Murphy, I'm calling you out

Last year at this time I was cooking a big pot of black-eyed peas for good luck in the coming year, along with collards, the Southern green dish traditionally guaranteeing wealth.

Throughout the year blessings poured forth in the most unusual and unexpected ways, not the least of which was connecting with my new friend and helpmate Jenny Smith, who spends many hours each week in volunteer work with the visually impaired.

As for wealth, no one can complain about having enough money to make ends meet.

Then, around mid-December, as I was getting out my Christmas mailings, the effect of my culinary efforts wore off, and Murphy’s Law kicked in with a venegeance.

I will not bore you, dear reader, with all the gory details as the year wound down into a personal hell of “if anything can go wrong, it will.”

Bad luck does come in threes. I did not share with you the two subsequent water disasters which followed closely the apartment flooding. These events caused a friend to ask me what I had done to the god of water to get on his sh*tlist!

The happiest day of my buddy Chris’ year is getting to open all his Christmas gifts. Of the five gifts I ordered for him online, only two have arrived to date, and one of those was broken. All I can do is tell Chris, “Your gifts are on the way,” as I daily track the whereabouts of the remaining presents. One was last traced to the postal service in Las Vegas, Nevada!

These are just a couple of the year-end snafus which have plagued me, and from Christmas Day to New Year’s Day all have been topped off with a roaring toothache. (Even I know better than to call a dentist during the holidays.)

So, I won’t be cooking the good-luck peas and wealth-bestowing collards this day. Instead, I’ll probably opt for something soft like oatmeal.

If anyone know the whereabouts of Murphy, tell him I’m calling him out at sunset with dueling pistols at 20 paces.

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A brief post follows.