Pages

Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Invaders in the Night

For two nights I have heard something in this house that is not on two legs. Last night it was quite noisy--not the chewing, scurrying sound of mice or rats (not that I'd know anything about that, mind) but the sound of something moving around and knocking stuff over. The first night it stopped fairly quickly, and I thought maybe it was the cats on the porch.

The second night, though, it sounded like stuff rolling on the floor. This was at 2 am and I was awake because my hips were hurting and I was having trouble sleeping. I listened for a while, then nudged Larry.

"There's something in the house," I whispered. "Not a person, but a something. It's knocking stuff over."

He had a hard time waking up, reluctant to give up his sound sleep for my "something".

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know! I can just hear it moving around, and dropping things."

He got out of bed, looked for slippers, turned on a light. The flashlight was in the room where I heard the noise, of course. So Larry walked through the house turning on lights as he went.

Finally he was in the log room. "Nothing here," he called. "Everything looks fine. I got up and went to look. Nothing was out of place. But I had heard stuff being moved or dropped, I knew I had!

Then I saw it. The nut bowl.


Since Christmas we've had a bowl of nuts on the table. They're a great snack when we watch movies, and I bought enough over the holidays to last a while. Those nuts were the clue.

"I bet it's a flying squirrel," I said. "Coming down the chimney and stealing nuts."

That wasn't a wild random idea. Many years ago, I had a bushel basket of hickory nuts in the kitchen. At night I began hearing sounds for all the world like nuts rolling across the floor. Once when I got up I actually found hickory nuts in the living room, far from the basket. I was mystified.

Then one night when we heard the sounds my husband was quick enough with a light to spot the culprit: a flying squirrel had found a tiny hole in our not-yet-quite finished house, and was making nightly forays to steal nuts. We watched the critter fly from our roof to the woods behind the house. Mystery solved--and hole quickly plugged.

I've put the nut bowl away, and Larry closed the damper so perhaps our little thief will be disappointed on his next visit. I hope. Because if that isn't the answer...there's something moving in my house at night, and it isn't on two legs.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Idy Mae’s Full Moon

(Re-publishing a story I originally posted in 2007. It's still one of my favorites.)

“Ready or not, here I come!”


Larry and Mary around 1953-54,
 a few years before this story took place
It was summer in the coal camps, and that meant lots of kids outside playing. The long summer evenings were especially good for playing hide-and-seek, and there weren’t many games Larry liked better. The woods, buildings and creeks around Olcott in southern Kanawha County were full of good places to hide—caves, abandoned mines, hollow trees, rock piles, under the company houses, in neighbor’s barns—and Larry knew them all.


The problem was, so did the other kids. Finding a new and clever place to hide was a real test of a kid’s ingenuity. Today we might think that some of these hiding places were extremely dangerous, and wonder at the parents who let their children play in such places, completely unsupervised. But this was a different time, a different way of life, and different people.



Danger was not an obstacle to these kids. They lived with that every time their dads went down the mines. Uncertainty and suspense were not new either. That was part of life, when mines closed, miners went out on strike, there was an accident in the mine, any of the other familiar calamities of a miner’s family life. Playing games like hide-and-seek in abandoned mines and old buildings was exciting and fun, and by the standards of those days, completely harmless.




But Larry was running out of new hiding places. And tonight he was tired. The company had replaced their old outhouse that day, and he and his brother and his father had dug the hole for the new building. It was hard work—the soil in that area was shallow and shaly, hard digging. But there was nothing for it, the old outhouse hole was almost full and the company men were coming with the new building. So they got to work.




The digging didn’t take too long, because his uncles stopped by to help. Getting a new outhouse was a community event—neighbors stopped by to check on progress, drink coffee and offer advice. The visiting slowed the progress but made the job more enjoyable, especially when Uncle Ot stopped by. Uncle Ot was always full of stories and jokes, and the occasion called forth some of his spicier material.




