Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Garage Sale Junkies

The madness started when we discovered a flyer stuck to our mailbox, which is illegal I know but also don't care.  Neither did whoever put it on our mailbox obviously.  It was from a lady down our street wanting to put together a community yard sale. She had made some extra money last Spring and thought if we all got together and unloaded our junk on the unsuspecting we'd make some easy cash.  I'm all for trading my unwanted stuff for spendable currency so we decided to hop on board.

We took one night and went through the garage sorting stuff to sell and stuff we had to keep.  The girls were pretty selective at this point and decided that the washer and dryer would not be sold.  I tried to reason with them.  After all, Laura Ingalls had clean clothes and she didn't have a washing machine.  It was true that we didn't live near a river but we did own a pool and isn't chlorine like bleach practically?  Soak them in the pool and hang them on the fence to dry and I bet we'd make at least thirty bucks per appliance.  Still, the selfish women refused to be inconvenienced so we sold the kid's stuff instead.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Thanksgiving Every Day

Once a year in America, we gather around a burdened table with family and friends to stuff our stomachs to match the full feeling of our hearts.  It's a time where we try and show the abundance of blessings in our lives by an abundance of food on our tables.  It's always been this way.

Personally, I think one day a year for this is ridiculous.  Really, we should stuff ourselves at least once a week if not daily.  Why should this abundance of over-indulgence be reserved for the last Thursday of every November?

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Night before Thanksgiving

Growing up, the holidays were always a big deal.  My parents threw everything they had into these special days and our home was jammed with celebrants.  Sometimes we would visit my relatives in Indianapolis but those were rare occasions.  When we did venture up, we would inevitably stay at my Aunt Laura's, which I always thought was fun because they had a basement divided into rooms that we would sleep in.  It was like having a house under a house.  Or I would stay on the front porch they had enclosed on a couch with lots of quilts.  Their house was right on West Washington Street, also known as Highway 40, and traffic could be heard all through the night.  Furthermore, a fire station was across the street and the engines would wake me up in the middle of the night as they raced to rescue some poor soul.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

There Should Be A License

I don't go fishing.  I've been invited, but I don't have a license and I refuse to buy one.
The whole concept for even needing one seems asinine to me.  I don't even own a pole.  I would have to borrow my son's who did spend money on a license to go stick a line in the public river to attract some freeloading puffer fish that someone else is going to have to take off the hook anyway and for that I need a license.  Gone are the days of simple family picnics at the river's edge where Dad spends all of his time baiting hooks and rescuing snagged fishing lines.  I won't do it.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

I Really Hate Cars

There it goes, car number 24, attached to the back end of a tow truck, the stretcher in the automobile world.  My parents used to name their cars, but that always saddens me because mine tend to die before their time.  I'm not kidding, either.  The joke in our family was that if you wanted to find out if anything is wrong with your car, let Robbie drive it for five minutes.  Sure as the sunrise, it would break down.  I drove over a muffler backing up a car.  Anything can happen with me behind the wheel.  I shudder to think how many horses would have had to be put down if I had lived over a hundred years ago.  There would have been no shortage of glue.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

We Have a Stove?

The women have pulled a coup and men, we haven’t even realized it.  I bet most husbands won’t know what hit them until tonight when the ladies are sitting at the table wondering where dinner is.  It was a quiet revolution, probably sponsored by overpriced restaurants because they know men would rather purchase a meal out than cook one at home.  What am I talking about?  I knew you wouldn’t know, unless you’re a wife and then you’re laughing your apron off?