Monday's idea bank comes up empty By by Bob Karolevitz Any week that begins with Monday leaves a lot to be desired.
For me that means I've got to write another ho-ho humorous column whether I feel like it or not.
So I sit in my office, head in my hands, trying to think up a topic I haven't written about before. That's not easy after almost 1,200 pieces without duplication.
I'm bragging now but that doesn't help me come up with a subject I haven't already covered.
So I call to my wife!
"Phyllis," I yell, "go out and do something dumb."
In the past she's flooded the engine on the power mower, rescued a blind ewe caught in the mud, locked the keys in the car and even had a confrontation with a black bear.
All of these things were grist for my literary mill, but she has run out of stuff to do, too. All of a sudden I find myself on my own.
Of course, Phyllis didn't (or doesn't) get into those pickelments so I'd have material to write about. She just did her thing, and I embellished it.
Sometimes I used poetic license to stretch a mundane happenstance into a good story line, too; but I can't do anything unless I have a germ of an idea to start with. Needless to say, I'm frustrated.
I didn't realize, till now, how important Phyllis has been to the column. Oh, I vary the subject matter now and then � pistachio nuts, bird-watching, spiders, spools and Didjas, etc. � but invariably I go back to my wife for a Monday topic.
I've reorganized her spice cabinet (that got lots of laughs); I've written about her cats and the trauma of wall-papering with her; and I've also done the Norwegian bit ad nauseum.,
Now I'm fresh out of ideas. Even her miniature horses and Molly, the burro, no longer provide good material.
For a while she was the Sheep Lady. That gave me plenty of stuff to write about, especially when she and daughter Jill took the ewe named Annie to the breeding buck in the back of the station wagon. That got guffaws from the most straight-faced.
Or there was the time when I held a ewe's head while she did that goshawful business of delivering a breeched birth behind us. (I asked her is she removed her rings first before she plunged her hands into that mess.)
Now Phyllis doesn't have sheep anymore, so I can't get word-mileage out of that like I used to. No wonder I'm at a loss.
Come to think of it, I could probably use that canned stuff which comes by e-mail like other columnists do, but then I'm not THAT desperate!
So I'll just sit here with my head in my hands, and maybe an idea will come. At least I hope it will, otherwise I won't have anything for this week.
Where is Phyllis when I need her?
© 2004 Robert F. Karolevitz