Category Archives: Humorous Column

February 6, 2017 · 9:58 pm

Life is a skating rink…so let it slide!

 

Although I love watching people engaged in the sport of ice skating, I have never desired to be good at it. The only pair of ice skates I ever owned were given to me as a seven-year-old child and I never made it past the stage where my father held me upright, while I tried to force my ankles to push my feet and the ankles always retaliated by folding like a couple of damp towels!

Since I outgrew those skates, I have kept my feet on un-bladed ground and limited my winter activities to cursing the snow! That is not, unfortunately, the end of my association with ice. And living in a place like South Dakota, I have had more than my fair share of opportunities to tangle with ice.

So far, the score is: ice: 10, me: 0. Driving on ice has always been problematic, because the car has even less experience dealing with ice than I have. Only twice have I turned a complete cookie in the road and that little dent in the front lawn that Roy thinks was done by the dog…wasn’t done by the dog, so much as I misjudged the driveway one icy day and I was lucky I only made one dent! I’m still going to let the dog take the blame!bear_on_ice

That would be bad enough, but I don’t walk on ice any better than I drive on it. There was the fateful January when a freezing rain came down for about two hours, putting a layer of ice on my front steps about two inches thick. After I had crawled down three steps and slid down the rest, holding on to an equally icy banister, I spent the next two hours with a hammer. I only ruined three steps, but all that ice came off.

A broken wrist is probably the worst ice-related event I’ve had, and that was also gained by trying to walk down a set of icy steps. After those events, Roy installed an ice-resistant material on the steps and my days of sliding down them have diminished.

Not so the ice everywhere else. On a year like this, ice has been prevalent no matter where you go. I had to take the dog for a walk one night and it was her, running faster than she should have and me, taking it in baby steps, crawling along. I’d have made it, but when I called her back to me, she came flying up on the ice, had all four legs slip out from under her. She came skidding towards me like a large, furry battering  ram and I took two hasty steps back before my legs slipped out from under me and we landed together in an awkward heap on the edge of the driveway.

I could live with all of this, but it seems that the mean streets of Aberdeen are out to get me this winter. Roy likes to go to the college basketball games and we usually get there late. That means parking in the dark some distance from the stadium.

On the first occasion, I dropped him off and went to do some shopping. I came back, parked and hurried towards the building. When my feet went out from under me, I hovered in the air and then came down on the one part of me that always provides padding. Nothing truly damaged but my dignity and since no one saw me, it wasn’t too bad.

On the second occasion, Roy and I parked and headed towards the building together. We were walking on the sidewalk side-by-side and suddenly, he was continuing to walk on dry pavement and I was skidding for my life on the ice on my side. Roy made a grab for me and that stopped me…from skidding. The only thing left to do, then, was fall and I did it..on my knee. You know that old saying about “big girls don’t cry?” Well, they do when they land on their knees on the ice.

The latest incident came just this weekend. The game was over and Roy said, “Let me go get the car.” Offended, I insisted I could walk…I was wrong. I made it all the way to the car and got the door open. Without warning, my feet found the only ice for a block around and slid, down and under the car. I was impressed; I didn’t think I could fit under the car, but there I was!

Anyway, this is the end of my story of icy frolics. I hope the rest of you are having better luck and that my luck doesn’t get any worse! Happy winter!

 

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In The Well with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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January 31, 2017 · 12:46 am

Stage life in an off, off, OFF Broadway Production 

One of my favorite activities in the world is putting on productions with my students. I love to write, so I compose a play and my students are so good as to go along with me. Once a year we enter a competition wherein we put on one of my plays.

Except for the agonized screaming and fist-pounding on walls while I’m writing, the creative part goes fairly smoothly. I cast the students and we begin work on the play. Breaking them of using scripts is a little like taking a pacifier away from a toddler, but eventually, they are pottering around the stage, determining that they need a towel for this activity or the third cowboy is standing right in front of the saloon girl and we are almost ready.

What I would really like to share with you, however, is the frantic ten minutes that occurs just before we take the stage at competition. Everything seems to go well until we reach the day of the competition, and then the closer it gets to performance time, the sketchier it can get; that’s why I’ve decided to break it down for you a minute at a time.

