One evening this week, I was sitting in my car at the doctor’s office, waiting on Mrs. T. An older woman, and what appeared to be her daughter and granddaughter, exited the building, crossed the parking lot and piled into the car parked next to me. They didn’t immediately start the car and leave, but I didn’t think too much of it. My car windows were opened a bit, and from what little I heard, they appeared to be sitting and visiting with each other. I was working on my computer, and paid no more attention to what they were doing. After several minutes, their horn honked…long, loud, blaring, very noticeable. I looked over at them to make sure they were okay, only to find that all three of them were sitting there staring back at me. “Very odd people”, I thought to myself, as I went back to work. Thirty seconds later, the horn again. I didn’t even look up this time. I figured if they want to sit and honk their horn, it was their business. Soon after, they started their car and left, leaving me to some peace and quiet as I was one of the last vehicles scattered around the parking lot. Shortly, thereafter, another car horn starts blaring! It was then I finally noticed my computer, being propped on the steering column as I worked, was periodically pressing down on MY horn button. Mystery solved. . .I no longer had to wonder why they had been staring at me when I looked over at them. I bet they’re still wondering why I was honking my horn at them though. They probably even had the nerve to think I was odd. I’ve been told that a human’s sense of hearing is one of the first things to go as people age. I can’t remember what it is supposed to go first, but I think it’s memory. . .I’m not sure though because I can’t remember. . .
I then decided to move to the passenger seat of the car, to make more room for my computer on my lap. When Mrs. T came out of the office, I motioned for her to drive. On the way home, I continued to work, although I tried to make conversation, knowing how females desire male conversation and interaction. I asked her what she was cooking for supper because I was starving. I also noted that I hoped we got home in time for the world news because I’ve discovered that is very relaxing, after a long day’s work, to have her cooking while I watch the news. There’s just something about pots, pan and food cooking that is comforting, as long as it doesn’t get too loud. She had mentioned, the night before, that someone needed to sweep the carpet, so I also mentioned to her that I sure hoped she didn’t try to sweep while I was watching TV this evening, because there was a big game on ESPN. And if possible, and because our dishwasher is a bit loud, I wondered if she could hold off until the game was over and I had gone to bed.
Typically, silence is golden, but never when it’s Mrs. T’s silence. Through years of experience, I have become a quick study on the danger signals associated with female body language and I quickly ascertained that I had touched a nerve, perhaps her last one. I quickly changed the subject to the stock market crash of the day, stating how important timing is, with regard to buying and selling stock. Suddenly, I heard tires screeching and a horn blasting. I jerked my head up from my keyboard in time to see the grill of a HUGE truck looming in the window of my passenger’s side door. Somehow, miraculously, a collision had been avoided. Apparently, while making a left hand turn in front of the truck, Mrs. T had miscalculated its speed, obviously thinking she had ample time to make her turn. It was probably not as close as it seemed, but the whole thing was sure scary, causing me to ponder on how things can change in a split second and what might have happened to me if that truck had actually t-boned my side of the car. I was shaken and silent as we continued on toward home.
After some time, Mrs. T finally broke the silence. “Yes, timing is everything”, she stated.
Looking back on it now, I’m thinking that she wasn’t referring to the stock market. . .
And a few funnies from my Inbox this week:
===================================
Classified Ad from local newspaper:
09' Suzuki GSXR 1000, $9,000
This bike is perfect! It has only 1,000 miles and has had its 500 mile dealer service.
It's been adult ridden, all wheels have always been on the ground. I use it as a cruiser/commuter. I'm selling it because it was purchased without proper consent of a loving wife. Apparently "Do whatever you want." doesn't mean what I thought. Call Steve. 5555-1212.
==
An elderly parish priest was tending his garden near a convent when a passerby stopped to inquire after the priest's much-loved roses.
"Not bad," said the priest, "but they suffer from a disease peculiar to this area known as the black death."
"What on earth is that?" asked the passerby, anxious to increase his garden knowledge.
"Nuns with scissors”, he replied.
==
True story:
When my two boys were aged 3 and 5, we moved to a country town. Next door was a vacant block and beyond that a house where an old man lived with his very old sister.
One day my sons wandered over and talked to the man over his fence. Soon they came running into the house very excited.
“Mum, guess what the man next door is doing?”
“What?”, I asked.
“He's minding his own business!!!”, was their animated reply.
==
"The next great civilization to arise was Ancient Greece, which came up with an exciting new governing concept called "democracy," from the Greek words dem, meaning "everybody gets to vote," and ocracy, meaning "except, of course women, slaves and poor people." -Dave Barry
Friday Levity (01.15.2010)
We keep our artificial Christmas tree in the attic, above the garage. It has now been put up again for another year. That’s one of my two jobs with regard to Christmas trees. I drag it out each year (i.e. I climb the ladder up into the attic, drag the box containing the tree, across the rafters, positioning the box above the hole in the ceiling and letting gravity take over as it slides down the ladder until it falls to one side or the other and crashes into garage floor. I then drag it to the family room). My other job I to put it up each year. Essentially, I position it on the attic ladder and start pushing/cramming/cussing it up through the hole in the ceiling until teeters on the first rafter it finds and gravity does the rest, allowing the box to fall into the attic wherever it may. I close the ladder/door to the attic and I’m finished for another year.
