Author: Jim Hagarty

The secrets to a successful marriage, I am here to tell you, are these: Balance and Priorities.

A few weeks ago, our Internet router sputtered. It had to be restarted once a day, sometimes more often. It seemed to be slowing down. I was panicking. How would I fill my daily Politicians’ Lies Quota without the Internet? What amazing act that shocks the judges will I miss on Britain’s Got Talent? How many ghosts will I not see the ghost hunters not see?

I rushed out to the store and bought a new router for just under $200. It’s a beauty. Our Internet was back up and running an hour later. Life was good again.

Last year, our vacuum cleaner powerhead quit. Without it, attempts to vacuum the carpets were very sad. Months went by. I went into a second-hand store and there it was. A beautiful, bagless upright. Perfect. Even better was the price: $7.

Computer network access: $200. Housecleaning: $7.

A good marriage is also a matter of math. Forward any further questions you might have to my lawyer.

©2015 Jim Hagarty

This morning’s headline: Yogurt-eating mice found to have larger testicles.

A few questions: Who left the yogurt out and then who first noticed a mouse run by and commented, “Look at the set on that guy. Holy mackerel!”

To liven up the story, these are elderly mice. So these old guys are chowing down on yogurt and literally, growing a pair.

Which begs one more query: When you see a mouse, can you tell its age immediately? Does an old one have grey hair, bald patches and a belly? Does it have trouble hearing the cat sneak up on it?

This is all too much for me except for the uncomfortable feeling that my taxes are paying somebody to figure all this out. Somebody who spends his days running along behind old yogurt-eating mice to see how much their balls are growing.

Oh well, back to my yogurt.

©2014 Jim Hagarty

I had to see the optometrist today.

Wasn’t sure I needed to, but as I drove down the main street searching for his office, I started to panic. I couldn’t find the building I have visited once a year for almost three decades.

There were cars pushing me from behind, yes, but I searched frantically for the signs to his practice. And I couldn’t see them.

“Why would they take their frickin signs down?” I asked myself aloud and a wee bit more profanely than that.

I drove right by and kept on going. Turned around in a parking lot and crept my way back, finally recognizing the old brick cottage that had been converted into an eye clinic years ago. I pulled into the parking lot and walked to the front of the building, by the main street.

With the benefit of time to have a good look, I recognized three huge signs identifying the building as the eye clinic. Two of them were lighted signs, attached to the house. The other was a big static sign on a fence, close to the street. Large letters on the sign announced, Erie Eye Clinic.

I guess, it occurred to me, that if you can’t see three signs – the largest about six feet wide and colourful – identifying the eye clinic, it might be time for a check up.

The optometrist agreed.

©2016 Jim Hagarty

I read too much news and it’s ruining my life.

I am not talking about political news though that does tend to send me around the bend. Instead, the stories that are doing me in are the ones about people who find incredible things hidden in their homes. Being ever in search of riches beyond imagining as I am well aware that money most certainly can buy happiness, I have practically torn our little blue shack apart, board by board, drywall sheet by ceramic tile, to find something, anything, that would fill up my bank account.

One couple, for example, found a 50-year-old safe hidden in their kitchen wall. What was inside? $51,080, mostly in $100 notes.

 A California couple spotted a strange area underneath their bathroom vanity. After pushing on the space, they found tons of pieces of vintage jewelry from Mexico.

An unsigned Van Gogh painting was surprisingly found in the attic of a Norwegian home. I did crawl up in our attic and found some finger paint sketches our kids did in kindergarten and while they are treasures for their parents, they are no Van Goghs.

Construction workers found $500,000 in cash underneath a house and that set off an ugly dispute over who should get the money: Them or the owners of the home. If that happened to me, I would give each of the workers $10 and send them on their way.

An old Action Comics book was found after a wall was demolished in a family’s home. It sold at auction for $175,000.

A Utah man found $45,000 in his house and then he tracked down the rightful owner and returned it. I would, of course, have given the rightful owner $10, maybe 20.

In one home, a figurine of a former Russian czar was found and then auctioned for five million dollars. The best I can do are some figurines of long-retired hockey players but not even the hockey players want them.

One couple found some archaeological treasures buried under their house and the treasures were over 2,000 years old. So far, all I’ve found in our basement is a spider’s nest, and it isn’t that old, and spiders generally sell for a dime a dozen, if you can sell them at all.

It just goes on and on. In a secret room of one person’s home, a box with ammunition, a defused grenade, and thousands of pennies were found.

Another homeowner found an entire servants’ kitchen in the basement of a property that had been in their family for years. I can kind of relate to that. I moved into our house when I was still single and not being a cook, two years went by before I discovered the house had a kitchen.

One couple found a medieval well underneath the floor of their living room. An old briefcase was unearthed inside someone else’s house. It contained money from all over the world, silver, and other treasures. One family discovered an ancient chapel space under their home.

But I think I might just slow down on ripping our house apart after reading that homeowners found thousands of snakes living in the walls of their Idaho house.

Either that, or I will cancel my plans to move to Idaho.

©2023 Jim Hagarty

I went to bed feeling down last night and I am still not my usual bubbly self today. 

Last evening, I hauled two big trash cans to the street for pickup this morning and inside one of those cans was a treasure I was finally persuaded to part with. That exalted item was a brand new bike helmet that I bought and its only sin was that it was left outside. Rain, snow, hurricanes – it had seen it all. 

Still, it looked as good as the day I bought it at least 10 years ago. It was a big, round, white affair, not unlike the kind astronauts wear. It had a variety of straps and velcro pads and was about the ultimate in modern head protection. Alas, however, maybe because I don’t have a modern head, I never wore it. Still, it was not something I was ready to part with, but I was outvoted at a Summit Meeting of the Family Council, so into the garbage it went.

