Well, I’m writing this a post for La Casa, but I can’t think of a subject. So if this post seems to wander, you will know that I am still lost.
But I’m sure something will happen that I figure needs to be talked about. Anyhoo, hank snow crooning “I Been Everywhere” on the radio.
‘Minds me of the gal at her college reunion back in ’50 while I was up at Stillwater. The shebang was to end up with a faculty-alumni dance so all the alum’s could visit their old professor. And at that dance this gal gets tapped by a familiar looking old geezer who is very obviously a senior member of the faculty.
“Weren’t you Suzanne Coffee from Coffeeville?” asks the prof.
“I still am, as far as I know, Professor Bird,” sez Suzy.
“I thought you were because I always thought you look just like your dad. He was one of my favorite students, you know. I saw your dad down in Oklahoma City a couple of weeks ago and I don’t think he ever looked better.”
“Professor,” sez Suzy, “The next time you see my dad you better run like hell. He’s been dead since the summer of ’48.”
Now, Suzy married one of the Pennington brothers who ran the Rexall. THE drug store. But anyhoo her brother in law’s wife was Helen Pennington – and Helen was about as far sighted as they get, too proud to wear glasses in public, and big on putting her pinch nose specs on and throwing card parties for her church ladies. That’s the only time she would wear specs, when she played bridge, and canasta when that got popular back during the Korean War. Had to wear them to see the spots on the cards, you know.
One time Helen was planning a soiree and Bob told her that they had a lot of boxed Easter candy left and he would appreciate it if she would come get it so they didn’t have to throw it out and waste it.
Which suited Mrs. Helen right down to the ground. She hustles down to pick up the candy – and decided to grab up some gum for the ladies as well. So come the day, she sets little bowls with candy and gum around her living room, breaks out a dozen decks of bicycles, playing cards; gets an urn of coffee ready, sets out the cups, and she’s ready for action.
The ladies trickle in and start gulping and munching. Her stock of candy and gum went down like a quart of whiskey at a gandy dancers cakewalk.
Especially that gum! Every woman there would pop a couple of pieces in her mouth, chew until it lost its flavor, spit it out and get another mouthful.The problem was that Mrs. Helen thought she had gotten several big boxes of Chiclets. But what she picked up was Feenamint laxative. Depth charges!
The ladies were chewin’ depth charges! And way before the party was supposed to be over she had a very impatient line waiting to use the Pennington’s indoor one holer! Some of the ladies got so impatient they cleaned the garden pots off the seat of the old two holer out back, and went two by two. While the next pair nearly beat the door down.
It all came out well in the end, though. Bob put a sign on his Feenamint display that said “Tested and approved by the ladies of the First Church of God.” And sold a ton of the stuff.
Well, there’s the Andrews Sisters singing that Shortnin’ Bread song. “Shortnin’ shortnin’ Mama’s lil’ baby got Shortening bread.” That was elevator music the last time I was in Duluth.
Walking around the Wal-Mart stretching my legs. I kept walking by this old couple standing in the appliance department staring at the microwaves. I kept making orbits and they kept standing staring at the food nukers.
I figured they were just having a hard time making a choice.But after about a half hour I heard the old man tell the old woman “Come on, Helga, let’s go home. This television stuff ain’t worth nuthin’.”
That old guy reminds me of a teen ager I saw coming out of a Church cook-tent at the Bemidji fair. Now, let me tell you that if you go to a fair up in Yankeeland you want to eat at the church joints. Those folks feed you like you were home folks. Good n’ plenty! Hot n’ fresh!
But anyhoo this skinny kid was coming out of a church joint that was advertising all you could eat roast goose and wild rice stuffing. Looking as stuffed as the goose. And somebody about his age hailed him.
“Hey, Ole. You been eating at that Lutheran place.”
“Yeah, I been in there,” sez the kid.
“Well, how was it?” demanded his friend.
“The goose was all right,” sez the well fed one. “But I didn’t much care for what he’d been eatin’.”