Ten minutes to showtime: My saloon janitor informed me that he has forgotten to bring his mop. Keep in mind that the saloon janitor spends most of his time on stage mopping and you can see that this is a minor disaster. After ten minutes of frantic searching, we find a real janitor at the stage and the best she can do is produce a push broom. We accept, and the stage janitor disappears, practicing how he will now talk about his broom and not his mop.

Nine minutes to showtime: I cannot find one of my saloon girls. After a hectic search, I find her in the bathroom, trying to put a pin in the back of her dress, which she has discovered gaps in the front in a most distressing way. I helped with the pin and was proud that I didn’t jab her with it.

Eight minutes to showtime: My sheriff cannot locate his badge. We search and run every direction, searching for something shiny, glittering on the floor. After five minutes, we found the sheriff’s badge clipped to the lining of the picnic basket. We don’t know how it got there and don’t have time to care.

Seven minutes to showtime: In setting up the poker table, the poker chips spill out and all over the floor. We have three saloon girls, a few cowboys and even a preacher all crawling around collecting them as they rolled tipsy-turvy across the stage.

Six minutes to showtime: One of my townspeople decides that it will not be possible to breathe and remember her lines all at once. We practice a little controlled breathing and she eventually declares herself in recollection of her lines, even though she’s a little light-headed from the breathing exercises. I move on to the next issue, wishing someone could control my breathing.

Five minutes to showtime: Two cowboys are arguing about which one had the black cowboy hat with the red braid and which one had the one with the mud on the brim. I rushed by, deciding that if they got excited while settling that, it might give them more energy on stage.

Four minutes to showtime: I give instructions as to where to set the standing door which is to represent the sheriff’s office. When I got out into the audience, I discovered that my instructions had caused the students to have to enter and exit the door in exactly the opposite direction as we had practiced. They compensated, I cursed under my breath.

Three minutes to showtime: I find two girls with their heads together, talking. Thinking they were running lines, I snapped, “You should know your lines by now!” Then I realized they were praying.

Two minutes to showtime: I hand out the toy guns with instructions that the students not mess with them. There is an immediate whirring noise all around me as they pressed the noise-makers on the guns.

One minute to showtime: I give the light crew the signal that means that they should let me get to my seat in the theater and then they should hit blackout before we start. They hit blackout immediately, leaving me in the middle of the stage with no way to see. I only fell four times before I made it to my seat.

And so, another night on Broadway carried forth!

 

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January 17, 2017 · 3:46 pm

Entertainment is a relative thing…

The Rifleman is about to come on television, so I’m going to have to keep this blog short. Now please don’t tell me that you don’t know about The Rifleman because everyone should be exposed to Lucus McCain and his trick rifle…this is something everyone agrees on…except my daughter.

“Don’t go letting my boys watch  The Rifleman this summer when they are with you,” she cautioned as she dropped the boys for a week’s visit.

“But the Rifleman is so wholesome. Chuck Conners plays Lucas McCain and uses that rifle effortlessly to take care of the bad guys. And all without blood and gore,” I was truly distraught. The Rifleman is my favorite.

“Alright, but not a steady diet of it, okay? I don’t want the boys to start playing at shooting,” she conceded reluctantly as she drove away.

I don’t understand it. People say they want to be entertained and then they overlook the best entertainment. I don’t need vampires or singing idols or romantic couples (of 30 or more) to keep me entertained. I object to demons which scare me to death and I also don’t get a thrill out of shows where people try to survive in the wilderness or argue with each other for fun.

I do like shows where the good guy comes out on top (with some shooting and body count, I admit.) I like shows with a mystery and I absolutely adore old movies (talkies, only please). Most of the programming  I want to watch is blood free (well, except for Code Black, which is kind of medically loaded), and as I said, the good guys may not be wearing the white hats, but they do finish first.

If I’m going to sit through a movie, it needs to be a little supernatural without being “gargoyles stepping off the buildings to eat us” scary. I’ve discovered that the higher a woman’s heel in a movie or television show, the more likely she is to be a person who will go for the jugular, and I’m definitely a low-heeled sort of person. I also have learned that while mini-series can be interesting, they frequently stretch out and last too long. I want to know why that dome fell right now or why those animals suddenly attacked without too many episodes. I don’t have the patience to wait too long!