The hole was finally finished just before the company men arrived on the truck with the new outhouse. It wasn’t an entirely new building, actually—they carefully removed the outer walls of the outhouse and the roof, prying them loose from the venerable and well-used “box,” which was where the seat and the opening into the dirt hole was located. The walls and roof were attached to a new box, and the whole thing put in place over the newly dug hole with great seriousness and gravity. Uncle Ot christened the completed job with his beer bottle, and everyone went inside for supper, even the company men.




Not long after, Booge came looking for kids to play hide-and-seek. Larry and his twin sister Mary were always ready to play, as were the Clendenin kids next door. It didn’t take long for kids to gather from all around the neighborhood, and the game began. Larry took Mary’s hand and they set off to look for a good hiding place while Shirley counted to 100.


“Let’s hide in the washroom,” Mary whispered.


“In there?” Larry was scornful. “That’s a baby place to hide. They’ll look in there first thing. I got a better idea.”


“So what’s your big idea?” Mary asked. Larry always treated her ideas like she was dumb, and it made her mad.


“Shut up and come with me.” Larry moved quickly through the soft twilight air.


“Where are we going?” Mary didn’t like being told to shut up, and she was going to prove she didn’t have to listen to him. They were twins and she had just as much right to talk as he did.


“SHHHH!” Larry was making straight for the new outhouse, and it dawned on Mary that this might be his “better idea.”


“In there?” She almost said it out loud she was so surprised.


“SHHHH!” Larry warned again. “Listen, who will ever think of looking for us in here? We can get down under the box, on the edge of the hole.”


“Ewww!” Mary crinkled up her nose. “In the outhouse hole? I’m not going in there!”


“Aw, no one’s even used it yet. It’s clean as a whistle. And do you think Shirley will look there? Course she won’t, she’s a girl.”


Mary studied on this for a minute. It was a good idea, and Larry was right, although she wasn’t going to tell him so. Shirley would never look down there.


“Okay,” she agreed, still a little reluctant. “Help me get in there, Larry.”


Larry put one foot down inside the box and felt around with it for the edge of the hole. “Okay, I’m going in,” he said. He braced himself by placing one hand on each side of the “seat” hole and put his other foot down into the hole. Getting his foot on firm ground, he lowered himself carefully into the seat and got comfortable. Mary followed his example, and perched on the other side of the hole under the seat.


They waited. They heard Shirley counting “97-98-99-100! Here I come, ready or not.” They didn’t move a muscle, even though it was hard not to giggle when they heard Shirley passing right outside the door of the outhouse. They heard her finding other kids one after another. “One, two, three on you, I found you,” she’d sing out, and they heard the found kid groan and come out of hiding.


Shirley came back to the outhouse and stood outside it for a moment. Larry and Mary held their breath. Shirley opened the door, put one foot inside. Then they heard the door close and Shirley moved on to look elsewhere.


Things were going very well. Shirley found everyone except Larry and Mary, and now the other kids were helping her hunt. It was perfect.

They didn’t figure on Idy Mae. She’d come over to visit their mother, and stayed to drink coffee on the porch. One cup led to another and another, and soon Idy Mae said she thought she might go “inspect” the new outhouse. She lumbered off the porch toward the new building, oblivious of the massive manhunt being conducted by the children out in the yard.


Larry and Mary were still as mice when the cat is near in their perfect hiding place. They listened to the kids calling their names and grinned at each other. This was better than the best game of hiding seek they could remember, and they were without a doubt the winners in this game.




The door creaked open and heavy footsteps sounded over their heads. Had they been found? Had Shirley figured out where they were? How could she know where they were? The footsteps stopped and they heard heavy breathing and the sound of clothing rustling.




And that was when Mary realized what was happening just over their heads. The two kids looked up as Idy Mae was settling down. Larry saw more of Idy Mae than he had ever seen in his life, a full moon that was descending with remarkable speed.




“Idy Mae! Idy Mae! Don’t!” Mary screamed.




Idy Mae Estep moved faster than she had in the past 50 years. Her big face filled the opening in the box as the two children tried to scramble out from under.




“What in tarnation are you two young ‘uns doing down there?” she thundered.


It took a while to explain, and while they were trying Shirley appeared in the door.



