I was prepared to say “Nothing.” Then I listened. I hear fluorescent lights buzzing, a dog barking in the distance. The birds are leaving for work. I love that. Croc, my big dog is snoring. We need to get him a CPAP. Bud is also snoring back in the bedroom. Izzy is barking and running a bit in his dreams. My leather chair is creaking with my movements. I suppose I am listening to a lot of life.
Both boys stirred when I got photos so they are listening, too.
https://youtube.com/shorts/4TTNOplyuGY?si=8cDjRJp1LrBdWPzx
What a cute little rascal!
Follow link if you need to.
Timmy didn’t want to put his money in the offering plate Sunday morning, so his mother decided to use some hurried creative reasoning with him.
“You don’t want that money, honey,” she whispered in his ear. “Quick! Drop it in the plate. It’s tainted!”
Horrified, the little boy obeyed.
After a few seconds he whispered, “But, mommy, why was the money tainted? Was it dirty?
“Oh, no dear,” she replied. “It’s not really dirty. It just ‘taint yours, and it ‘taint mine,” she replied. “It’s God’s.”
* * * * *
Mrs. Smartt was fumbling in her purse for her offering when a large television remote fell out and clattered into the aisle.
The curious usher bent over to retrieve it for her and whispered, “Do you always carry your TV remote to church?”
“No,” she replied, “but my husband refused to come with me this morning, and I figured this was the most evil thing I could do to him legally.”
* * * * *
A Sheepish Recovery
A devout old shepherd lost his favorite Bible while he was out looking for a wayward lamb. Three weeks later, a sheep walked up to him carrying the Bible in its mouth. The shepherd couldn’t believe his eyes. He took the precious book out of the sheep’s mouth, raised his eyes heavenward and exclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”
“Not really,” said the sheep. “Your name is written inside the cover.”
* * * * *
Words of wisdom: “There’s a fine line between a long, drawn-out sermon and a hostage situation.”
* * * * *
The church council met to discuss the pastor’s compensation package for the coming year. After the meeting the chair of council told the pastor: “We are very sorry, Pastor, but we decided that we cannot give you a raise next year.”
“But you must give me a raise,” said the pastor. “I am but a poor preacher!”
“l know,” the council chair said. “We hear you every Sunday.”
* * * * *
God is talking to one of his angels and says, “Do you know what I have just done? I have just created a 24-hour period of alternating light and darkness on Earth. Isn’t that good?”
The angel says, “Yes, but what will you do now?”
God says, “I think I’ll call it a day.”
* * * * *
A newly-ordained pastor, in the first days of his first call, was attempting to console the widow of an eccentric man who had just died. Standing before the open casket, the nervous young pastor said, “I realize this must be a very hard blow for you, Mrs. Svenson. Just try to remember that what we see before us is only the husk, the shell of your dear husband–the nut has gone to heaven.”
* * * * *
Have you heard about the first baseball game in the Bible?
In the big inning. Eve stole first, Adam stole second. Cain struck out Abel. The Giants and the Angels were rained out.
* * * * *
There will be a meeting of the Church Board immediately after the service,” announced the pastor.
After the close of the service, the Church Board gathered at the back of the sanctuary for the announced meeting. But there was a stranger in their midst — a visitor who had never attended their church before.
“My friend,” said the pastor, “Didn’t you understand that this is a meeting of the Board?”
“Yes,” said the visitor, “and after today’s sermon, I suppose I’m just about as bored as anyone else who came to this meeting.”
Old Lady Borden was a saint! We had it on good authority, hers. She had been widowed longer than anybody knew. Hateful as she was, had I been her husband, I would have claimed to be dead, too. Though she was devout in another denomination, she was in attendance at our little country church every time the doors opened. Her own church was twelve miles away and she didn’t want to bother anyone for a ride to services so far afield. It was much more expedient walk a few hundred feet and stir up no end of trouble closer to home, inserting herself fully into all matters related to church business, be it financial, theological, or just some sinner in need of her hateful opinion.
Mother was very particular about our language. We would have never been allowed refer to Ms. Borden by the B word, but she turned a deaf ear when we referred to her as an Old Bat. Old Lady Borden played a vital role pointing out flaws that might have gone unnoticed for a while, a pregnant bride, a baby with a crossed-eye, a child who stuttered, a woman who’d gained weight, or was a bad housekeeper. She begrudged any good fortune coming to a neighbor, such as good crops, or getting a good job. They were “gittin’ uppity.” Should a church member appear too prosperous, they were probably “gittin’ in the c’lection plate.”