That brings us back to television when my grandsons are here. I know they like to watch Modern Marvels and Paw Patrol, but I didn’t think they really paid much attention to my programming, so I could watch The Rifleman, right? That is, I didn’t think it mattered  until their mother came to pick them up.

“As you can see, I took good care of them,” I bragged as I was packing up clothes and toys. “I didn’t expose them to anything bad and I flatter myself I may have introduced them to some new pieces of fine entertainment.”

At that exact moment, the older boy stepped out of the bathroom, where he had been brushing his teeth. Dropping the toothbrush to his right hip in an exact replica of Lucas McCain with his rifle, he fired several shots (complete with sound effects) directly at his brother.maxresdefault

My daughter turned to me  and said, “Lucas McCain is out.” And she  just gave me that look which told me that any further watching of The Rifleman when her boys are there will be at midnight, deep in a closet! It’s not too bad, though, I still have plenty of good television to watch when they are there…Paw Patrol, Curious George, Dinosaur Train and on really good days, even a little bit of Sid the Science Kid! Entertainment is all relative, right?

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In The Well with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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January 9, 2017 · 8:55 pm

Preparing for hell week

Well, hell week has arrived. So named because it is the week of the year that I hate the most. It is the week when Roy is on the road and I am in charge of the house…and the yard…and the vehicles…and yes, even the dog.

I never realize just how much Roy takes care of without so much as my noticing it…at least, until hell week gets here. Then I know that he maintains a lot of things without my help. The house know this too, and so does the weather and so does the dog. Because hell week is named for the fact that everything that week goes straight to…well, you get the picture.

I try to prepare. I make sure the vehicles are filled up and the furnace tank is adequate. I make sure the electric bill is paid and that all the groceries I need are bought. But it never helps, hell week hits every single year on the week Roy is out of town.

The weather usually begins it. The great blizzard of the 90s hit during hell week, forcing me to try to use the wood stove. My Boy Scout training never took and my ability to make a fire in the stove involves two hours of smoke, ashes and serious tears before I get it going. I have checked the weather for this hell week and they are predicting snow or extreme cold for every day. Roy insists this is not his fault, but I believe it is.

If it snows, that presents several problems…mainly that I depend on Roy to get me out of trouble if I land in a snowbank while driving. Since Roy must take the car that handles well in snow, I am left with the rear-wheel drive car which doesn’t do well in snow or the pickup, whose four-wheel drive uses are a mystery to me. There’s also the issue of shoveling snow. A little snow can be swept, but a lot requires shoveling which is above my paygrade, or even worse, using the snow blower. I know the basic principle, but the snow blower is gender prejudiced and basically evil. The deeper the snow, the more likely it is to fail.

The dog is particularly depressed about hell week, because that means her whole schedule is messed up. I never can remember if she has a cup and a half of the dry food, or some sort of chewy stick and when those things happen. Walks are much shorter than Roy’s because I am a weenie in the cold, and she has to wait longer for me to get home and let her out. She blames Roy for hell week as well and it may be the only thing we agree on.

The crick I develop in my neck is also a result of Roy being gone. I hate to go to bed in the big, empty bed when Roy is gone, so frequently, I fall asleep in the chair in the living room. This results in a terrible kink in my neck which lasts all week. Roy insists that this is definitely not his fault, but I say if he really cared, he’d put something in the bed so it wouldn’t look so empty. I’d most like to find Harrison Ford in there, but I’d settle for a big, comfortable body pillow!

So, you can see why this week is hell week at my house. I burn my food because Roy is not there to gently clear his throat and inquire how the meal is coming. I panic every time the furnace shuts down, fearing it won’t return. And worst of all, there is no one to take care of the light bulbs that burn out or the clocks that need batteries.

Roy protects himself during hell week too. I think he purposely doesn’t call very often that week (he says he puts in long hours so he can get home sooner, but I think he’s just avoiding the daily disaster bulletin.) When he does call, he usually starts the conversation with, “Hi, it’s Roy; what did I do today?”

So if you see me this week, I’m likely to do a lot of whining about hell week…unless, of course, I find Harrison Ford in the bedroom. What do you think my chances are?