“One, two, three on you, you’re it!” she cried.



Larry and Mary a couple years ago--I think she's trying to throttle him, and perhaps with good reason!

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Keeping an Eye on the Plane Van

I don't think I have an explanation for either of these. Anyone want to give it a try? What's the story I should have written about these two photos?

Sighted in Spencer, West Virginia high atop a building.

And just your plain old van in a carport near the Roane-Calhoun County line...


Click the pics to enlarge them. You'll be able to see the fine details on the eye and the printing on the van. If you're that curious.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Ghost Rider?


Okay, creative people! What would your caption for this photo be? We had to turn around and go back to take a picture. Don't you love people's strange minds?
We saw this in front of a convenience store in Enterprise, WV. Enterprising person there, certainly!

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Sometimes I Have to Wonder

picture from wikipedia commons


Signs always attract me.


Today, with no camera in hand, I saw this one:


Elk Hills Memorial Park: Special Sale. Buy one lot, get a second lot FREE!



Ummm, I'm pretty sure I just need one. Unless I gain a LOT of weight. I only expect to die once, honestly.

I know, I know, the idea is the second one is for my spouse. But really, a BOGO sale at a CEMETERY? I've been laughing all day. I can imagine the conversation:

"Honey, they've got this sale going on at the cemetery and I got a great deal on your lot. It was free!"

"Free! Did you pay for your lot?"

"Yeah, but I got yours free! Isn't that great?" (Imagine man all pumped up and feeling good about how he'd scored.)

"So I get the free one and you get one that you probably paid thousands of dollars for. Is that all I mean to you? You will just plunk me into some free lot when I die and think, "Gee, I sure got a great deal on getting her planted?" (Insert heaving bosom and sobs here.)

"Aw, honey, I didn't mean it like that! I just thought it would save us some money when, you know, when the time comes....look, you can have the lot I paid for and I'll take the free one." (Manly stroke of brilliance lights his face. He's sacrificing for his true love.)

"You think I would put you into some crummy free lot? You think I would do that to you? You have no idea how much I love you, how much I care about you. I would never do such a thing to you." (Sinks into a chair, seeking hankie. Poor, befuddled man stands by. He's in a no-win situation.)


Okay, back to our discussion. We'll have to leave John and Mary and the Elk Hills Memorial Park to sort things out.


Adams Family Funeral Home: Yes, West Virginia, there really is an Adams Family Funeral Home, and it's not in West By God. It's in Cumberland, Maryland. I did a doubletake when I saw this place listed as a sponsor in the program for the Jean Ritchie program recently. Of course I thought it was a joke so I looked it up later. No joke. It's a real place.

Another conversation:

"Aunt Lou passed away, Helen."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. When is visitation?"

"Friday at 7:00. I hope you can come. She thought so much of you."

"I will be there. Which funeral home are you using?"

"The Adams Family Funeral Home."

(Insert a loud laugh)

"Really. For a minute you had me going there, Ethel. I thought Helen had really passed on."

"She did. On Wednesday."

"Oh sure, and I bet the funeral director is named Gomez and a guy named Lurch drives the hearse. Probably some lady in a long black dress named Morticia greeting the guests?"

Now, not to make light of the dead, or the good folks at the Adams Family Funeral Home (hiding a grin) but would you not think they'd be happy enough just to call it Adams Funeral Home, or Adams and Sons or something else? Maybe they're hiding grins too. Why not laugh in the face of death? It is after all part of living. (Although I'm kinda looking over my shoulder as I type)


And that reminds me of yet another funeral home: Leavitt Funeral Home, which is conveniently located next to a hospital. No worry with transport there.

To lighten the mood a little, I noticed this sign on the way to work this morning:

"Fall Flooring Sale. Ask for Joy."

Okay, I'm game. I need a little joy in my life. If asking for it at the lumber yard will bring it to me, it's worth stopping to ask.

I bet you know of other places with similar names, and other signs that could be interpreted in a manner completely different from what was intended. Got any to share?

