Tag Archives: humor


One of the quirky things about this house I am renting is that every time I come home from work, I must play that garage door opener like a castanet – click, click, click, clickety-click, click, click, click. 


All right, maybe that is not so funny to the average reader, but I know you are NOT an average reader.  You have a good imagination and an inquisitiveness that just won’t stop.  Well, at least I do.

There I am, sitting in the car in the driveway, in front of the closed garage door.  I reach for the door opener.  I aim it towards the solid part of the door.  Click click.


I move it in the direction of the little windows.  Click, click, click, click.

Again, nothing.  I aim it towards the middle of the door.  Clickety-clickety.

Nothing once more.

I aim it at the upper windows of the garage door.  Click.

Door opens.

Now run this scenario quickly in your mind.  Add a little finesse in the wrist movement, hear me say, “What the heck?” about seven times, and “Ugh” about fifty.

One thing I am learning about living here in this part of the country is that everything moves in its own time.

Looks like garage door openers think so, too.

©2022, excerpt from “Tales from Yodel-O Land”

Ribbon Sindwitchez

Attending a dinner party Friday night last, someone suggested we trade stories of the strangest incident that happened to us the past week as we headed out to the balcony for digestifs.

One-by-one, we played raconteur.  The stories were hilarious, some a bit naughty, a few over-the-top.  Laughter permeated the night air, and soon my turn came to be the anecdotist:

Earlier that week, my planned supper was kielbasa (a type of Polish sausage), sauerkraut, and rye bread.  All I had at home was the sausage, so a walk to the grocery store was in order.

As I was checking out with a loaf of Jewish rye bread and a bag of sauerkraut, the young male checker asked, “ ‘r’  ya makin’ ribbon sindwitchez?”

“Pardon me?”

“ ‘r’  ya makin’ ribbon sindwitchez?”  He smiled largely.

Only understanding the word “makin’,” and not understanding the rest of anything else he was saying, I winged a response.

“Oh, I’m making Polish sausage tonight.  Sort of a tradition on Tuesday nights.”

He smiled.  I smiled back and wished him a good day.

I strode out of the grocery store.

It was only until I got outside that I realized he was asking if I was making Rueben sandwiches.

©2022, excerpt from “Tales from Yodel-O Land”