A SMALL OUTHOUSE, A SHORT SURPRISE, A BIG TRACTOR SHOW

We parked the golf cart to explore the Amish vendors wares of 6 people bob sled, sleighs, snow sleds, wooden drawers, wood lathe, wash tubs, and a yard decoration that looked like an outhouse.

The Amish man said it's used to cover well caps and sewer lids; yard decoration.

I always open trinket box lids, and treasure-like chests.  Jeani opens outhouses.  I wonder if she'll double think it next time.

  Thinking it was empty, she pulled the little black handle of the red wood and aluminum roof structure, opened the door, let out a squeal, "Ahhhhhhhhhh", snapped it shut, and simultaneously jumped back behind me!

Good lands!  What on earth!  What's in there?  What'd she see?

She was bent at the waist, hands up, still so excited she was unable to talk.  I thought maybe it was an wild animal or maybe even a snake!  

Some male passerby begged her to re-enact it so he could get a video!  

I couldn't stand it.  Tentatively, I reached for the black handle.  Oh my goodness, what will I see?

Little black legs were straight out at the side.

Little somber black eyes looked back UP at me.

Blonde hair in a bowl cut topped the eyes.

A very small young Amish boy was silently sitting inside!!!!!

"Jeani, you nut, you slammed the door on the little guy!'

She said, "No kidding, I thought it was empty, it was not!!!"

We were ROFLOHO!

Of note, the next time we drove by, dad had upped the price, LOL

"WHY, I NEVER!" IN PORTLAND

Jeani had never.  Never had she been in a Menards, eaten a White Castle, driven a Mach I, drank Oliver wine, tasted Wicks Cream Pie, entered a Pizza King, or bit into an elephant ear.  It was a week of firsts.

Cinnamon, sugar, fried bread -- an elephant ear,  "This is dang good!"

White Castle, "I have to eat your cracker to get rid of the taste."

Wicks Cream Pie, "That was good."

Oliver wine, "Let's stop at that store and buy a couple more."  ROFL

Then she stepped out of son's Mustang, "Wow!  It's a legal race car, but it's not a race car!"  Then her phone rang (her son has a safety tracking device on it), she ignored it twice to take her turn on the board game.  "Mom.  What're ya doin'?"  "Playing games."  "Mom, you were going 109 miles an hour!" "Oh, that,"  giggle and laugh, "I was driving Calvin's Mach 1."  

(Speeding down a country road avoiding a cornfield donut, she was!)

There are very few Pizza King's around.  

For son Clint's birthday wish and 

Jeani another first, pizza we ate.  

No room for birthday pie until later, after 

a good game of  Ticket To Ride, when we dived into our favorite frozen desserts.

"Pass the Pigs!"   "Toss 'em!  Like dice."  Jeani dropped 2 cute little pink pigs onto the table.  She'd opened her game box chock-full of dice, cards, boards, markers, etc.  Players get the most points if one lands on its snout, "Oink, snorkel!"

Who's awake?  In the camper's top bunk I could see the light from Spencer's cellphone screen.  He's awake.  Jeani, I couldn't tell.  It was A/C cold in cramped quarters.  My head was pillowcase wrapped.  I'd misplaced my glasses.  I bent down low, eyeball to eyeball, to see if she was awake.  There was a disturbance in her force.  Covered to the chin in blankets, she slowly opened her eyes, rolled them to me,  rared back and SCREAMED!  I was shocked! 

Rakeb Olson (name changed to protect ... the innocent?  Nah, she's not innocent, she's a character, LOL), was darling hubby and sons co-worker.  Standing next to her husband, catching up with the guys on their lives current news, she said her hubby's back just went out a day or so before the Portland tractor show.  I wasn't sure what this next was all about, but waiting in our golf cart I busted a gut when I heard her say,  

"He be insured and fed."

“Why, I never!”  That’s a first on me!

THE GIANT SPIDER IN PORTLAND

  

Remember the "something" we needed?  We needed a spider, or a skeleton, either one.  We needed it for the golf cart we were driving all through the 4-H Jay County fairgrounds, the Tri-State Tractor Show, and the city wide yard sales.  

Vendors were selling fall floral decos, Halloween booing characters on metal legs, orange painted pumpkin propane tanks, and dancing skeletons on sticks for kids.  

"Let's get a black spider!"

We had to go to Dollar General for ant spray and ... ta-da ... there was a spider!

When I came around the aisle end cap and surprised them with it, our ride along, Clint, chuckled.  Jeani squealed. Then the brain caught up with her fight-or-flight instinct, "Really!"  

Driving around a policeman conferring with a show's director, who was absentmindedly watching me drive by, popped off with "Does your spider bite?"  ROFL

Motoring around another guy relaxing in his own golf cart, who looked like he was just waiting on his wife to finish shopping, we heard his reaction.  He'd caught a glimpse of a furry leg passing his face, and involuntarily let out a visceral sound and uttered, "Gees!"

   See pic above.

Jacob was okay with the spider, as long as the windshield was between them.  When Miss Lilly, his sister, picked it up, he was gone!  Run, squeal, scream, "No. No! No-o-o-o!"