Friday, July 17, 2009

Missed Communication

"Are these your jeans?"

"I don't know. I have a pair of black jeans. Might be mine."

"They look like women's jeans."

"Is there a tag in them? You can tell by that."

"Yeah, here's a tag. Let's see. It says size 18 Wide."

"That's size 18 WOMEN'S!"

I should have looked myself. Now I will forever be size 18 Wide in my husband's mind. And my own. That's enough incentive to lose weight right there.

And honestly? Looking at the jeans he was holding, I have to say that 18 Wide is more accurate than I'd like to think.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Noah?


No, a houseboat in landlocked, rural West Virginia.

It's right up there with a stationary bike I saw at a yard sale this weekend--the bike had a basket on it. I mean what was he planning to haul and to where?

Makes me smile just thinking about it.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Why I Might Not Want to Eat Here


I've passed this sign a hundred times, I'm sure. It's just outside of Weston, WV in a little community called Pricetown.

Today it registered. Maybe I won't try this mom-and-pop after all.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Overheard at Breakfast

My husband and I overheard a man on his cell phone at the restaurant yesterday morning:

"She put what in her ear? Why did she do that?"
(Okay, he had my attention)

"She can't get it out, huh? What did she try?"

"I can't imagine why she'd want to put it in her ear."

"She'll have to go to the doctor, that's all."

"Well, tell her she has to go. I don't care if she feels stupid."

Long patient wait.

"She might as well quit trying to get it out. She's probably making it worse."

"Call me when you get back from the doctor. I bet she feels ridiculous."

He hangs up, then turns to his breakfast companions.

"It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't nineteen years old!"


Hoooo boy.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Too Much Gas?

It's true. In West Virginia you can be arrested for having too much gas.

Who would have thought in these times of gas shortages that a man would be hauled off to jail for having too much gas?

The ramifications for all of us are scary.

You can read all about it in this AP article.

Jose Cruz, you're a lucky man. The rest of us complain about the price of gas, and you have it for free!

No wonder they put you in jail...

Friday, September 5, 2008

A New Political Party Comes to WV

News Release:


McCain Criticized for Stealing Attention from Small-party Candidates
August 29th


Only one day after the conclusion of the Democratic National Convention, the media has accused John McCain of not only stealing fellow- presidential-candidate Barack Obama’s thunder, but also of snatching the spotlight from yet another first in this political campaign: the first ever Monster Party ticket.



Today, Mothman, the Monster Party presidential nominee, announced his choice of running mate–an event which was sadly neglected by the media, owing to the excitement over McCain’s announcement this afternoon.


Candidate Mothman, of Point Pleasant, Mason County




In a stunning move, Mothman bypassed such hopefuls as Bigfoot, the Jersey Devil, and Hillary Clinton, and surprised his party by selecting a running mate from his own state of West Virginia: the Braxton County Monster.



Although this decision does not fall on the anniversary of any historic occasion relevant to the candidates, both Mothman and the Braxton County Monster assured reporters that they are confident the Monster Party ticket itself should draw in plenty of attention from voters.










Braxton County Monster, courtesy of www.wvculture.org









8/29/08 Source: B.I.A.S. Media



Many thanks to my friend Rachel Maynard for allowing me to post her hilarious email message. Rachel's poetry is stunning; obviously she has a quirky sense of humor as well!

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Graffiti?


Or is it?
A lovely message at the entrance to the parking garage put a smile on the faces of travelers.

Friday, June 13, 2008

The Man Who Forgot His Feet

John was selected to be a judge for the town's annual Liars Contest.

"This is an important occasion," John thought. "I must dress appropriately to be a judge."

He checked his closet. His funeral suit was in good condition. He was saving it for his own funeral, but for this one day, he thought, he could wear it. "This is even more important than my funeral," John told his wife.

Shoes were a problem. He pulled out the one pair of dress shoes he'd ever owned, bought for him by his mother for his high school graduation. The shoes were covered in dust but still looked new. He'd only worn them one time, after all. He had been saving them to go with the funeral suit.