 

 

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January 2, 2017 · 7:13 pm

The annual resolution


It’s New Year’s and so everyone is taking down their Christmas decorations and sweating through the first big decision of the year: to resolve or not to resolve.
I have personally been a patsy for the New Year’s resolution only too many time. Most New Year’s Resolutions all into a few categories: weight loss and exercise, eating habits, personal improvement, improved relationships. I’ve resolved something in everyone one of these categories and I managed to break them all before January had disappeared from the calendar.

So this year, I’ve decided to make resolutions to be held only or one month. For instance, January’s resolution is to shovel less and sleep more. If I don’t shovel as much snow, I’m more likely to find the time to sleep.

In February, I resolve to tell people I love them more often and eat less chocolate…or is that the other way around? I don’t believe I can give up chocolate, but maybe for February I can cut back (it’s the shortest month of the year, after all.)

In March I resolve to have fewer snowstorms and have more rainstorms in April instead. Yes, I know I can’t resolve to do these things, but I’m likely to be just as successful with these as with other resolutions, so why not?

I could go on, but I’m sure you get it. I will resolve to do things all year long, but for only a month. For instance, I’ll stop biting my nails all through May, and do a month’s worth of yoga for June. I thought about making a resolution for July that I not be overheated, but that might just be a waste of time…July is just an overheated month.

If I’m only making the resolutions for a month, they won’t be too difficult to keep and I have the opportunity to make quite a few. However, it probably means I won’t lose any weight, or improve my eating habits or exercise more, but I’ll be a lot happier.

Actually, I’m as likely as anyone to make New Year’s Resolutions, but this year I think they would include less of what makes me sad and more of what makes me happy. I should resolve to talk less about the current events in the world and do more to improve things.

Less criticism and more acceptance, less self-center and more self-motivated, those are the resolutions I should make and then I have to hope that I can resolve them for more than a month, because they are the keys to improving the world.

I hope you find just the right resolutions or your new year and whatever they are, I hope you have success in 2017 in making them realities. Happy New Year to you all

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December 28, 2016 · 1:24 am

Life’s Sinful Pleasures

Today was a good day, I spent part of it watching a Blue Bloods marathon, another part organizing the cans in my cupboard and then there was the part where I ate…whatever I wanted….whenever I wanted.I got started on this train of thought when I read about the group that is encouraging people to talk about little weird things that they like…kind of a reverse little things that annoy you. So, I began thinking about all the weird little things that others might find annoying, but that I really like. I’ve got a few.

For instance, I love cheese. I know, I know, you’re not supposed to eat cheese, but I’ve never been able to walk by a block of cheese in the stores and it’s even worse when it’s in one of those round cylinders. The truth is, though, that I don’t just like cheese, which is bad enough for you. I love to eat cheese with Lays potato chips. Frequently, I can be found taking a bite of cheese and then a potato chip, luxuriating in the heavy dairy and heavy salt mix. I’m reminded of Mrs. Potato Head, who hides in her pantry to indulge her secret (and cannibalistic for her) pleasure. I don’t eat my cheese and chips in a closet, but I have been known to eat them crouched behind the kitchen counter so no one can see me from the windows.

Another of my weird enjoyments is the plastic bubble wrap that comes in packages. I LOVE to pop those little pockets of air and listen to the sound they make. My saddest day so far is when they began using those plastic wraps with the giant pillows of air. They are difficult to pop and not nearly as satisfying. Now, people may like popping lots of them at once, but not me, I like things to drag out longer, so I’m very meticulous about popping a row at a time and I’m not very happy if someone had popped some for me.

Now, when I’m popping these plastic wraps and eating my chips and cheese, I love to watch Blue Bloods. I watch marathons of the show on cable channels or on my own DVDs (yes, I’ve collected all seasons). I don’t watch it because of the exciting drama or the fact that Donny Wahlberg can outrun any criminal. I watch it for the family dinners. Those family dinners have more drama than a night on Broadway and I love it! Once the family dinner is over, I’m really not that interested in how they solve the current legal problem, I’m just bummed that Sunday dinner is done. (They have some fabulous meals as well.)

