Bumper Snicker

The key to any relationship is sincerity.

Once you can fake that, the rest is easy.

-

It's Not That Bad - Yet

Another senior moment. Out doing my visiting teaching. I have an easy route. Lovely women. I'm pretty sure they take better care of me than I do of them...

I was a bit distracted. As I pulled into the driveway I inadvertently picked up my cell phone instead of the garage door opener. They're about the same size, both dark colored. Didn't even look as my hand closed around it, pointed it at the door and tried to click the button to activate the door.

Hmmm, where's the button?

Door is not moving.

Duh.

So I switch devices and finally park in the garage, then head back out to get the mail. Go to the front door, purse, mail, Ensign & keys in hand. Casually scanning the letters. Shift the key ring and press the button on the flobber jobber to open the door and try to turn the door knob.

Sigh.

Of course the front door...to the house...is still locked, because the 'flobber jobber' unlocks the van doors.

But it's kinda funny.

Farm Boy calls shortly thereafter.  I laughingly start to relay my sad tale of a non-functioning brain and how, when I drove into the driveway, I couldn't get the "garage door opener" to work.

"Wanna, know why that is?" I ask.

"Ummm," he responds. "Wrong house?"
-

Make Lemonade?

When life hands you a lemon,

DEMAND ... 

Tequila & salt!

I snorted when I saw this and started laughing.

Totally understand the concept!
-



You've Got To Be Kidding

Talking to a member of our ward the other day. Chance comment was made and I laughed and said, "Well, you know me...you'd never get me shut up about that!"

The sweet woman looked surprised and commented, "Actually, no. You're usually pretty quite."

????


Bwahahahahahaha.

I must be doing better than I thought!

And Wendy, dear. SHUT UP. Let me revel in this moment. Just for...a while.
-

Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty

WHOA!

We look at each other.

What happened?

Did something just happen?

What just happened?

Holy Kraut!

There is a moment of shocked silence.

Do you not listen?

When a group of people, who care about you, collectively tell you...

Do. Not. Go. There!

You hit the gas and go faster? "It" draws you on - like catnip?

The voice(s) of warning, lost in the noise of the crowd.

Wow. Gives new meaning to... "talkin' to myself."

What's to do?

We're all adults. We have our agency.

I sit in stunned silence. I understand my input is not needed wanted. Others may not give up that easily, but we both know they're just going to cause hard feelings if they continue to press their point...

Have you listened to the country song that goes: God is great, beer is good & people are crazy.

???

At this point I'm thinking that pretty much covers it.

I'll get the next round.
-

EEEK!

Growing up in and around the agricultural community one takes a certain amount of pride in being able to 'cowboy up.' Lots of things to do in the country that don't allow for you to spend time being all squeamish.

While I've never been adverse to trying to find someone else to reach into the birth canal of a laboring animal to try to turn and pull lambs, kids, piglets, calves and colts... it's a fact that if you have the smallest hands you're liable to be the one elected to give it a go.

Other things strike me as being quite humorous. I remember the time that we stopped in Washtucna for a bathroom break on our way to a state FFA convention in Pullman. The girls line wasn't moving. I went to the front of the line to inquire about the hold up. Seems there was a spider on the door frame and the young ladies could not be persuaded to walk past it.

???

I looked at the lead protester, turn around, whomped the spider with my open hand, wiped it off on the wall, smiled sweetly and then announced that as I had taken care of the problem that now made me first in line, thank you. I walked in and shut the door on her horrified face.

Last week as we threw off another load of hay, I noticed about 9 inches of bull snake hanging out the side of a bale of hay.

That got my attention.

Ya just know the two jokers who loaded the truck saw it...

But, although relatively fresh, he was good and dead, so we tossed the dangly parts and I'm sure we'll find the rest of him...later.

Squirmy, crawly things are a part of my life. I try not to get too excited about them. A little advance notice is always appreciated tho.

This morning I walked across the darkened TV room to open the curtains. My bare toes unexpectedly curled delicately around something small, soft and furry.

And I shrieked.

It was the cat's fake mouse toy.

Exhale.

Fortunately the men of the house were showering and getting ready for the day. They did not hear me.

The only thing a cool, courageous, embarrassed, type can do?

Walk away.

Just quickly, walk away.
-

Callate La Boca

Have I mentioned how much I like delivering certified letters?

Yeh, baby.  Good times.

So...drive up to this house. Certified in hand.  I recognize the return address. It's a collection agency. We know he's going to be happy to see this. Cough.

While I don't know him well we've been cordial in the past. He sees me pull up and comes out to meet me.

"Hola, como estas?" I say.

He pauses mid stride. A look of surprise, then outrage on his face. He thrusts himself through the window and yells, "SPEAK ENGLISH. You're in America you know!"

Really?

Is he serious?

(Actually, I'm glad he said something - I get confused easily and it puts my mind at ease to know that I'm still in the U.S.)

The middle aged, blue collar, biker type continued to sputter and make noise.

I listen with a raised eyebrow.

When he finally stopped I tell him that, on the paternal side of my family, the first person to step on the shores of America, arrived about 15 years after the Mayflower docked. My maternal grandmother, on the other hand, immigrated from Germany in the late 1920's but she immediately set about learning English and becoming an American citizen. So I'm good with the English thing and legal immigration. Still, all my kids speak Spanish and are or will be college graduates so that they will be highly employable and still able to communicate with the majority of the denizens of our great country...and make more money than the average field worker.

He grunts and then stares at the letter. "Who's it from?"

"Dunno, " I lie.  We both know what this is all about. He takes it and contemplates what he wants to do with it.

"Might as well." I say. "They'll just keep hounding you 'till you do something about it."

He shrugs, signs and whips out his cell phone. "You know what I do to all those Mex's who chatter at me?"

???

Boy, is my eyebrow getting a workout...

"I get their cell phone number and then text them this..."

He holds the phone up.The sun shines on the surface. I can't see. I reach my hand out for the phone. He jerks it away. What? I'm going to slam the van into reverse and take his precious phone?

"Give. It. To. Me." I wrest it away from him and tilt it so I can see:

Oh - absolutely! Let's ask someone for their cell phone number, walk away and send this.

Great idea.

He continues to rant. He does not differentiate between legal & illegal immigrants. Apparently he's an equal opportunity hater.

What to do with someone like this?

I just shake my head, laugh, hand him his phone back, take my pen & receipt for the certified, (for the unpaid bills he has because all the Mexicans are taking the jobs that he's too lazy to apply for) wave and leave.

Because unlike him...

I have better things to do with my time.

Ciao.
-