Speaking of geese, and birds generally, reminds me of that cat lady up the road a piece. Jesse Ventura’s twin sister gets all upset when somebody suggests reining in the cat population because cats kill wild birds.
She don’t see the point that there are only a few hundred of some species of songbirds left – and there’s upteen jillion cats. I get along with cats but I wish most of them were spayed or neutered. Just like a farm boy I know name of Billy Kelly. Billy wrote a letter to that effect to his Daily Blat, saying that if something wasn’t done there wouldn’t be any birds left. And the cat woman took offense.
Got all bent out of shape, she did.
Billy was home alone when a Caddy with two women in it came whirling up in his front yard. Billy figgers they were lost and wanted directions. So he starts saunterin’ over to see if he could help them get unlost.
Billy said he noticed when they pulled in the driver was a large lass. He found out how large when the cat lady crawls out of the drivers seat, and a smaller and older version toting a cat on a leash crawls out of the passenger side door. Only Billy didn’t know these were the cat ladies at the time.
The gal with the cat put it on the ground as Billy found himself staring straight into the female wrestler’s chest. Billy said he figured the gal would go six six under the black Dolly Parton style beehive wig she sported. From his description this luscious lass would top three hundred pounds; judging her weight the way you do livestock, by the hindquarters. she was built like a sack of potatoes; and she had smeared a half a pint can of red paint on her face, by way of war paint.
“I want to see this Billy Kelly,” she bellows. “Right now.”
“Well, ma’am, I reckon you’re seeing’ him.” sez Billy. “What can I do for you?”
And at that the cat lady unloaded on him. She sure proved she was no lady. She cussed Billy at a high volume and a fast rate of speed for even daring to think that a precious kitty would ever harm a bird. Or that any bird could possibly be sweeter and more loving than Madame Pompadour here, waving at the cat the other woman was leading into the fray.
The leash lady had her mouth open, ready to open fire as soon as the wrestler ran down a little. Just then Billy saw his bulldog, Growler, sneaking up on the cat on a string. The wrestler ran out of breath just as the cat discovered Growler was about to do a little pouncing of his own.
Now, evidently the kitty was leash wise. A cat’s first instinct is to get high enough up so the dog couldn’t reach her. But instead of making a break for a tree or the top of the Caddy, the cat climbed the tallest thing the leash would reach. The cat lady!
That cat made a first jump and stuck all four sets of claws in her at Billy’s eye level. The cat woman started squalling “Myrtis, get her off,” and trying to bat the cat away but by then the cat had topped the mountain! Like a good climber, it didn’t make long steps, it just made a whole bunch of steps. And if it didn’t sink it’s claws in clothing it got a real good grip in hide. All the way to the top!
But when Madame Pompadour grabbed for the top she got hair – and that Dolly Parton wig came off and went rolling on the ground. The frantic cat paid absolutely no attention to the black ball of fur that went flying past her. She stuck her claws anywhere she could and climbed until she was at the absolute apex of the woman mountain she had climbed. Where she stuck her claws in and determined to spend the rest of eternity in safety.
Climbed and clung there on the cat woman’s bald knob! With all four sets of claws dug in for dear life. The cat woman squalled and tried to peel the cat off. Bad strategy! The cat could still see the dog, and she wasn’t about to let go. The more the cat woman tried to pull the cat off, the harder the cat held on. By the time the cat came loose the cat woman looked like she had lost a fight with with a Sioux war party.
But Growler had lost interest in the cat. He was plumb interested in this black furry critter that the cat had knocked off the top of Bald Knob! And bein’ a brave dog he proceeds to KILL IT! And to tear it into lots of little bitty pieces!
Jesse’s sister and her compadre in cats piled back in the Caddy and made tracks for Brookhaven. But Billy’s a little nervous about the whole deal. He is holed up at his grandmothers, a couple of counties away. If they send somebody with a summons for him – he ain’t home.
Well, my twenty minutes is up, and I have to go back to work.
Watch this space, no tellin’ what will show up. I might even tell about Elanor Roosevelt and the Chief.