A couple of times during the night, I resisted going out to the street, bringing my helmet back in and hiding it in the shed. However, I live in fear of sanctions from the Family Council.

Morning came, a big truck pulled up, and it was gone.

Those heartless individuals lined up against me at the Summit Meeting made the point that I don’t actually own a bike. They argued that not having a bike pretty much cancelled the need to have a bike helmet. But I couldn’t follow their reasoning.

This afternoon I sat staring at the place the helmet used to sit and got a bit emotional.

“Goodbye, old friend,” I whispered. “I tried to save you.”

Like always, I save my emotions for the important things in life.

©2021 Jim Hagarty 

A man I know asked me what I am up to these days. I told him I am not up to much, just putting one foot in front of the other. Beyond that, my mind drew a blank as far as identifying specific things I am up to in my retirement. I told him every day is Saturday and I added this old clanger, I have nothing to do and it takes me all day to do it. Finally, however, I landed on something and reported it to him. 

A while back, I noticed that our cat Luigi, who this summer lost a leg to cancer, was using his left leg and paw to scratch the left side of his head and his left ear. It suddenly struck me that he has no way of scratching the right side of his head and his right ear, so I dove right in. For the next 10 minutes, that cat was in a state of bliss. Cat parts that hadn’t had a good scratchin’ in weeks were finally getting some attention. 

So I told this fellow about how I scratch my cat’s head and ear every day because he only has three legs and, believe it or not, that guy looked at me as though the hot sun had made scrambled eggs out of my brain. I could tell by his strained face muscles that he thought this use of my time was a complete waste. So I said to him, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to live in a world where leg-deficient cats are unable to scratch themselves.” I got the impression that he was okay living in a world like that. 

But I think if he ever saw Luigi cavorting around on the couch while this human does what his missing paw can’t do any more, he might be inclined to think that I am not wasting my time at all.

After my 68 years of ripping around this old world, I have come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter who I love or what I love or how I love.

It only matters that I love.

©2019 Jim Hagarty

So an Australian man has been hailed a “hero” after repeatedly punching a shark until it released his wife’s leg.

And while I do agree that punching a 10-foot-long, great white shark to save his wife is a pretty gutsy thing to do, lesser known heroes such as I go unheralded and that has me sort of steamed.

My wife and I have swam together in many bodies of water over the years including the Atlantic Ocean, and my fearsome demeanour all by itself has kept every shark in the area from even approaching us, let alone attacking. Yes, I did no punching but punching isn’t needed when the sharks are too intimidated to come near.

But the puncher can have all the glory if he needs it. Personally, I like to keep a low profile.

Not to brag, but we have also strolled through forests without once having been attacked by wolves, cougars, coyotes, wild dogs, bobcats, snakes and bears. Never been bitten by a wolverine, a mongoose or a wildebeest. However, I did have a close encounter with a fearsome wild turkey in my backyard this summer but after taking one look at me as I was running full speed into the garage, he took off.

When the shark puncher can successfully deal with a wild turkey in his yard, I will be suitably impressed.

Australia has one of the world’s highest incidences of shark attacks and there have been five fatal ones in the country so far this year.

Another reason I think I deserve at least a little bit of credit for not moving to Australia and having no plans to ever do so.

©2020 Jim Hagarty

Some anonymous guy phoned our house last week with a short announcement, and then hung up.

“You’re an idiot,” said the caller, when I answered. And that was that.

Except it wasn’t that. The brief character assessment conveyed by our telephone hero got me wondering whether or not I am, in fact, an idiot. I am prone to bouts of self-doubt like this.

So I signed up for a $1,000 online 12-week course entitled, “How to Identify an Idiot.”

Right off the bat, when taking my first lesson, I was a little discouraged to read that anyone who would pay $1,000 for an Internet course to confirm whether or not he is an idiot, is, in fact, an idiot.

But then I felt a little better when the presenter went on to describe how almost all human beings are idiots from time to time. With most people, however, their idiotic moments are brief and few. A true idiot, however, carries his idiocy with him all day long wherever he goes.

Our assignment for this week is to be on the lookout for idiots in our midst and having seen one, bring a description of that person to the next session.

It didn’t take long for me to recognize my first suspect. I was going through the drivethrough at a fast-food restaurant but before I could get to the window, a 40s-something man got out of his parked car and walked up to the window. He had in his hand the largest container for pop ever made and he started arguing with the attendant behind the window. 

He appeared to want a refill and he kept trying to hand the young woman his huge cup. She obviously would not take it; in the middle of a pandemic, they won’t accept anything through the window, not even cash. It seemed as though this guy thought this was about the biggest outrage anyone had ever experienced. He flailed his arms and shrugged his shoulders, obviously mocking the woman behind the glass and by extension, the whole pandemic thing. 

But, despite not wearing a mask, he sort of got his way, as he seemed to have been instructed to head into the restaurant which he did.

I am expecting a solid A in class next week for my eagle eye spotting of this idiot.

But a look at the course description suggests there is more to this offering than I at first thought.

Besides exploring the whole concept of idiocy, in future classes we will be looking at many first cousins of the idiot such as the moron, the lamebrain, the fool, and the dumbass.

I am looking forward to learning all about the dumbass, as apparently it is possible to be a dumbass and a smartass at the same time. I have no idea how that could ever be explained. But a picture of Texas Senator Ted Cruz accompanies this topic heading so maybe there is a hint in that.

I am not sure how learning all there is to know about idiocy will help prepare me for the rest of my life, but my hope is, if that guy ever calls again, I will be able to offer him a devastating retort such as …

“I know you are but what am I?”

My big worry is that only an idiot would not be able to explain what that saying means.

I hope you know what it means because I don’t and never have.

©2020 Jim Hagarty