But the best of all was my friend Jeani.  She's always good for a kind comment and a laugh.  We were having fun with the red-eyed fuzzy web maker, and becoming complacent about its presence.  A man coming towards us in his own golf cart, commented, "Hey, you got a spider on your wind shield!"

Jeani began quickly searching for it, aiming to dislodge and annihilate, "Where?  Where?"  Then she laughed,

"SERIOUSLY, I WAS LOOKING FOR A SPIDER!"

LOL, weren't we all!

DRIVING: PORTLAND, CART, AND UP THE WALL

That's it!  Packed, fueled, loaded, and coffee in the zarf, Jeani and I blasted off on a dangerous mission.  It's gotta be, right? dangerous? two well-matured women on their own? and of all things, going to a tractor show?

My Okie friend and I are headed to Portland, Indiana, to the Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Ass'n.  What could be dangerous in that?  Ut-hum, we had wisdom, knowledge, can do attitude, wheels, and money!

In Portland's 4-H fair grounds, the camper's already parked and fees paid.  We just have to get our name tags, our tickets to ride - through the gates and through the town.

Last year Spencer went to the red barn's window and got my name tag for me.  It's written by Spencer and pinned on my note-board, "Pamela BayZ" (purposely misspelled last name) with city & state. and in parenthesis (If lost call 317-379-XXXX).  The little turkey put my own phone number on there!

Fun and frivolity, grins and giggles, ha, ha, ha, even strangers laughed, 'cause I pinned this year's tag on my blouse:  "Geanni's Friend" "If lost return to find her"

We're bound for fun days!

She's driving!

*****

Second things second.  My back and feet complained.  Jeani's hips said, "I need better shoes"

We had walked.  We had went 6 blocks, 'nuff that!  We walked back.  

Got the truck, got the money, went to Carts & Parts, paid for an additional 1/2 day rental of our golf cart!

Ah.  Nice.  Nice ride.

But, we need something.  Hum, a rear view mirror?  Yes.  But something else, hum, we need a spider!  A GIANT spider! 

"In your hand, or in the bag with the can?" Dollar General's cashier laughed about the Raid and the black fuzzy spider  "The two just won't go together, it'll drive him up the wall!"

 

 

A New ERA, Jacob's Here!

In my pew at church I have a stash of children's books and some coloring books with crayons to entertain any grandkid that might venture back to my seat.  Also, in a box covered in ruby flowers are things like thumb push puppet giraffe, flat wooden puzzles, and a small blue container of miniature doll house furniture with some to-scale zoo animals, a pocket watch, and a pinch of flowers.

I've had these at home for 30 years.  Didn't bring them to church until Miss Lilly was born.  So they've been played with for 7 years by many a child.  Then along comes Jacob.  A boy.  

Everyone knows boys and girls think different.  Boys and girls don't have the same interests.  And, boys and girls don't actively play in the same manner.

Little girls will set up the furniture in a house-like fashion and gently set the animals and flowers atop so they don't fall or rock.  Then they sit back and admire their display, "GrammyPam, look!"  I give a smile and a thumbs up.  Then say, "Shhhh, we're in church, whisper, please."

One such miniature piece is an end table complete with a little drawer and a little knob, and two shelves underneath.  Invariably grandkids want the pocket watch, or a penny, to fit in the drawer.  Fit, they don't.  They almost do, but they don't.  So, the penny or watch get parked on the bottom shelf.  

Not Jacob!  The watch gets squished in!  The sides of the drawer bulge!  And the drawer gets stuck!  "Fix GrammyPam, fix."  Sometime or another, the drawer pull disappeared.....

So, it's a new Sunday, Jacob sits with me, and out comes the doll furniture.  He says, "I'm hungry."  So I give him a little red box of raisins.  Nutritious.  Appropriate serving size.  Easy clean-up.  I'm at ease, he's playing quietly.  I sing a song.  Someone speaks.  And then, there's little unhappy noises making their way to my ears.  I look down and Jacob has squished some raisins into this tiny, tiny drawer, and shoved it shut!  How do I know there are raisins in there?  I see one little raisin is herniated, and sealed the drawer!  Oh, my lands!  And I can't get it open.

I send him and raisin-fed end table back to Spencer who I figure has a pocket knife.  He doesn't.  He laughs the whole time he's demonstrating how he had to get out two credit cards to wiggle them between the edges and pry that little drawer loose.  He asks, "Did you know the pull is missing, Mom?"  

******

You think that's the end of it?  Well, let me give you some back story.  Jacob wears a backpack to church, child-size.  He's very adept at taking it off and putting it on.  And weight doesn't matter.

One Sunday he began unloading his backpack beside me onto the pew's upholstered blue seat.  Out came monster trucks.  Out come another.  He lined up some more.  A blue one.  A black one.  A red one.  A white one.  Another, and another, and another.  There were 30 monster trucks!!!!!!

