero warm hug, and I was suddenly filled with toasty contentment. The Mouse backed up and beamed.

“Thank you, Mouse. That was the best hug my ankle ever had. But why?”

“Because you were trudging, and I could tell you needed a hug. And for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said the Mouse, with a grin in his squeaky voice. “A day early, today, but I won’t see you tomorrow, for you shall be long gone. So…” and here he paused for comedic timing…

Happy Ground-Hug Day!!”

I groaned appreciatively. “You are my kind of Mouse, buddy–” but behold he had disappeared.

***

And Happy Ground-Hug Day to you, my distant Friend, and thanks for reading my Bad Pun of Groundhog Day Eve. 🙂

Author’s breakfast, 24 January 2025

meal

the meal started with a good night’s sleep. the night before i’d e-mailed the managers at work that i thought i’d overworked my post-surgical hand the past three days and would therefore rest my hand today. when the alarm went off at 2:10 am I shut it off and got three more hours of sleep.

when i woke and took my four pills and flossed and brushed i thought i’d walk a mile and a quarter and end up at mcdonald’s, there to have an egg mcmuffin or two, but i knew i had ingredients for a cheaper and more nutritious meal at home. got a roma tomato and mexican-blend cheese and a carton of eggs and sausage and white onion from the fridge. put a bit of canola oil into a fry pan and put a third of a chopped white onion in the oil, tipping the pan and spatula-tossing till they were coated.

broke two eggs into a white bowl i’d made  last year and whisked to semi-homogeneity. removed the now-caramelized onion from the pan and poured the egg in. kosher-salted and peppered and tipped the pan around to make of the eggs a circular continent. after leisurely cooking on medium heat i spatula-compelled the continent into sharpei-like folds. let rest/fry one more minute, then plated and sprinkled the rough-shredded cheese on top.

into the pan i dropped two lumps of sausage totalling about a quarter pound. spatula-mashed them as thin as I could get them without raggettifying their edges, then cranked the heat and let them sit while I fast-sliced the tomato, eating the exotic ends.

a flip for the sausage patties, a lowering of the heat, and i let the patties fry while i put the plate of eggs and cheese and onions in the microwave for thirty seconds. added the sausage patties to the plate. put the plate on the laptops on the table and set kosher salt and pepper next to the plate and the mostly-empty jug of whole milk nearby. took and photo edited the photo you see.

and i ate/mixing bites/it is great/such delights/warm and cold/salty-savory/ne’er gets old/bursty-flavory/sweet whole milk/for the beverage/adds the silk/for the leverage/over sadness/over trauma/past the madness/past the drama/upping tempo/and nutrition/braiding hemp–o/hail Nutrition!

and I thank Heaven, and Goodness, and this moment’s Reality, and i thank whoever reads all the way down for your steadfast attention, and i wish you Good Appetite of Victuals, Words and Happiness.

thanks to the hershey folks

even an old mateless man

can get a kiss on christmas eve

.

and he can pour himself christmas cheer

into a lovely goblet of his own making

and with the seagram’s v o in the cupboard

he can toast the spirit of his deceased father

with the spiritous liquor

that was his father’s favorite

.

by now you may be feeling sorry

for this lonely old codger

having been emotionally manipulated

by said codger

but you need not be

all he needs for all the unloneliness he wants

is to get off his fat ass

and go out into the world

call a pal or a gal or a gal pal

and see if a christmas movie is viewable

go to the dive bar across the street

or better yet a coffeehouse

with a cheerful barista

who knows him by name

and ask for the usual

shoot a text to a faraway loved one

or a joke to a nearby old friend

.

but before this old myself does any of this

i’ll have another so delightful kiss

and kiss you, my cherished reader, as well

in a way appropriate to the both of us

and urge you to celebrate in your way

what you find most fittingly celebratory

and i raise my goblet to you

and wish you the best