Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you don’t know what you are doing.”
“Then why ask?”
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: I hate limping—especially when no one notices.
I’ve learned
1. “Listen” and “silent” have the same letters.
2. If you pick enough flowers, you will encounter poison ivy.
3. Sequels are never equals.
My neighbor
My neighbor Old Man McGinty, the youngest Old Man McGinty ever, has nothing to do and he has to get up early not to do it. He may have a geranium in his cranium, but we depend upon Old Man McGinty to tell us what business used to be in every old building in town and who once lived in every house. He doesn’t watch parades because he doesn’t like to see anything pass him by. Old Man McGinty says that churches have lutefisk feeds even though they provoke extreme reactions because they promote religion. He says that each time he eats lutefisk, it causes him to pray twice. He says grace before the meal and then prays that he won’t have to eat lutefisk again.
Flying
I was in an aisle seat of the airplane. The flights were too far apart and the passengers were too close together. I was as comfortable as possible in such surroundings. A flight attendant began the safety demonstration, “Just do what I tell you and nobody will get hurt. In case of a water evacuation, do the best you can. If that doesn’t work, thank you for flying Southwest Airlines. There is a $2200 fine for anyone caught smoking in the airplane’s bathroom. Let’s face it, if you had $2200 to spare, you’d be flying Delta. So sit back and relax or sit up and be tense. It doesn’t matter to me.”
Another flight attendant spilled the tomato juice she was handing to the man seated next to me. My life passed before my eyes. The tomato juice missed me by an inch as it splashed on the tray.
“I hope this is the worst thing that happens to you today,” she said, as she spilled a glass of water on my lap.
Something to tell the grandkids
A friend, Kevin Cook of Colorado, told me that he had met his future wife in a zoology lab. They became acquainted when she asked him, “Could you help me find my rat’s spleen?”
That gives me misty eyes.
The body as a battlefield
My feet are vengeful things. Whenever I stub a toe, it gets its revenge by walking me to a place where I could bump my head. A sharp blow to the melon is supposed to remind me that toes have feelings, too. Why don’t I duck? My feet tell me not to.
Sometimes it’s important to lose
A friend struck out during a ball game. It was the third time in a row that he had gone down swinging. He was not having a good day and that would fuel his temper. He walked to the dugout and teammates moved away from him. He sat next to me. I had nowhere to go. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel the heat from his anger. I heard him say, “I’m selling my glove and buying a boat.”
I played organized sports for many years. I was fortunate to have played on good teams with excellent teammates. We won far more games than we lost. I admit that I enjoyed winning. That said, I’ve never had more fun in a game than when I intentionally lost tic-tac-toe games to a grandson.
Nature notes
“What are those tiny black insects that bite me?” Often called no-see-ums, minute pirate bugs are predators of spider mites, caterpillars, whiteflies, aphids, thrips, and insect eggs. They are beneficial insects that bite us in the fall. They taste us to see if we are edible.
To me, Indian summer is a period of warm, dry, hazy weather that follows autumn’s first frost and comes before the first snow.
In gratitude
I encountered wonderful readers when I spoke at Freeborn County League of Cities, Thrivent of Albert Lea, Hidden Creek, and the Pelican Breeze. Thanks to Ken and Neom Johansen of New Richland for the wonderful bird cards and to Craig and Penny Bell of Hartland for the cool books. Thanks to Eric Edon of Geneva, Bob Loken of St. Charles, and Harvey Benson of Harmony for their uplifting messages. Thanks to Harp Bartness of Hartland for the binoculars to use on nature walks.
Talking to the Holstein
I was talking to the Holstein the other day. The Holstein is a retired milk cow, so she has time to talk. I told the Holstein that gravy is a bad cook’s best friend.
The Holstein chewed her cud thoughtfully and said, “Humans are lucky. Gravy doesn’t help bad hay.”
Meeting adjourned
You are never too poor to pay another a compliment.