A few Sunday's after that, his backpack was extremely heavy, let me emphasize extremely heavy.  Maybe 10 pounds, or more!  He unloaded it, again onto the blue covered bench seat next to me.  This time it was trains.  Wooden trains.  Train after train.  Some hooked up, some were Brio, some connected by magnetism, some were his Dad's old ones, all were Matchbox sized.  Some were two pieces, some had the capacity to hold stuff, some were yellow with a crane.  All were important.  I think he brought every one he owned from home!  At least 30 maybe 40.  Thankfully, he never uttered a "Whoo-hooooooooo" or a "chug-a-chugga."

So, it's a new Sunday.  Checking out the interactive and peek-a-boo books was over.  Eating raisins was done.  Putting the puzzles together was a success, even though he'd mixed all six sets together beforehand.  And the drawer was fixed.  What next?  The backpack!

Oh, no.  I didn't know what to expect.  I knew it was going to be interesting.  I knew I had to be on the alert for toys falling to the floor and subsequent noises.  He laboriously unzipped it.  He pulled the flap back with his left hand.  His right hand went in.  He reared his little torso slightly back, (I'm sure to compensate for girth and weight) and brought it out and up over his head -- a large green John Deere tractor, with big black bar tread tires, as big as his head, JUST ONE! 

Shew!

Now, you know what monster trucks do, don't you?  Come on, you don't have to guess -- they smash and conquer!  

I watched as his eyes spied the little red raisin box, and I knew what was coming next! 

Twisted Humor

WELCOME HOME

We were driving along, heading out of a shopping area, into a more residential area, and out through the countryside towards home.  I saw a sign.  It was stuck low in the ground on it's two little wire legs.

Black letters on long rectangular white plastic said, "Welcome home!"

It had a little stenciled rosette or ribbon beside the W.  I thought, okay, either a soldier has come home or a man's released from the hospital or a wife just had a baby.  What a nice surprise for whomever.

Then a few yards later, a driveway later, there's another sign.

Black letters on long rectangular white plastic, low to the ground, said, "Stop in here."

Now, that's interesting.  For some reason, this person needed an arrow and confirmation that this is where they were supposed to be headed.

Then...then...the last sign, another with black letters on long rectangular white plastic, low to the ground, was a copy-cat of the other two.  Beyond it stood a nice rambling stately brick red building with a gorgeous professionally kept grassy lawn.  This sign was as simple as the other two.

"Are you kidding me?" I said to darling hubby, as I laughed my head off!

"Someone's humor is a little bent!  What a twist!"

This last sign read, "PET CEMETERY!!!"

I Found Myself

“I found myself!”

I sound like a flower child, don’t I, or one of those shaggy hippies of the 60’s where they’re laying about, looking skyward, aimless, claiming they’re trying to find themselves?

You think I’m a boomer, a baby boomer?

Nah, I’m at the tail end of that boom.  After that big population explosion I was just a spit-pop at the end, a little fizzle, spizzzzzt.

Being at the tail end of what newspeople call the boomers is like a toddler looking up at a 1960’s dad with a halo around his head.  It wasn’t a gold angelic ring!  LOL.  It was ethereal…hazy…“like lost in the clouds, man.”

I’m from a little burg in the road, it rests along the east side of a river.

It’s idyllic.

Lazy river.

Full of fish and frogs.

Ducks diving for food with happy quacks.

Men with tied-back hair barbecuing their catches on the far shore next to sunbathing Barbie.

Kayaks and canoes paddling by.

Weeping willows dipping their branches in the ripples.

Red roses gloriously blooming on the banks.

This burg is home.  It’s also home to a grocer, a lumberjack, a fireman, and Ted.

Ted, too, has been trying to find himself … for the past 10 years!

Ted meanders through the streets feeding half his food to the neighbor’s dog, poking into every one’s mailboxes making sure the letters are theirs, I think, checking packages left by UPS and running off with his favorites.

Yah, he’s still trying to find himself.  When he was seen jumping in and out of his reflection in a 3 paned picture window, like a dog that barks at his own reflection, he said he was just trying to find himself.

You know how you do that, don’t you, find yourself?  Google, yep, Google.  Put your name in that little address bar…and up you’ll pop.  Pop, pop, pop,109 times pop, pop, pop, little pictures all over the screen pop, pop, pop.  There’s your name attached to each one, pop, pop, pop, right there in living color  - -  goofy grins, bug eyes, withered prune face, giraffe tongued, and llama lips for a hat! 

Why, “I found myself” on the Jersey shore,

in Washington’s Space Needle,

in the droop of Texas,

on the Keys to Cuba,

lost in the Appalachians,

and then, right there in the middle of ‘em all … on the edge.  

One woman in Colorado, with the Grand Canyon in the photo's background and in the foreground a donkey, was on the edge!  

There’s another way to find oneself.  Books.   “Finding Yourself” by Surely Holme, and  “How to Find Yourself” by Ima Drift, or “Finding Yourself for Dummies” written by B. A. Wiseman.

Don’t tell your brother you’re finding yourself, he’ll say “Look in the funny papers.”

Don’t tell your sister either, she’ll say, “Look in a mirror.”

And then there’s dad, “You’re right here, why would you wanna go find yourself?”