This title is a quote attributed to the New York Yankees all-star catcher Yogi Berra.  I used to follow major league baseball, and I remember how ubiquitous that phrase became. It was repeated mostly when something happened in the game that was (unintentionally) funny and could be attributed to Yogi.

I’m quite familiar with stories being repeated.  My father had fifteen or twenty favorites that he told and retold throughout the last fifty years of his life.  But since I would remind him when he’d already told me the story, he learned to ask, “Have I told you the story about…” My answer was always the same.

“YES, Dad.”

Now the shoe is firmly on the other foot as I find myself facing a similar problem.  Over the past ten years, my friend Nancy has edited my blog.  Whenever I ask her if I’ve already written on a specific topic her answer is almost always, “YES.  Several times.”

Based on my history with my dad, I try to never tell the same story twice. That means that within my family my stories have a shelf life of no more than two weeks (or a single blog). By then everyone has either heard the story directly from me, or indirectly from someone else.  Fortunately, or not, Nancy has a better memory when it comes to what I’ve previously written than I do.  But I don’t remember writing about Déjà Vu All Over Again. Do you, Nancy? (If you’re reading this then you can assume she didn’t).

One author says that if he likes a book he’ll read it again. He always finds something interesting that he’d missed the first time around.  I seldom read a book twice, and I’ve seen very few movies more than once. One was Westside Story, although the second time was the remake, not the original.  I’ve seen the Musical Les Misérables more than five times – because it’s great.  Sad and funny, and I like both.

I’m reminded of the graduate student who confronted his economics professor before the final exam.

“It’s well known,” the student said, “that you’ve used the same exact final exam for the past twenty years.”

“That’s true,” the economics professor responded.  “The questions are the same.  But I always change the answers.”

In life the big problems seem to always be the same.  Let’s hope we all come up with our own “win-win” answers.

In my case, I may start with, “have I told you the story about…”

Alan

There is a dinner party unraveling at my house, and I have escaped to my bedroom. In my experience, all three-year-old screaming children sound about the same. (No offense, I’m sure that yours, or your grandkids, sound different. Better, somehow.)

But I’m 84, sick with a cold (why isn’t it called a “warm” because that is more like what it actually is?), and grumpy. Do you think that’s why my adult children sometimes call me “Grumpa”?

After dinner I excused myself and retired to my bedroom. The place where the lamp on my side of the bed isn’t working. That’s all right, as the old joke goes. I’d rather just sit in the dark. It suits my mood.

Dinner sometimes begins with an appetizer. Carrots and celery. Or toast covered with…whatever. Or little mushrooms filled with – actually, I don’t want to know. Are they there to awaken the appetite, or to put it to sleep?  The dictionary definition states an appetizer is supposed to “stimulate” the appetite. Or “increases the anticipation for what is to follow.”  For me, a delicious appetizer (times fifteen or twenty) doesn’t increase my anticipation for dinner – it IS dinner.

But many of us enjoy dessert the most. And dessert is almost always last. Dessert comes after what used to be my least favorite course – vegetables.

But why save the best for last?  Because we’re already full and won’t eat so much of it?

No.

Because dessert doesn’t clearly fall into one of the four food groups?

Probably not.

I’ll tell you why cake is last. And there isn’t really any other sane explanation.

We eat our cake last because that’s what our parents required. And you and I will be darned if we’re going to let our kids have fun before doing something they don’t like first. They can only watch television after they’ve finished their homework, and they can’t have dessert until after they’ve finished their vegetables. My father insisted that I “finish everything on my plate” before touching my dessert. Perhaps that’s why I weighed almost 270 pounds earlier in my life.

At any rate I restate the title question:  Why do we eat our cake last? What would happen if we ate our cake first, and vegetables later? Would the world fall apart?

Tomorrow I’ll start my day by doing the things that bring me the most pleasure.  I’ll tackle the vegetables after that.

Alan

I’m sitting near an outdoor fireplace at a 1950ish “resort” a short distance from a small town in Texas.  I’m not enjoying either of my two visits here – my first and my last.

I won’t bother to mention the name of this “resort” because you almost certainly will never have the misfortune of being a guest here and because I don’t want to give it any publicity.  Suffice it to say that one of my grandsons slept in the office foyer last night because his room was too dusty.   I just heard from Daveen that his room is now being cleaned by six folks employed by the resort. (There must be a lot of dust.) Daveen also reports that you have to specifically request housekeeping — but no one had bothered to tell us. (Clean towels, anyone?)

In fairness, you should also know that I’m recovering from an extremely aggravating eye infection that apparently hit at least two other family members shortly after we left our river cruise in Portugal.  It rained every day there, and I didn’t know beforehand that it was a wine-tasting tour, which was thoroughly enjoyed by those who imbibe.  I don’t, and didn’t.  The last day we spent on a bus because the canal locks were spilling so much water they couldn’t accommodate our ship.

Why am I now in Texas?  To view the total solar eclipse tomorrow.  I enjoyed a total solar eclipse in Cheyanne Wyoming a few years ago.  Before that, in 1991, Daveen and I flew to the big island of Hawaii to view a solar eclipse.  As it turned out, we watched it on CNN in our hotel room because there was unusually thick cloud cover that day which completely obscured visibility.

The weather reports are predicting cloudy conditions here for tomorrow.  I’ll be ready to turn on CNN, just in case.

This blog may be shorter than most, because – as if you couldn’t tell – I’m grumpy.  Also, I want to watch the Women’s NCAA basketball finals (Iowa vs. undefeated South

Carolina) and the game has just begun.

But thankfully, I’m only two days away from returning home to Los Angeles.  When I write again next week, I’m sure I’ll be happier.  It’s a low bar.

Alan