He slipped his foot into one shoe and discovered that he had a problem: his foot had grown at least an inch since graduation.

"Of course it has!" said his wife. "You were twenty years younger when you graduated! We'll have to give those shoes away."

"Oh no," replied John. "I can still wear them for my funeral. It won't matter to me then if the shoes are too tight!"

He continued, "But I need a pair for the contest. A judge can't show up in work boots! I need a new pair." He sighed. Shopping was not high on his list of ways to spend his time. Then he had an idea--his wife could go! She loved to shop.

John found a ruler and carefully measured his foot, both the width and the length. He wrote the measurements on a piece of paper and handed it to his wife.

"Here. Run down to the shoe store and get me a pair of good black shoes," he ordered.

"I can't go. Don't you remember that I start my new job this afternoon? You'll have to go yourself." She handed the paper back to John.

There was nothing for it but he would have to go. John slicked back his hair and headed out.

As he walked to the shoe store, he met many neighbors who wanted to talk to him about his important role as judge of the liars' contest. "You're a natural for the post," one man said. "Why anyone who tell lies like you do would know in a minute if a lie was a good 'un or not."

John swelled with pride. "Indeed," he said, "I am an accomplished liar. My wife never believes a word I say, even when it's the truth I'm speaking. She says I must be conserving truth because it's such a rarity in our house, and that I've told so many little white lies I've gotten color-blind. I tell her that although I am an exceptionally good liar, I always tell the truth."

Making his way down the street, John grandly bowed his head to all who called out congratulations. When he got to the shoe store, he stepped up to the counter and said, "I have come, dear man, to purchase a pair of shoes for a most auspicious occasion." (John liked to use big words when he was feeling important.)

"Very good," said the shopkeeper. "What size do you need?"

John reached in his pocket for the paper with his foot measurements. The paper was not there. Frantically he searched all his pockets. No paper.

"Blast!" he cried. " I must return home to get the paper. I don't remember what the measurements were. I shall return as quickly as possible."

As John hurried up the street, he bumped into a friend. Of course the friend wanted to talk about John's upcoming position as judge of the contest, and John obliged by sharing all the details of his appointment. "The mayor himself chose me," said John. "He said it takes one to know one. I always say that reality is tough enough without adding truth to it."

John finally reached his home and found the paper with the measurements. He ran back to the shoe store--but it was closed!

There was nothing he could do about it except return home without a new pair of shoes. He walked slowly up the street with his head down.

"Hey John!' called a neighbor. "Why so sad? A man with such a special job to do should be feeling fine!"

"Oh my," said John. "I needed a new pair of shoes to be the judge--a judge must be dressed properly, you know. But I left my measurements at home on my first trip to the store and had to go back and get them. And when I returned, the store was closed! Now I have no new shoes. I'll have to wear my old boots, I suppose. This is just terrible."

The neighbor was puzzled. "Who did you say you were buying the shoes for?" he asked.

"Myself, of course! Who else would I buy shoes for when I am the one who needs them?"

"But you had your feet with you the entire time! Why didn't you just try the shoes on and find a pair to fit?"

John looked at his neighbor a long time, and then down at his feet. Without another word he stepped into his house and closed the door.

The important judge of the liars' contest wore work boots with his funeral suit to the contest. Every now and then he would look down at his feet, as if to be sure they were still with him. He didn't want to forget he had them again!

This is my retelling of a Chinese fable. Some days we overlook the most basic things. But although I occasionally lose my head, I have yet to misplace my feet!

For other sources of this story, go to:

The Storyteller Online
Chinese Culture

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Garden Guardian

Larry was up and out at 6:30 am yesterday morning to start work in the garden. On a Saturday. He usually likes to sleep until 8 o'clock on weekends, since our usual get-up time is about 5:15 am. But yesterday he was in a hurry to get started.



What's the rush, I asked, pulling blankets tighter around me.

I've got something I need to get done, he said.

I thought he meant something like hoeing out the potatoes.

I looked out the door to see how Larry was doing in the garden and realized he wasn't alone out there. Who was that small figure perched on top of the grapevine's post?