Years ago, we bought real trees. But the concern for a potential fire hazard and dry pine needles clogging up the sweeper put an end to it. I gave Mrs. T suggestions on how to best clean out the sweeper but apparently that was not enough to save the real tree tradition. I don’t know, but I suspect that she also got tired of going out in the woods, finding a good tree, chopping it down and dragging it back to the house. I always supported her efforts while I sat in my recliner watching her do it, but apparently my support was not enough in this case.
Next, we moved to an artificial tree. They look great the first year. But like anything else, when you try to get something back in the original box, it can’t be done. Well, it can be done, but typically the box suffers and so do the contents of the box. I do know that duct tape helps keep a box from flying open at its bulging seams. Thus, artificial trees typically don’t look so good the next time you pull them out of the box, and ours was no exception. Of course, with all the lights, tinsel and ornaments, the tree is mostly hidden from view. I don’t think people notice. Or perhaps they’re just being kind. I’ve never had anyone speak to me about our cheap, plastic, deformed Christmas trees. Well, my brother-in-law Steve did say that he didn’t realize a tree could be in such sad shape and still be standing. I educated him about leaning it against the wall, in a corner. It cannot be freestanding. It’s all about the corner, the walls, and how you lean it into the corner. The angel on top of the tree is typically hard to see unless you’re standing off to one side. I don’t hold it against him. He’s an opinionated person and we’ve grown accustomed to it. He’s the same guy that once finished one of his many stories by saying, “That gal ain’t nothin’ but a fat old sow”. I thought I got off pretty lucky with his opinion of my tree. And, I couldn’t disagree with his summation of the lady. However, I probably wouldn’t have called her old. Ladies don’t like it when you mention their age.
Next, we moved to the ultimate: an artificial, lighted Christmas tree. It took me three years to pay it off, but it was worth it. I got it paid off this year. Unfortunately, the lights stopped working this year. So we had to buy lights for our lighted artificial Christmas tree. In my opinion, that’s just not right. But in the spirit of the season, and unlike my brother-in-law Steve, I kept my opinions to myself. My only suggestion to Mrs. T was that she could complete a nostalgic circle of tree life, back to the point where it all started with a real tree, by putting her lit lighted Christmas tree in a bucket of water. Like the old times.
My suggestion was not well received. Maybe it was because I had to yell my suggestion to her. I couldn’t turn down the volume on football game that I was watching from my recliner because I didn’t have the remote. And I didn’t want to ask her to hand me the remote, because I knew how busy she was with the tree. Maybe she just hadn’t gotten into the Christmas spirit like I had. I don’t think I’ll ever understand women. I tried to help her. . .and how did she show her appreciation? She had a suggestion of her own with regard to where I could stick the Christmas tree this year. . .ouch.
Years ago, we bought real trees. But the concern for a potential fire hazard and dry pine needles clogging up the sweeper put an end to it. I gave Mrs. T suggestions on how to best clean out the sweeper but apparently that was not enough to save the real tree tradition. I don’t know, but I suspect that she also got tired of going out in the woods, finding a good tree, chopping it down and dragging it back to the house. I always supported her efforts while I sat in my recliner watching her do it, but apparently my support was not enough in this case.
Next, we moved to an artificial tree. They look great the first year. But like anything else, when you try to get something back in the original box, it can’t be done. Well, it can be done, but typically the box suffers and so do the contents of the box. I do know that duct tape helps keep a box from flying open at its bulging seams. Thus, artificial trees typically don’t look so good the next time you pull them out of the box, and ours was no exception. Of course, with all the lights, tinsel and ornaments, the tree is mostly hidden from view. I don’t think people notice. Or perhaps they’re just being kind. I’ve never had anyone speak to me about our cheap, plastic, deformed Christmas trees. Well, my brother-in-law Steve did say that he didn’t realize a tree could be in such sad shape and still be standing. I educated him about leaning it against the wall, in a corner. It cannot be freestanding. It’s all about the corner, the walls, and how you lean it into the corner. The angel on top of the tree is typically hard to see unless you’re standing off to one side. I don’t hold it against him. He’s an opinionated person and we’ve grown accustomed to it. He’s the same guy that once finished one of his many stories by saying, “That gal ain’t nothin’ but a fat old sow”. I thought I got off pretty lucky with his opinion of my tree. And, I couldn’t disagree with his summation of the lady. However, I probably wouldn’t have called her old. Ladies don’t like it when you mention their age.