Another weird thing I enjoy is the fact that on Facebook, they are always putting out a math problem or a visual problem or a grammar or vocabulary problem on the timeline. I am addicted to these: I work like anything to make sure I come up with the right answer and it drives me crazy that they frequently don’t give the answers. It’s like asking someone to marry you, but never coming up with an answer. Answer provided or not, I can’t resist taking the quizzes, so I hope they keep them coming.

So now I ‘ve talked about some of the weird little things that not only don’t make me crazy, but that I truly enjoy. So I suppose you’re wondering why I mentioned arranging cans in the cupboard. Well, that’s another weird thing I enjoy: making statements like that to make people think I am somehow uncontrollably neat when I’m actually uncontrollably sloppy! Have a happy week, folks, I’m off to eat some cheese and chips!

 

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December 12, 2016 · 4:48 pm

The Little Joys of Winter

 

I’ve given this a lot of thought lately and I’ve decided that when God thought about punishment for bad behavior, that is when he thought up winter. And lately, I’ve been leading a pretty sinful life apparently, because all of the joys of winter are upon us!

I don’t want to say that I’m sick of snow already, but…okay, I’ll say it: I’m sick of snow already! It’s bad enough when it snows and then the sun shines, but when you go through days and days of continual flakes flying and just enough to mess up the roads—heaven forbid we should get a snow day or something—it becomes a showy snowjob!

I hate shoveling more than anything. I can bundle up all I want, and something always freezes before I have transferred the layer of snow on the sidewalk into a pile on the lawn. Usually, I have my chest wrapped in fourteen sweaters and my neck and shoulders are sweltering in the scarves and I am wearing, but I have never figured out how to keep breezes out. There is always a trickle of cold air sliding up one sleeve or snaking around one cold ankle and up the pantleg. Then there are my hands, which are either warm and stiff  in enough layers of gloves, or cold because I need to move my fingers to shovel.

The worst part has happened since I got glasses. If I wrap myself up well, I am always blowing warm breath on my glasses and eventually, I have such a layer of ice on the lenses that I can see better if I take them off! If I avoid wrapping my face so tight, they do their ice-over routine in the house. In desperation, I went out shoveling one time without them and ended up shoveling a nice, crooked path across the lawn!

Winter diseases have struck as well. If someone isn’t coughing up a lung in line behind me, someone manages to throw up during a noon-day lunch. These diseases are so friendly, they always want to spread their germs around! It’s inevitable that about the time the first cold weather strikes I get the cold that just won’t end and of course, like a good wife, I share it with Roy. After a while we are both popping Vitamin C like drug dealers and the evenings are full of so much coughing we sound like a chorus for some weird, hacking opera. Take my advice, don’t buy tickets for a performance!

In our house, winter is also the season when things fail. The rule is that the colder and the darker it is, the more likely it is that something will fail. Now, I can’t even begin to tell you all the joys of having a sewer pump go out, but I can tell you that  I have never had to help change one in the summer. The two I have been involved in replacing were both done on a late, cold January night, when we were attempting to keep the sewer from backing up into the basement.

There’s also the time when I froze my coat to the roof while trying to pour water into a vent to open it up. Beyond that the things most likely to fail are garage doors when a blizzard is blowing and you have to get out of the car to drag the door open, the snowblower, when the snow is piled up hip high or best of all, the furnace, when the weather has turned to subzero highs. All of these are joyous memories of winter and I wish I thought that those kinds of memories were behind me, but I don’t like the sound of the heaters in the basement and the doorbell has chosen this opportune season to retire.

Now, I know that you are all going to tell me that you don’t enjoy these winter weather blues any more than I do, but I know that someone out there must have truly misbehaved to get us to these snowy and really cold days. So as I wrap myself in three blankets and pop cough drops like peanuts, I would like to ask all of you: can’t we  just behave ourselves? Then maybe God will bring spring on earlier this year!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In The Well with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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December 5, 2016 · 2:20 pm

Up on the housetop, reindeer pause; out jumps good old…Santa Cat?

