Words of Advice--well, just a few

 "Don't pay what's owed until it's due."  Sara M., who'd graduated from Business School, when she sent me to the post office with a money order for her store items. 

Don't try to explain your reasoning to someone who just wants to criticize you."  Richard V. , business associate of Dave's, when an opinionated party goer interrupted  and disputed an innocuous comment.

"It doesn't matter what he thinks; we hired him because he's a good surgeon, not for his personal opinion."  Dr. Martin Symansky when the surgeon (for a  4-year-old) said I didn't need to stay overnight in the child's  hospital room. 

"Watch out*for that science teacher who asked you to chaperone the field trip to Howe's Cavern. Just be on guard." George L. probably the best person who ever entered the teaching profession. * He was right.

"Don't be concerned about your adult children; think about yourself."  Anonymous and  arrogant doctor in anonymous time and place.

There may be more but I didn't need to be told not to fire until I saw the whites of their eyes.  

Excerpt from the Archives

 Last stanza of "Memory Reset"

"Those memories of the good old days

Are victims of time's theft.

Instead recall the battles won

In the time that we have left."

My Word!

 Yesterday I came across a word I'd used in writing decades ago. I had to look up its meaning, even though I'd used it years ago. Today the word appeared in Spelling Bee as the pangram. The word is mordant.

Folder Fodder

 Going

through stuff with the thought of clearing out the detritus, I came across this forgotten vinyl carrybag, the kind Dave used to bring to the office containing files and resumes and such. But I had appropriated this one for my use, filled with college papers, memos, and, lord help us, some of my early writings. It is true that most valued had been my post-graduate exam from Dr. J. Thompson Littlefield, where he had written a personal note, and finally, an A in literature. 

But inserted in the pages, some of my early poetry . Snookie keeps telling me to write more, but I don't think she would mean of this genre:

      Mordant Terror

Sometimes in the sleepless night

Comes the cold, clear knowledge

That all are mortal and must die, 

And I feel I should call 

And invite everyone to a party

So that they might live.

But with the dawn comes daylight

And with it the illusion

That what had appeared as certainty

Is only a nightmare

And will pass. 

And then the sun comes out

And burns away the truth.

One of the last of the Charming Lane party survivors:

 Don DeWeerdt, He often showed up .

What a prude:

 but how was I to know. 

Those left-handed compliments

 Well, "high functional status" is preferable to "spry."  I guess.