slushy, mushy love...

It's cryin' time again, as the old song goes.  The filling station will more than likely be known as the dripping station if the price of gas increases much more.  With that in mind, I'll share a laugh or two- get your mind off the serious and onto the absurd.  Wait...no, we've had enough as that as well...hmmmmm.  How about onto the medicine of laughter?!

The Fish and I (don't have much time this morning so, we'll go with shortened names to protect the hurried...)

went to town yesterday.  He needed bird house makings and I needed to shop for a birthday present.  I suggested the man take me to lunch.  Appalled he was-  Sunday is the big day for the big meal...WITH dessert.  Never mind him- Chinese food seemed about right so we headed that a way.  One look at the parking lot and he said "they're packed, let's not go there."  I readjusted his chronic-crowd-phobia-attitude and pointed to a much available parking space.  This did not sit well with Big.

The man slammed some food on a plate from the available smorgasbord while I dithered here and dallied there, as I was fixing to find our seat I noticed a seemingly confused white headed stranger to my right.  I smiled at her, she sweetly smiled back.  "I do not know where I am supposed to be..." she said just as natural as if I were the tour guide for a cruise ship.  I surmised that miss sunshine probably got out as about as often as I did and got lost dallying and dithering too.  "Did you come with someone?"  "Yes", she said- "my husband."  "Oh, OK...what does he look like?"  She was so sweet, even when she looked as though she might flick my head with her fork.  "He's a man." 

 "Gotcha..." 

 I've been around seniors enough to know when Sometimers or Alzheimers has a person in it's sights.  I looked around the restaurant, hoping that I might help and not cause her any alarm or embarrassment.  I spied a single gentleman, 80ish..."Oh look, is that him?!"  She looked the way of my finger pointing and again met my gaze with the fork flicking attitude of a woman who was getting mighty tired of someone as dull and ignorant as me.

She let out a long sigh and proclaimed loudly for all the sweet and sour crowd to hear-

"No, my husband has hair!"

Surely there's a special place in heaven for people like me who only try to shield others from adversity in buffet lines.  My face turned red, a soon to be hot flash took notice and flared right then.  All eyes were on me while the white haired angel glared and thrust her fork in the air ready to jab when suddenly out of the corner of my eye in booth 22, I saw an old hairy man.

"Look!  Is that him?  He has hair and a beard and looks to be your age and...."

"Well, thank you honey." 

 And just like that, she walked away, leaving me with a plate half full at a buffet.  Such is life...

Take care-

(Need another laugh this morning since you're probably catching on to the fact that everything other than locally produced items now too have mighty hard to swallow fuel surcharges attached to the price?  Well then go here, giggle a little and 

snort through your tears...)

The Truth About Squirrels

That Which Perpetuates Good

Sometimes I wonder why people do what they do in terms of a living.  Some I suspect just do what they have to - to get by, feed their families, make the payments.  I know this farming thing is a tough gig, but it's a workout all the same and keeps me plenty busy, meeting just about every need I have- spiritual, physical, emotional.  I have worked many jobs in my lifetime, most of those meeting the first criteria of doing what I had to do just to get by, but I always grew something.  I felt immense pride and joy in putting food on the table that I grew.  The kids would always roll their eyes after every exclamation-"Came from the garden kids!"  Or at the winter table-"These pickles were grown right here, by golly- last July, aren't they good?"  More eye rolling, more sense of embarrassment when their friend happened to be eating with us.  "Mom is such a hippy!"  (I'm too young to be a hippy....)  I think now though, the kids are happy with the jams that come their way, via the postal service these days.  I dream that they sit at their tables, buttering their bread and smiling big as they glob on big spoons of homemade goodness from Mom's garden...kids are kind of reluctant to let you know when something as soft and gooey as jelly touches their heart.  My aim is always there, past their stomach and through to their tickers.

I have always encouraged my children to vote, taking them to the booths with me, explaining the process ...it was a big deal, something when they were little they boasted about at school, displaying proudly the flag sticker that went along with vote casting.  I know Emma is a registered voter, not sure on the other two- I recall hearing of Em's first vote, the memory recalled by her with pride.  But I also hope I instilled something just as important as that vote- which, in all honesty does not carry the weight it once did.  Nowadays- I vote with my bucks.  I try to perpetuate the good being done by those who take from the land and give more back.  Those who handmake  clothing and use resources close to home which helps their local economy out.  I try to buy from the guy that makes pillowcases and donates a dollar of every sale to a program that offers shoes to children who don't have any.  I buy glasses upon glasses of lemonade from the local 4-H who are trying to get needed funds for camps and learning excursions.  Imported stuff does not get my vote.  If the catalog business imports everything, I recycle their rag and purchase nothing from them.  I shop at Goodwill- apt name.  I'm a shopaholic for good will.  Buy USA gets my vote, if only more folks would vote-perpetuate with their bucks local shops and American made- the white washed big box stores might cease to send out all our "votes" to overseas corporations where the workers are treated inhumanely, I do not wish to perpetuate that.  Now there are some who'll say-"but those workers need that job!"  That may be so, but if the workers here are barely hanging on- my "vote" may just help them to get a better hold and gain solvency which perpetuates more jobs here....and so on and so on.

Perpetuates gets a bad image these days.  It does not necessarrily mean a negative.  It has only been reported as such- when a story needs the loudest vibe,  news people abuse the term- "Hitler perpetuates...", "KKK perpetuates....",  etc.  And I can definitely see why it was used, it is a looking through a smoky, scary lens until all the awe and mayhem can come into complete cloudy focus.  But there is another view, a deeper, hopeful and clearer lens- that which perpetuates good, positive and powerful change.  Seeing like that begins with our vote, our buck, our relationship with money that might truly turn the tide, little by little.
I ask you to deeply consider your wallet, the votes in it- what does that next purchase perpetuate?

Take care-