Coonridge Digest: Adjusting perception

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

It never fails. I flail away at the problems of the world with my little worry stick then somebody comes along with a cure-all that makes me look plumb goofy for not thinkin’ of it myself.

This winter the National Weather Service announced that they had a new way of figurin’ the Wind Chill Factor. They allowed as how they wouldn’t peg the mercury quite so low from now on when the wind starts whippin’ the flakes around the lamppost. In short, they’d up the estimate of the temperature. Then…lo and behold (and if I’d not lived through this winter I’d have called ‘em fools)… we just witnessed the mildest winter in this old gal’s memory. Hardly a snow all winter to slow us down and I’ve never spent so many January and February days in shirt sleeves in my life. It worked! They came up with new rules and changed the climate!

Why didn’t I think of that?

I’m of the notion that they got this idea from the government. Ever since I was old enough to vote I’ve been bombarded with campaign promises from the party out of office, claimin’ for all the world that the present skunks have ruined the economy and that we’re all headed for fiscal Hades in a hat basket if we don’t elect the out-of-office gang.

Then the outsiders get elected, become the new insiders, find a new way to figure the economy and lo and behold, things are improvin’! Glory be God we have again fixed the budget, the inflation, the jobless rate, the GNP, and built several power stations in the incumbent’s home district all by re-writin’ the rules! I mean is this an excitin’ way to run the country or what?

Guru Greenspan recently announced that the recession was over even though the signs are at best piddlingly hopeful. Those out of work and the companies still lookin’ at a loss statement can now hold tight to the promise that although they’re busted, it’s their imagination.

Although I never seem to be the first to uncover any new and helpful idea, I’ll be first in line to jump on someone else’s bandwagon. In fact, that’s how I got rid of my arthritis this mornin’.

"Herb, look at my leg."

"Freida, I’m eatin’. It’s bad enough you make me start every mornin’ on God’s earth with a bowl of dry bran flakes. Don’t take away what little joy I got by flashin’ your legs at me over the breakfast table." "I mean the way I’m movin’ that knee, you old poop! Just look at it!

Warm up the Pontiac, Herbie, we’re headin’ for the dance!" "What’re you doin’, shootin’ steroids with the Fellowship Committee?" "I have redefined arthritis, Herb! I learned it from the National Weather Service!"

"It’s the bran flakes, ain’t it? You’ve lost brain cells or somethin’?"

"I’ve lost my arthritis! The government can improve the economy by citin’ a new set of standards and the weather service can increase the temperature by redefinin’ wind chill. Last night when I went to bed I told myself that the only sure sign of arthritis is when your leg falls off completely. I got up this mornin’ with my lower shanks firmly attached and thereby pronounced myself cured!" "You mean it don’t hurt anymore?"

"It hurts like heck, Herb, but it’s my imagination!" I have a few other plans this week that I want to try out. Myra Bickel has long been a canker sore on my soul. The woman calls every day with a litany of wailin’ and woe that’d depress a hyena. If a comet fell on the North American continent, Myra would find the shards in her yard. She assumes that somehow before this day is over, the world will collapse upon her, comets and all. Fact is, she’s healthy, well-off, and is the only member of our Ladies Auxiliary Guild who doesn’t need to pass up the lemon lush. The woman’s got one of those metabolisms that sucks up fat and blows it out into the atmosphere in a cloud of pessimism.

Startin’ tomorrow I’ve decided to take a cue from the National Weather Service and simply redefine Myra’s gloom. I’ve decided to call it "Post Affluence Disorder." She’s got it too good and it’s killin’ her. If this new attitude really takes hold in my psyche I may send the woman flowers.

Even the Administration is learnin’ this new game. When V.P. Cheney was accused of takin’ the advice of G.O.P. energy fat cats to determine the Bush energy policy, George’s counselor Karen Hughes redefined the problem, callin’ it one of "perception." If it does turn cold next week and winter mounts a sneak attack on your arthritis, go ahead and wear your shorts, honey. If you feel chilled it must be your perception.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.