You may have heard on the news that we’re getting another week of rain here where I live on the fringe of the Mojave desert. They’re predicting another inch-and-a-half of that cold, wet, global warming. So far, 2019 has been a very showery year for us. I even received an official government email from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez demanding that I build an ark before the world ends.

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Personally, I’ve had a rough forty-eight hours. Saturday morning I got my second and—thankfully—final shingles vaccination in my left arm. It did not at all agree with me. I felt like I had a cold, and my left arm really hurt. So did my head. Yesterday afternoon, getting out of my car for a meeting, I flung the car door open and bumped my left arm (where I got the shot) into the door frame. I yelped and bent over in pain just in time for the door to bounce back and hit me in the head. Which pushed my sore left arm back into the door frame again. I shouted a few words in Klingon and canceled the meeting.

Last night, weak and achy all over, I took a painkiller before going to bed. This morning I woke up dopey, sleepy, and grumpy. I didn’t even know where the other four dwarfs were.

After I finally clawed my way out of bed, I thought I had become a vampire. Because I couldn’t see myself in the mirror. Then I put on my glasses.

With the glasses, I can see clearly now that old age simply means I have more hair in my ears and nose than on my head. Aging ain’t for wimps.

I now tell time by the many different pills I take at specific moments throughout the day. My honey-sweetie-baby (wife) asked, “When do you think you’ll be home from the golf course?”

I said, “Oh, about quarter to glucosamine. But, if the guys decide to play cards, I won’t get home until fish-oil-thirty.”

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UERT subscriber Baja Bruce sent me an email while he had lunch in my hometown of Blythe, California. Bruce wrote, “I ran out of stupid pills so I pulled over to talk to people in Blythe. I feel stupider now. Quick, where is a voting booth!?”

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            A couple of UERT posts ago, I included this link to a demo recording of Daughter of a Preacherman©, one of many songs I’ve written with specific artists in mind. For this song, I was thinking either Toby Keith or The Oak Ridge Boys. (Or maybe Ray Stevens.) If you know any of those folks, please tell them I have a hit song waiting for them. By the way, I received many emails with very positive comments about Daughter of a Preacherman©. Thank all of you for that. (But I still haven’t made a dime.)

“Daughter Of A Preacherman” (c) Earl Trout

In this post, I’m including two more Uncle Earl original songs that you will, hopefully, enjoy. (And find someone to pay me for this stuff.)

            This first one — I Don’t Really Like Me© is a “traditional” country song. When I wrote, it I had Alan Jackson (or maybe George Strait) in mind. If you know either of those country gentlemen, please give my regards. (Better still, sell them my song!)

“I Don’t Really Like Me” (c) Earl Trout

            There are three songs that always make me misty-eyed: Danny Boy, Taps, and our National Anthem. I guess I should also add It’s Easy To Forget You© to that list. This is my favorite song I’ve written, and I had Gary Puckett’s voice in mind when I created it. Every time I listen to it, I become melancholy and start to cry. That’s because I haven’t made a dime from this one either!

“It’s Easy To forget You” (c) Earl Trout

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Well, I better close for now. It’s raining again here in our desert. My wife is standing in front of our living room window, looking sad. I probably should let her in.

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P.S. — Melancholy is not a dog that herds cantaloupe and looks like Lassie.

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