Mike and I will soon be deliriously rich and famous. I thought about calling Channel 6 News immediately. But, no, I decided my fellow blog-ers should be the first to know. I was slicing sticks of bell pepper to go with our tuna fish salad when what should appear but the image of a universally known icon. (See bottom of page but not before you read this. It’s late. I’m tired. And I want the suspense to build. You know, so you will be all agog by the time you get to the end of the story. Which I intend to milk for all it’s worth).
It has been one of those ethereal, wooo-wooo days anyway. Sister Kate and I, and Henry and Tammy (son/dtr in law), had a big yard sale today and the color of green mesmerized me. We spent six hours in the hot sun with all our unwanted stuff set out for all and sundry. I made $20 bucks. Let’s see . . . that’s a smidge over $3.00 an hour. But when those greens started collecting in my tin, I felt this overpowering spirit of . . . greed . . . for the green, and my only regret was that I had but one pile of junk to sell for my profit.
Then this evening Mike and I, since there was diddly-squat on TV, decided to watch the Green Hornet marathon, for nostalgic purposes. We love Cato (Bruce Lee). We enjoyed Lee, just seeing his image on the screen, but we weren’t quite prepared for the dialogue. When the Hornet told Lee, (aka car chase) “Don’t lose him, Cato,” Mike drawled, “Scintillating dialogue.” I don’t think he pronounced it right, but I caught his drift.
Somewhere in this green-masked drama, an impostor got the drop on Cato and the Green Hornet. “Don’t try any tricks,” he said, at which time Cato delivered a lovely roundhouse kick and the gun went flying. “But he told him not to try any tricks,” I told Mike. “That was no trick,” Mike said. “That was the real thing. Cato was dead serious.” (Perhaps an unfortunate choice of wording, but . . . not for our heroes).
However, by the end of the show, Mike, eyelids at half-mast, sighed, “They shoulda done Green Acres”.
But now for the miraculous appearance that had Mike and I leaping for joy. Well . . . bouncing on our toes, anyway. Well . . . actually Mike didn’t even get up off the couch. I had to take the iconic miracle to him. But the sentiment is the same. Okay. I digress. Anyway, Mike got up enough energy to get the camera and take a picture – proof positive.
How, you may ask, did this miracle occur, and why to me. Well, the why is easy. My great-grandmother, Annie Abigail Bryan, came from Ireland. Plus, I’ve got other Irish ancestors. Plus, my sainted departed mother named my car “The Green Hornet” even though it’s gray. Why? Because it sounds like the Green Hornet going up a slight grade. Eeeeeeee. The how? Well, I just lopped the top off that crisp bell pepper, and, whallah! There he was. And heeere he is:
Mick E. Mouse