Storytelling

Healing…….Noooo!

My children took frequently took advantage of one of my fatal discipline flaws. Should their behavior cross the line and require discipline, activating my funny bone rendered me useless. The pastor in our small Methodist Church offered healing by laying on of hands at the end of the regular Sunday Service. I suspect that was one of the few times John, age ten, had ever listened. He made a move as though he were heading to the front. I was totally surprised, and caught his arm, thinking he’d misunderstood
”Where are you going?” I asked.
”I’ve got a heat rash!” He giggled.
”Sit down.” He got me

Real Grilling

Joe and his wife were working in their garden one day when looks over at Betty and says: “Your butt is really big, I mean really big! I bet your butt is bigger than the barbecue.” With that he proceeded to get a measuring tape and measure the grill and then went over to where his Betty was working and measured her bottom. “Yes, I was right, your butt is two inches wider than the barbecue!!!!” Betty chooses to ignore Joe. Later that night in bed, he is feeling a little frisky. He makes some advances towards his wife who completely brushes him off. “What’s wrong?” he asks. Betty answers: “Do you really think I’m going to fire up this big-ass grill for one little weenie?”

A Sin a Minute

In the unlikely event I’ve not mentioned this before, I was raised Southern Baptist in Louisiana back in the fifties. That theology would pretty much pass for Christian Evangelical now, not to mention the “What will the neighbors think?” factor. No drinking, dancing, or provocative dress such as short or tight skirts, shorts, or swimsuits for women or girls. Most church members gave lip service to the rules and went on their way, but my Dad fervently embraced any rule that backed him up in rendering his daughter’s lives joyless.

Fortunately, it wasn’t one of those extreme cults that required long hair, dresses for girls, and no makeup, a fact I was truly thankful for. I soon understood that most sin resulted from trashy women leading men astray since “boys will be boys.” The subject of sex was off limits, except in sermons with scriptures and admonitions against fornication and iniquity, which flew way over my head as a young child. After a tentative question or two that seemed headed toward sex, I learned “That’s none of your business.” That was wildly incongruous coupled with the admonition we could talk to our parents about anything. I soon learned any question had consequences. By the time I actually garnered any true information about sex, I had amassed a fascinating compendium of misinformation from my friends, who were as clueless as I.

Way too many times, Mother rushed to turn the television off if it appeared a woman was about to go into labor. Should Red Skelton get too risque, the screen went black, which was a real shame, since we had no idea what he was referring to. The point was, anything suggesting sex was a sin. That promiscuous laboring woman and the evil Red Skelton had to be censured.

Fun was suspect, particularly fun not experienced and executed under the watchful eyes of a parent or stuffy chaperone at the youth group. I soon learned it was a sin to even ask about attending a dance or the school’s end of year party at the lake. “Don’t you have any morals?”

I knew better than to give a truthful response, “uh…..no. I just want to go the party or go swimming with the other kids.”

Nubile girls parading around in the modest swimsuits of the sixties was sure to incite uncontrollable lust in the hearts of schoolboys. Hayrides were pure iniquity. Imagine carelessly throwing boys and girls together to ride around on a wagon full of hay after dark unleashing their devilish hormones!

Lust inciting lovelies

Don’t Spin Your Greens, Granny!

greens 2

When you live in the South and visit old folks in the country, the first thing you have to do is admire their garden. If you run out of excuses, you’ll come home with a “mess of greens.” I hate dealing with greens. For the unenlightened, greens include turnips, collards, or mustard greens. Boiled down low, with a bit of pork, and garnished with a splash of “pepper sauce,” greens make a delicious meal. A true connoisseur polishes off by sopping up the juice, or pot-liquor with cornbread. If you’re above the Mason-Dixon Line, try a roll. That’s the happy ending.

Now, we get down to the nitty gritty, literally. Greens have to be “looked and washed.” The first step is dispossessing the wildlife who habituate greens. Nobody wants to find half a worm or a cluster of bug eggs in their pot-liquor. You have to give both sides of each rumpled leaf a good look, wash, and then rinse copiously. I’d heard the glorious news that greens could be washed in the washing machine, cutting down tremendously on prep time.

The next time Bud visited an elderly family member, he came back wagging a bag of greens. I didn’t moan like normal, having recently heard the good news that greens could be washed in the washing machine. As usual, the basic information registered, not the total technique. I loaded the washer with dirty greens and detergent and hit the start button. Quite a while later, the alarm sounded, and I went to retrieve my sparkling greens. Alas, no greens remained, just a few tough stems and a few bits of leaves. A follow-up conversation with my friend revealed that I should have only washed them on gentle and not continue on to spend.

Though I hoped he’d forget, Bud came in that night expecting greens. I feigned innocence. “What greens?” It didn’t fly. “The greens I brought in yesterday.” It’s hard to come up with an excuse how precious greens went missing. I gave up and told the truth, though I don’t like worrying Bud stuff with that gets his blood pressure up. I’m considerate that way.

“They went down the drain.”

“How in the Hell did they go down the drain?” I don’t know why he gets all up in my housekeeping and cooking business. “

“They just did. Now don’t keep asking nosy questions!” “

“Exactly what drain and how did that happen?” “

“The washing machine drain.” I

I hoped if I answered matter-of-factly, he’d move on. I didn’t work. “

“You put greens in the washing machine? What in the Hell were you thinking?” I

I hate it when he apes back what I’ve just said. I’ve told him it gets on my nerves. “It takes forever to look and wash greens. Jenny told me she puts hers in the washer and it works great. I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to put them through spin.”

“Grouch, grouch, grouch @^%&( , #@$%! Don’t ever put )(^%&# greens in the washer, again!”

