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McVey-Simmons
7582 NW 74th Avenue
PMB PMA-10
MIAMI, FL 33166
PANAMÁ:
Correo de Chamé
Apartado 1011-00040
Republíc de Panamá
TEL +507.65.14.16.50
USA:
1778 Cliff Road
Pt. Roberts, WA 92821
McVEY DESIGN
Samples of our work:
Tammy & Gustavo's B&B
LVH Entertainment
Jazz Plus Santa Barbara
TC's Altos Yoga site
Leishmaniasis Info
Grandma Belle
NOVEMBER 2009: “Huh? What's that you say!?!?”
(NOTE: Newcomers, who would like to get an idea of what this site is all about, would be well-advised to click on "2005 Pages" and read that introduction. Enjoy!)
Old age is like smut: you know it, when you hear it.
Now, for some of us, old age ushers in peculiar hair growth. For others, peculiar hair loss. And, for the lucky few, both! But, for the majority of us, old age brings with it unexpected hearing gaffes. Take the time, a while back, when I first met Connie's Bob. (Yeah, yeah, I know, how many Bobs do you need!?!? Well, it seems like it's always one more!)
We were at dinner with a few people, Bob sitting kitty-corner from me, when he asked, "So, Bob, are you a sports fan?" An innocent enough question to which I replied not really, but Dee started making faces then broke into uncontrollable giggles.
No matter how we implored, however, she would not divulge the source of her mirth. Although she did finally agree to whisper it in TC's ear, who abruptly erupted in fits of laughter. After TC regained control of herself, she told the rest of us, "Dee thought the question was, 'So, Bob, do you have a foreskin?'"
Now, that's scrambling data, I don't care who you are.
What's that? You're wondering whether I do? Dude, I'm a senile Gentile of the Irish persuasion: the turtle never leaves the shell. Oddly, though, that reminds me of another yardstick, so to speak, which I've observed with regard to old age: your pubic hair can grow longer than your penis. Or is that just me?
Be that as it may, hearing among Altoids, during the intervening months, has not miraculously improved. The latest muddle came about while TC, Barb, Judy and I were chatting on the terrace. I don't know why, other than I like to keep the conversation lively, but our discussion came around to my form of psychotherapy employing illicit drugs—which I no longer do, but which might explain a lot—along with their diuretic action. I mentioned that I had always wanted to try a catheter with its tube running into a tub by the bed, so as not to interrupt my "trips" with potty breaks.
Here again, Barb made a face or two, then burst out laughing. What had she heard? Well, she thought we were talking about cat litter and a big box of it by my bed. (Now, that's an image you don't need in your head..."Whoops, too late!" Oh, and whatever you do, don't see me dropping a number two. Can you imagine visitors stumbling across that: "Whoa! What do you have for a pet, a cougar!?!?")
Now, I don't mean to overstay my welcome, but it's been said that as we grow older we become as children, again. Well, if hearing gaffes are the subject, then I'd have to agree. Take, for instance, my nephew Sammy's interpretation of a line from the song, Jesus Loves Me.
Sammy wanted to know why a bull was in the song. My brother, Barry, insisted there wasn't a bull. To which Sammy replied, "Yes there is," then sang this line this way, "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the bi BULL tells me so." He also wondered why the bull was bi?
I even have an example from TC, herself. In her youthful version of the Lord's Prayer, she would say, "...and forgive us our press asses as we forgive those who press ass against us." (I don't know about you, but that's a religion I could get behind...so to speak.)
Wait, just one more, one that became an infamous nugget of McVey family lore. It involves a childhood friend of TC and Jessica's who was asked to stay for dinner. What's for dinner? A Colonel Sander's family-sized bucket of pollo (this being back in the days when they still used buckets). To which our precocious little imp replied, "Oh boy, I just love that fucky-fried chicken!"
Anyway, you get the idea..."SPEAK UP, DAMMIT!"
Since last we spoke, TC has returned from Point Roberts and her latest visit with her sister, Jessica—remember, that's why Tipper came to me after her dunk in the pool. Now, the first thing you'll probably notice about the picture at right is the clothing; obviously this photo was not shot in Panamá. Anyone wearing that outfit here would immediately be checked for heat exhaustion, if not held for a psychiatric evaluation.
(Oh, which reminds me. I had to pull out my cold weather gear last night. Man, without my socks and long-sleeve shirt I coulda got downright chilly. But then we'd just had about nine hours of rain, after which a cool breeze was blowing the clouds out of the valley. "Brrr." Hm, I guess we could have closed the doors...)
At any rate, if you click on the image of TC, you'll be whisked to our first gallery, a small collection of trip pix. I know, I know, there's nothing more boring than someone else's vacation photos, but that's why I make a more concerted effort to keep the captions witty and entertaining!
And, as per usual, after you click on through the gallery you'll wind up back here. Or, if I'm not witty and entertaining enough (everyone's a critic after all), you can always click on the "HOME" link on the top of any gallery page. Enjoy!
You know, nothing gets by TC. That's why she finally realized that the only way she's going to get some "alone time" is to leave the house, because I never leave the house (shit happens out there!). So, with that in mind, she spent a weekend on a small island just off the coast of Panama City, one of a thousand such isles in the Bay of Panama, this one called Isla Taboga (click it for more info).
So, in the "humble little town" of San Pedro, TC rented an expat couple's small apartment for two nights in order to rediscover what life is like without my constant haranguing for attention. Afterwards, she told me she missed me, but what are going to say to a person who won't leave and who you can't legally do away with?
She didn't take many photos, but I augmented what she shot with some images pirated off the Web—"Hey, I give 'em photo credit!" You can see them, if you click on the idyllic tropical beach photograph...
Yeah, okay, enough with the travelogue crap. Which means we have only one gallery left, and you know what it's gonna be: Our November Walkabout!
What? Hey, every walkabout has to start with some sustenance, don't you know? I mean, I've got hypoglycemia after all; can't neglect those blood sugars. Although, once you see the photo of me in this gallery, you'll realize that neglecting blood sugars has never been a problem where I'm concerned...
Disregarding that bit of information, please click on the picture and you'll be off-the-hook until our next Casa Ingaso update. Enjoy!
And with that, the time has come to say good-bye and good luck. We here at Casa Ingaso want to thank you for your continuing consideration of our adventures, and wonder, only to ourselves mind you, whether or not you're on any form of medication?
“¡Hasta luego, Amigos!”