Old Lady Borden was the first to the home of the bereaved, making sure to crowd the younger women out at the kitchen sink, then complaining loudly about how “lazy them gals was. “ Any one unfortunate enough to be handed a drying towel would be treated to her acid tongue about what a pitiful job they were doing. Nothing excited her more than a tragedy. Long before the days of cell phones, or even many house phones in our rural community, the school principal got the word that Mr. Barnes, the school bus driver’s father had collapsed and died a few minutes after his daughter Becky left on her bus route. The principal got in his vehicle, hoping to catch up with her before she home and found a shocking scene. When she stopped to let off Old Lady Borden’s grandson, the old woman rushed out to meet her at the bus stop with the horrible news. “Becky, yore daddy just dropped dead. He’s still a’ laying out in the yard a’waitin’ for the coroner.”
Naturally, Becky and her young children were distraught. There were still a half-dozen other children, some of them relatives, on the bus who’d heard the whole thing. They became overwrought at hearing the news of Mr. Barne’s death. Becky had no idea how to manage till the principal caught up to comfort and relieve her. He had to finish her route with her and the upset children still on the bus, since there was no other way to get them home. It was a shocking situation but at least the old bat had the pleasure of delivering the terrible news.
Old Lady Borden kept trouble stirred up. She made every church business meeting to make her opinion known, despite the fact that she wasn’t a church member and could not vote. She bullied everyone she dealt with and tried to dominate her Sunday School Class, making it clear she had God’s ear and wouldn’t hesitate to use her influence. She was the meanest Christian I ever met.
(Continuation of story of Jamey Awful’s birthday party, without a doubt, the most fun I ever had in my life. If he gave a party today, I’d be there!)
Jamey’s birthday party was incredible. There was no sappy “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, no party hats, just fun, fun, fun. Mama Awful didn’t concern herself with us, leaving us on our own. Of course, we ran wild, ripping through mud puddles, jumping out the barn loft, and robbing chicken nests. We splatted eggs against the side of the barn and climbed into fig trees breaking off a branch or two. My sandals were long gone and the skirt of my dress ripped from the waist band. The sash ties were mud-caked. From the look on Mother’s face when she walked over to get me, I could see she was not happy, not even going in for coffee like she usually did at neighbor lady’s houses. “I ought to tear you up for running wild like that, losing your shoes and tearing up your new dress.”
“But Mama, we was just playing. We didn’t mess up nothing in the house!” I protested. I usually got in trouble for meddling with people’s whatnots when we went to visit, a terrible wrong.
“ Don’t dispute my word!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “”You’re never going over there again!” My heart fell. Surely she didn’t mean it!
I figured Mother would forget after a few days, but no……….No visits to the Awfuls. If they noticed they were being snubbed you couldn’t tell. We were always ready to play with them if they rambled through our yard on the way to bigger and better things. During this time Daddy brought home a huge, mean turkey, to fatten for Thanksgiving. He was a monster jumping, spurring, and flogging us with when we had to feed the chickens and gather eggs. He even got bolder and started flying over the fence to attack us in our own territory. We stayed as far away as we could, but he ambushed us if he caught us off guard.
My personal favorite among the Awfuls was Junior who enjoyed a special claim to fame. He ate bugs and other strange items. He ate his first bug on a dare and liked it, saying it tasted like peanuts. From that time forward, he was generally known as Bugeater. The kids in the neighborhood took pride in finding the biggest, strangest bugs for him to eat. Bugeater did have standards, refusing to eat worms.
Before too many days, we were lucky enough to have Jamey, Bugeater, and Davey pay us a call. “Where’s that bad turkey? I wanta see it.” demanded Jamey.
“He’s out in the chicken yard but you better leave him alone! He’s real mean!” I pointed out. I watched them head for the chicken yard, wanting no part of that turkey.
Sure enough, that old devil turkey flew at them, ready to do battle. They screamed and ran like crazy, but not in the cowardly way we had. “Whoo whoo! Turn turkey run!” they shrieked, chasing him all over the chicken yard, flogging him with their caps and sticks. The terrorized turkey finally escaped up into the trees and stayed there till they sauntered off.
“That ol’turkey ain’t so bad,” Jamey said as they banged the gate shut on the way out.
”Wait, where are you going? Don’t you want to play?” I liked them even better now.
”Nah, We’re going crawfishing over in Donnie Parker’s ditch.” Jamey replied, ruining my day.
That turkey’s spirit was broken. He never bothered us again. I liked those kids even better than ever after that.
I gave Mother a little time to forget before asking to go to the Awfuls. One golden day, she had a headache and wanted to rest on the sofa until her head felt better. We played quietly for a few minutes till she went to sleep. “Mother, can I go play with the Awful’s?” I whispered. She didn’t say no, so off I went.