Next, we moved to the ultimate: an artificial, lighted Christmas tree. It took me three years to pay it off, but it was worth it. I got it paid off this year. Unfortunately, the lights stopped working this year. So we had to buy lights for our lighted artificial Christmas tree. In my opinion, that’s just not right. But in the spirit of the season, and unlike my brother-in-law Steve, I kept my opinions to myself. My only suggestion to Mrs. T was that she could complete a nostalgic circle of tree life, back to the point where it all started with a real tree, by putting her lit lighted Christmas tree in a bucket of water. Like the old times.
My suggestion was not well received. Maybe it was because I had to yell my suggestion to her. I couldn’t turn down the volume on football game that I was watching from my recliner because I didn’t have the remote. And I didn’t want to ask her to hand me the remote, because I knew how busy she was with the tree. Maybe she just hadn’t gotten into the Christmas spirit like I had. I don’t think I’ll ever understand women. I tried to help her. . .and how did she show her appreciation? She had a suggestion of her own with regard to where I could stick the Christmas tree this year. . .ouch.
Friday Levity (01.08.2010)
I cleaned out my sock drawer this week. And don't EVEN act like you don't have a sock drawer! I can envision some of you having more than one sock drawer! Mine wasn't a pretty sight/site.
First, I began by throwing away any socks which were totally, or partially green. . .I have educated Mrs. T on the dangers of mold and have asked her to STOP putting dirty socks back in my drawer. . .
Next, I had to figure out if the 25+ single socks were actually orphans, or did they have a mate somewhere in the mess? I hate matching up socks, as I suspected you all do.
Next, after matching up what I could, I then attempted to match up socks that were "close" to a match. I figured I could wear them when I work in the yard because my grandchildren dogs, Maggie and Rosco, couldn't care less, and my neighbors have learned to not even look when I'm out in the yard, because my wardrobe is often "less than coordinated". . .sometimes just "less". . .one of the many benefits of living out in the woods is wearing a much or little as you want. . .doesn't matter if it's missing, matched and/or mismatched. . .
Next, I threw away all remaining orphans. Also, I threw away socks that I hadn't worn in years. . . and for good reason! I wouldn't have ever imagined socks going out of style, but my argyle olive green and burnt orange fuzzy socks should have been outlawed when I was buying them years ago, and I know that I'd now get shot if tried to wear them now. . .at the very least I'd show up on the "People of Wal-Mart" website.
After it was all said and done, my sock drawer would actually close. I have made myself a promise that if I ever buy a pair of socks again, I'll throw away an existing pair of socks, thus maintaining "sock drawer karma".
Those orphans continue to perplex me with regard to whatever happened to their mates. Is it a ploy, by Mrs. T, to get rid of my favorite holy socks? She knows I would be mad if she threw away my favorite holy socks. I wonder if she throws away one and then puts its mate in the drawer, blaming the clothes dryer demons for the missing socks. I have good reason to believe she would do such a thing. . .I have a VERY favorite t-shirt and you know what I'm talking about! It was SO comfortable. . .thread bare, rips, one sleeve hanging on by a thread, frayed. This week, I found HALF of it in my t-shirt drawer after she had done the laundry. . .
First, I began by throwing away any socks which were totally, or partially green. . .I have educated Mrs. T on the dangers of mold and have asked her to STOP putting dirty socks back in my drawer. . .
Next, I had to figure out if the 25+ single socks were actually orphans, or did they have a mate somewhere in the mess? I hate matching up socks, as I suspected you all do.
Next, after matching up what I could, I then attempted to match up socks that were "close" to a match. I figured I could wear them when I work in the yard because my grandchildren dogs, Maggie and Rosco, couldn't care less, and my neighbors have learned to not even look when I'm out in the yard, because my wardrobe is often "less than coordinated". . .sometimes just "less". . .one of the many benefits of living out in the woods is wearing a much or little as you want. . .doesn't matter if it's missing, matched and/or mismatched. . .
Next, I threw away all remaining orphans. Also, I threw away socks that I hadn't worn in years. . . and for good reason! I wouldn't have ever imagined socks going out of style, but my argyle olive green and burnt orange fuzzy socks should have been outlawed when I was buying them years ago, and I know that I'd now get shot if tried to wear them now. . .at the very least I'd show up on the "People of Wal-Mart" website.
After it was all said and done, my sock drawer would actually close. I have made myself a promise that if I ever buy a pair of socks again, I'll throw away an existing pair of socks, thus maintaining "sock drawer karma".
Those orphans continue to perplex me with regard to whatever happened to their mates. Is it a ploy, by Mrs. T, to get rid of my favorite holy socks? She knows I would be mad if she threw away my favorite holy socks. I wonder if she throws away one and then puts its mate in the drawer, blaming the clothes dryer demons for the missing socks. I have good reason to believe she would do such a thing. . .I have a VERY favorite t-shirt and you know what I'm talking about! It was SO comfortable. . .thread bare, rips, one sleeve hanging on by a thread, frayed. This week, I found HALF of it in my t-shirt drawer after she had done the laundry. . .
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