I walked outside to get a closer look. The figure wasn't on the grapevine post, it was in the garden. Meet Doughboy, looking a little worse for wear (World War I was about 90 years ago, so he has reason to look worn).


I guess jobs are scarce for a 100+ year old soldier, so he's taking what he can get. Around here, the only job available is Garden Guardian, so he's taken up guard duty.


Howdy, Doughboy!

The potatoes did get hoed and hilled, by the way.


(The inside of Larry's mind is a scary place, I think. I'd need a tour guide to get around in there.)

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Rules of the (Country) Road; or, What They Don't Tell You When You Take Your Driver's License Exam

(This started from my reply to a post on Suzanne McMinn's blog; the more I thought about it, the more ideas occurred to me. Thanks, Suzanne!--btw, her blog is a hoot; check it out if you haven't visited there.)

What I've learned in the course of thirty-plus years of driving on a country road:

1. If you're coming down the hill and someone is coming up, you've got to move over and let 'em by.

2. The one closest to a wide spot on the flatter sections of road has to pull over or back up.

3. If you ain't from here, we'll figure it out by the way you stop dead in the road when another vehicle approaches, or by the way you hog the entire road and keep on coming, assuming that of course you have the right to do so. We'll move over or back up as needed, but you might not get the usual friendly wave. And you won't know to do the thing listed next:

4. If someone pulls over for you, you should wave or give a little tap on the horn to say thanks.

5. You should never ever use other sign language when you get irritated with someone who ain't from here and doesn't know the rules.

6. If you meet your neighbor on the road, you can both stop and talk until the next car comes. Then you should move on. Unless, of course, they get out of their car and join the conversation.

7. If you see someone with car trouble, stuck in the ditch or whatever, you must stop to help. If you can't help, you can commiserate or offer to go find someone with tractor and/or tools. You should never, ever simply wave and go by. That's rude and your payback will come when you're broke down, believe me.

8. Men must stop to look at deer. Women usually don't bother--the deer are in the road enough to see them quite well. Some men will have head-on collisions in the middle of a one-lane dirt road with total traffic of about 20 cars a day because they're looking at deer (ask my husband and the neighbor he met on our road). It's safer to let them stop and look.

9. Men must try to get out if it snows or floods. They just must, I don't know why. Even if they have nowhere to go, they will want to see if they can get through.

10. If it's dusty, slow down if you pass someone walking. Slow down if you're following another vehicle so you don't eat their dust. Slow down if you're passing someone's house and their kids are outside playing or if their doors and windows are open.

11. Be nice to the mailman and the school bus driver. Their jobs are tough enough without us giving them a hard time or riding on their bumpers.

12. If you find a tree down in the road first, it's your job to try to get it out of the path of vehicles of possible. That may mean a trip back to the house for a chain saw and tow chain, or tractor. If you're a woman, you can wait for the next guy with truck and tools (love those men!) if you find that you can't do the job yourself.

13. If it floods, you must go down to look at the water and visit with all the other neighbors who are there looking at the water and watching those who feel they must try to drive through. I've yet to see someone actually not get through. I have seen a few vehicles with water in the floorboards and other places not good for the continued life of said vehicle. Not mine of course. Of course not. Who would be so silly?

14. If it's between 9:30 and 12:30 on a Sunday morning, you will get behind church traffic heading up to Mount Hope Church, unless you remember to take the other fork of the road. Be patient. Follow them slowly and use the time to look at the wildflowers, deer, improvements neighbors have made to their places, and other points of interest along the way.

15. Always assume someone is coming around the blind curves and over the blind hills. They seldom are, but there is always that one time...

16. Teenagers almost always drive too fast too soon; they often violate rules #1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 10, 11 and 14. They also often require that others follow rule #7

I may have missed a few--anyone have any additions to this list?

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Doughboy Feedbowl?

It's true. A World War I helmet, complete with bullet hole, is what my husband is using to feed the dog.



Why?



I have no idea. We have other feedbowls, but this is the one I saw on the cellarhouse steps, filled with dog food.