The Awfuls had the best place in the neighborhood. Overgrown bushes tangled into the fence so the yard was a jungle, a great place for adventures. Tall grass and junk in the yard made it easy to hide. We chased the sleeping hound dogs out of the abandoned cars and played cops and robbers. We pulled broken boards off the barn for fort-building. Best of all, there was a big tree with low-hanging branches by the front door. “Look at this!” Jamey shouted. I followed the boys up the tree and through a window into the attic. From there, we dropped through a hole into the living room ceiling and sneaked behind the furniture into a back bedroom where daft, old grandma was in the bed.
“Aigheeeeeeee!” she screeched, clutching her blankets like she’d seen a ghost.
“Y’all git out’a there! Don’t git your Granny stirred up. I got a headache” yelled Mama Awful over the TV.
They showed us a secret way out through a hole in the floor of her closet. Pelting each other with dirt clods from their bare yard, I’d never felt so free.
Eventually, Mother came stomping over. “What are you doing over here? Don’t you ever go off without asking!” she said. “I’m gonna tear you up!”
“But Mama, you said I could go!” I whined. dreading a switching. “ I asked when you was layin’ on the couch.” I told her.
I could see she remembered. “You knew I was asleep. Don’t you ever pull that again.” she threatened. Sadly, that was my last visit to the Awful’s house.
Not too long afterward, the Awfuls showed up with little Becky Awful in tow. She was about three and overdue to join their traveling show. Daddy was unhappily cleaning out a clogged septic line, bailing nasty stuff into a wheelbarrow. Not in a great mood, he sent the Awfuls on their way, not noting that Becky had remained behind playing quietly off to the side. She was making mud pies with clean white sand and septic drain sludge. As soon as he saw her, he howled for Mother. “Kathleen, get this kid out of here! She’s playing in this excrement(paraphrased) and nasty as a pig! Do I have to do everything?”
“Bill, I didn’t know she was out there.” Mother washed Becky a little under the hose and led her home. Becky was so filthy and smelly it would probably have been easier to get another little girl than to try to clean her up. As it turned out, that wasn’t a problem. Becky showed up two days later in the same malodorous outfit.
Since we couldn’t visit the Awfuls anymore, we had to make do with whatever crumbs of joy they tossed our way. My parents had their noses out of joint because Mr. Awful had shut his pigs up in a small lot between our house and theirs. Not surprisingly, it really, really stunk. Mother had us helping her hang laundry on the line when we heard a huge ruckus next door. It seems Mr. Awful had noticed Jamey’s missing birthday shoes. “You boys get out there and find them shoes or I’m gonna tear you up. We ain’t got money to waste on shoes.” he roared. I could have told him where one of them was, but Mother shushed me up. The boys made for the pigpen, wading around, looking in the muddy black hog-wallows seeking the lost shoes. Of course, it wasn’t long before Bugeater slipped and fell, then Davey, then Jamey. They forgot about the shoes and were streaking through the pig mud. Mud showered everywhere. The beleaguered pigs cowered in the corners, trying to save their bacon. Eventually, Mr. Awful came out in the yard to check the progress of the shoe search. Finding them in the pigpen meant big trouble. He pulled a spring of grass and threatened to switch them if they didn’t find the shoes.
“No don’t whoop me,” whined Jamey. Then the other boys chimed in.
“He backed down. “ Well, I won’t whoop you, but you gonna have to git a bath before bedtime.
It did my heart good to see they could get in trouble. It’s hard to live next door to kids with a perfect life.
Of course, our family has familiar phrases we use a lot. We have been known to get so comfortable, we forgot to mention to the kids the terms were nonsense. One such word was “bungarendeen” which Bud commonly used to describe the potential for harm. For example: “Don’t eat that potato salad that’s been sitting out too long. It might give you Bungarendeen!” Another:” Let me clean that cut and put Neosporin and bandage on it. You don’t want to get Bungarendeen.” Again: Always wash your hands after going to the bathroom. You don’t want Bungarendeen!”
After a lifetime of indoctrination, one of our kids was in college biology class. The instructor was covering pathogens and neglected to mention the all important Bungarendeen. The unfortunate student raised their hand, “But what about Bungarendeen? You didn’t cover that.”
The response was sadly predictable.
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Stories from a cemetery researcher, pipeline wife, amateur farmer & mom!
Empowering our People
having fun since 1995.
"Creative Insights for Designers & Digital Artists
Emmitt Owens
Let’s fix it
Finding Meaning in Modern Life
Real motherhood. Real fun. Real life with two wild boys.
Exploring biblical promises and their fulfillment in Israel and the Middle East.
Online hookup services
POETRY RANDOM THOUGHTS AND STUFF LIKE THAT...
Nutsrok 