“Okay, okay. Don’t go on forever about it. I get tired of your nagging” Since then I’ve been careful not to spin them. It works great.

Can’t Be Sure

Bob was driving home on a moonlit night. As he rounded the curve in the darkness on a quiet road, flashing lights, flares, and police officers came in view beside an overturned car. When he tried to pull over, the officer tried wave to wave him on.

“Move on, Buddy. No rubbernecking,” said the officer.

“But officer, that looks just like my my buddy Joe’s car.” answered Bob.

“”Oh yeah, “ said the officer. “

Then you might be able to help us out. We haven’t found an ID yet, but I have to warn you, the guy is dead. It’s actually worse than that. He’s decapitated. You need to think about it first. It might be too much for you.”

Bob was horrified, but didn’t want to look unmanly in front of the officers. “I can do this,” he thought.

Screwing up his courage, he replied. “I’m ready. Take me over.”

The officer led him a short distance away where a bloody body had been thrown from the car and piled into a tree. In the dark, some distance away lay a head. The officer asked, “ Is this your friend?”

Bob took a long look.”Well, that’s the way Joe had his hair cut.” Taking a closer look, he said, “and Joe’s got a gold tooth like that with a star in it, but I still can’t be sure.”

Picking up the head, he held it up in the moonlight to get a better look. “It sure looks like Joe, but I don’t remember him being this tall.”

Things Happen

“They’re in the dishwasher, but should be finished by now.”I told him.

During my errands yesterday, I got a phone call from Bud. “Didn’t you tell me you washed those jars of corned beef you canned? I was going to put them in the pantry and I can’t find them. Where did you put them?” He sounded totally bewildered.

“Why in the world did you do that? Oh, never mind!” He blustered.

We’ve been married more than fifty years, but Bud still forgets it makes perfect sense to me to wash jars of canned goods in the dishwasher. We paid a lot for that dishwasher and need to get full value. Why run a sink full of soapy water to wash them by hand and risk having a slippery jar crash and break? The dishwasher does a great job.

I’ve always felt appliances should be multi-functional. I’ve already done my own research and can tell you some pitfalls, but the idea is great.

Ovens make excellent emergency dryers, but don’t do your hair. Putting your head in the oven makes a bad impression. Properly done, ovens could be used for clothes, shoes, and other stuff you might not want, or be able to put in your clothes dryer. Also, the dryer might be on the blink. (Possibly from Multi-Function Appliance Use)I do have a couple of cautions, however. When drying your dainties in the oven, pre-heat it to a nice warm temp, then turn it off. Be sure to put them on a nice cool cookie sheet before you slide them in. When mine hit the hot oven rack they sizzled and melted. Long crosswise burns across the butt was not a look I could live with.

I ran into a little problem drying my son’s tennis shoes in the oven before I’d worked all the kinks out of my system. His only pair had to be dry for school the next morning, so in the oven they went. It’s a lot easier to set the temperature higher than you think, believe me. I forgot to set the timer. In just a bit, I smelled rubber burning. By the time I got to them, melted shoe soles dripped to the oven floor. Still thinking they could be salvaged, I worked the shoes free, hoping I could saw the drippy soles off smooth. Didn’t work. The toes curled up till the shoes looked like skis. We ended up making a flying trip to the store with him in his socked feet, getting there just before the store closed at nine.Bud was totally unreasonable about the whole situation

To be continued

Looking for Jesus

A drunk stumbles along a baptismal service on Sunday afternoon down by the River.

He staggered into the water and stood next to the Preacher.
The minister noticed the old drunk and says, “Mister, Are you ready to find Jesus?”
The drunk looks back and says, “Yes, Preacher… I sure am.”
The minister then dunks the fellow under the water and pulls him right backup. “Have you found Jesus?” the preacher asked.
“No, I didn’t!” said the drunk.
The preacher then dunks him under for quite a bit longer, brings him up and says, “Now, brother, have you found Jesus?”
“No, I did not, Preacher?”
The preacher in disgust holds the man under for at least 30 seconds, brings him out of the water and says in a harsh tone, “My God man,have you found Jesus yet?”
The old drunk wipes his eyes and asks the preacher… “Are you sure this is where he fell in?”

So Much to Live For

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. I immediately ran over and said “Stop! Don’t do it!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he said.

I said, “Well, there’s so much to live for!”

“Like what?”

“Well … are you religious or atheist?”

“Religious.”

“Me too! Are you Christian or Jewish?”

“Christian.”

“Me too! Are you Catholic or Protestant?”

“Protestant.”

“Me too! Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?”

“Baptist.”

“Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord?”

“Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too! Are you Original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too! Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915!”

To which I said, “Die, heretic scum!” and pushed him off”

Bad, Good,better

The day after his wife disappeared in a kayaking accident, an Alaskan man answered his door to find two long-faced Alaska State Troopers.

“We’re sorry Mr.Jones, but we have some information about your wife,” said one trooper.

“Tell me! Tell me! Did you find her?” Jones shouted.

The troopers looked at each other. One said, “We have some bad news, some good news, and some really great news. Which do you want to hear first?”

Dreading what was coming, an anxious Mr.Jones said, “Give me the bad news first.”

The trooper said, “I’m sorry to tell you, sir, but this morning we found your wife’s body in the Bay.”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Jones. Stammering, he asked, “what’s the good news?”

The trooper continued, “When we pulled her up, she had 12 twenty-five pound king crabs and 6 good-size Dungeness crabs clinging to her. In all fairness, you are entitled to a share in the catch.”

Outraged, Mr. Jones demanded, “If that’s the good news, what’s the great news?”

The trooper said, “We’re going to pull her up again tomorrow.”

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