I still wonder about that bullet hole.

Monday, April 14, 2008

A Taxing Weekend



the taxes are done

the taxes are done

the TAXES are done

the TAXES are DONE

The TAXES are DONE!

Hallelujah. One more year completed just under the wire.

And gee, only 364 more days before TSS hits again (Tax Stress Syndrome).

Symptoms of TSS:

  1. paper in untidy piles
  2. me screaming through the house, "Where's my calculator!" (on the computer, you idiot, I reply to myself).
  3. reams of computer printouts of instructions for schedule C, schedule SE, form 45-something for depreciation, form something-something for whatever, and piles of stuff I didn't need at all.
  4. wadded up paper in the trash can because I forgot to add or subtract
  5. open drawers, files, doors

How to prevent this syndrome?

  1. have all records in neat order (never will happen)
  2. start earlier (I did but things sort of intervened)
  3. get that computer program that does everything like magic, or so I'm told. But I haven't tried it yet.
  4. get my husband to do it. Not a fat chance. It's my storytelling that causes such havoc; otherwise it would be plain sailing.
  5. take it to a tax preparer. Yeah right. They expect #1 above. They are not interested in my messy notes, receipts and file folders. If I keep everything neat for them, I might as well just do the forms myself.
  6. there is no #6. But I'm sure there has to be some other solution that I haven't thought of.

So, be it resolved: I am going to start NOW to organize my records, before it gets any later in the year. I am going to keep meticulous notes in my day diary. I am going to start as soon as the gong stops sounding on New Year's Eve. I am not going to be in this situation again in April 2009.

yeah right...even I don't believe it.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Waiting for the Great Flood?


High on a ridge between Jackson and Putnam counties, West Virginia, there sits this sternwheeler, waiting for high tide.


When it comes, we'd better all be right with our souls, because water this deep would flood most of the earth!

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Accelerated Death

I got my renewal notice for AAA today. I've only been a member for two years--the first year, we needed a vehicle towed three times, so it was definitely worth the investment. Last year? No towing needed. But with both vehicles around 200,000 miles, my bet is on needing some roadside help sometime in the coming year, so I'm joining again.

BUT--in the same mail as the renewal notice was an offer for AAA term life insurance. I was tossing it in the trash when a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and read "Accelerated Death Benefits."

Hunh? You can get paid more for speeding up your death? How does that work?

I read the blurb under the heading: all you have to do is get a terminal illness that will cause you to die in 12 months or less. Then you can get up to 50% of the total benefit in one lump sum to spend however you choose. (Except in New Jersey--looks like a person gets longer (24 months) to die in NJ).

What a deal! So you make payments on a policy, get yourself diagnosed to die in 12 months, and you can get half of whatever the policy's limit is (minus, of course, a $75 processing fee and interest).

There is one slight hitch to all this: you can't speed up the process on purpose. So no self-inflicted terminal illnesses, yall!

I decided not to sign up for this incredible offer. I prefer the old slow method of simply aging to death over the accelerated model anytime.

(Joking aside, I am sure this could be a great policy for some people. But the title offered me a great writing prompt.)

Friday, January 11, 2008

Wonder Tales


These are not your typical wonder tales (defined as stories with magical, mystical elements). These are my wonder tales--things I wonder about, like:


How is that a person knows when another person is looking at them? Try this: as you drive on the interstate, pass someone and look at them. About 75% of the time, they will look back at you. How do they know you're looking? If you don't look at them, they won't look at you. If they look at you, you'll look at them. Try it! And let me know your results.


Here's another: why is it, when I get a sudden chill and shiver all over, do I say "someone's walking on my grave?" What's that about? I've searched online but come up with no explanation for that statement. My mother used to say it, so I assume it's a British thing. But what does a shiver have to do with someone walking on my grave? I don't even have a grave yet! (Thank goodness)


And then, what about this? I tried it and I swear it's true. Strike a match in the bathroom when it's really stinky (for 'natural' reasons) and the odor will disappear.


Hunh?

Why and how does this work? Try it yourself and let me know if it works for you.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...