Lost in Translation

A Jewish couple won twenty-million pounds on the lottery. They immediately set out to begin a life of luxury. They bought a magnificent mansion in Knightsbridge and surrounded themselves with all the material wealth imaginable.

Then they decided to hire a butler. They found the perfect butler through an agency, very proper and very British.  He began working for them as soon as the papers were signed. The day after his arrival, he was instructed to set up the dining room table for four, as they were inviting the Cohens to lunch. The couple then left the house to do some shopping.

When they returned, they found the table set for eight. They asked the butler why eight, when they had specifically instructed him to set the table for four. The butler replied, “The Cohens telephoned and said they were bringing the Blintzes and the Knishes!”


phoito credit: “bagels” by Muffet is licensed under CC BY 2.0.


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All Wound Up

There must be something in our family that is drawn to wind-up toys.  My grandmother had a battery-operated creepy/funny monkey that would smash cymbals together as he cackled.

I saw this wind-up pigeon in a store last month and had to have it.  Something about the clacking and the way it bobbed its head as it moved around the room simply cracked me up. Hopefully I’ve solved all the tech difficulties and you can now watch it on my YouTube channel. Hopefully it’ll give you a chuckle or two.  Three, even, if you hit replay.  Wind up the pigeon.


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Cute as a Button

I was visiting with some young friends and their son. He is three and adores remotes.  At one point during my visit he told me, “I am a button man.”  I figured that was somewhat akin to being a car guy. I told him that I love buttons and had a collection of them.  His beautiful blue eyes grew rounder in excitement.

“You have buttons?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I  even wrote a story about buttons a long time ago.  Maybe my next visit I’ll read it to you.” I don’t know how we got were we got next, but I commented that I had a button on my jeans.  Max asked, “What does it do?”

And then it hit me. Max’s interactions with buttons have nothing to do with clothes and everthing to do with remotes. Dressed in pull-over sweatshirts and pull on pants, and zippered parkas, where do kids today encounter buttons except on keyboards and remotes?

I still might read him my story one day but I’ll probably bring my button jar. Otherwise he may well get quite confused.


If you’d like to read the story, head over to Grandparents.


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