It’s that time of year, folks. The time of year when I must enter the annual battle between the pets in the house and the Christmas decorations. Anyone who has pets knows exactly what I’m talking about here. Animals, who lay on, crawl through or knock over any Christmas decoration that impedes their path and owners who pull out their hair as they try to rescue the bulbs, lights, statuary, greenery, ect. which hit the deck under furry paws.
I never worried about this in the days BDC (Before Dogs and Cats.) But it began with our first housedog, Patch, who was fascinated by the Christmas tree. She would shove her doggy nose against the bulbs and she apparently didn’t like what she saw because she would bite those glass Christmas bulbs until they popped and glass scattered everywhere. I would hear a glass ball explode and race to the living room in time to see her delicately spitting the shards out of her teeth.

“You’re gonna die if that stuff gets in your innards,” I would threaten, but she was unaffected. She would simply turn back to the tree, selecting her next victim. She is the reason I learned to put the stuff on the bottom that I really didn’t care about.

The next dog we got, Ammie, was much more interested in the texture of the artificial tree. For some reason, she felt the most inward portions of the tree were best, so I would have the thrill of walking into the living room and watching the tree doing a crazy, drunken dance because Ammie was under it, chewing on the under branches.

Our current dog has continued the Christmas “dance with disaster.” She is particularly fascinated with anything wooden (those ornaments are now at the top). In addition, flashing colored lights have a bad effect on her. She barked non-stop for the first two weeks after I hung the flashing lights in the window last Christmas and then she solved the problem by chewing the whole string in half. I told her that if there was any justice, her eyes would have lit up like the Christmas lights, but apparently, there is no justice for this, because she survived her electrical Russian roulette.

Cats are much more likely to climb the tree, but in my house, they quickly decide that the Christmas scarf under it is their own private bed. Hosmer, the cat we have now, cannot be stopped. I’ve put things in front of the tree and presents where she wants to lie. She merely cleans things out and lays there anyway. She also likes the nativity barn and has never heard that there was no room at the inn, because she has been known to push out the Christ child so she can lay inside. 

Gifts are another issue, since I have learned not to put them under the tree. The cats will claw anything soft open. I awoke one morning to see the cat peacefully sleeping on a pillow I had handmade for my mother, the shreds of the paper wrapping surrounding her on the floor. The dog was even worse, since one year I awoke to find a half dozen presents torn open and a box of chocolates (which had been wrapped in plastic as well as wrapping paper, open and gone. She had smelled the candy and torn through the gifts until she found it. I suppose I could consider myself fortunate that she found it after destroying only half a dozen gifts!

Any hopes that I had that this year would be calmer have been destroyed already. The cat has succeeded in crawling over a line of ceramic Old World Santas to take up her regular abode under the tree and the dog has already knocked over the large ceramic camel and two wise men in my nativity set. A star appeared in the east and the wise men came, but they reckoned without the giant dog who knocked over their camels and sat on the Christ child! Everyone have fun putting up your decorations and have a joyous season!

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October 24, 2016 · 6:40 pm

I miss my commercials…

If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be hanging out in a closet at the back of my house. It’s not a large closet…in fact, it’s small and dark. But it’s quiet and I don’t have to listen to any more political backlash.

I really don’t mind avoiding politics, but I do miss my commercials. After all, if I don’t watch all the non-stop commercials, how will I know how to live?

Roy comes to check on me occasionally, and although he’s concerned about me, I know he doesn’t really understand.

“There’s a debate going on tonight,” he tells me. “Don’t you want to watch?”

“No,” I answer quickly, “But be certain to tell me about the commercials.”

“The commercials?” he was truly puzzled. “What do you need them for?”

“How can I decide what car insurance to buy? How can I determine the best way to determine if my teeth are white enough?” I felt a little frantic, sitting there in that tiny dark space.

“I wasn’t aware that the whiteness of your teeth was keeping you up nights,” he said dryly.

“It isn’t just that,” it frustrates me when he doesn’t understand. “ How will I know which pills to take for my ailments? What about my shoes? Coat? Cool sunglasses? I can’t decide which ones to get unless I have my commercials and I feel like I’m in withdrawal.”

“Then come out and watch your commercials,” Roy withdrew his head from the closet and prepared to leave.

“I can’t do that! If I come out to watch my commercials, I”ll have to listen to all the political stuff and I just can’t stand that…and I don’t know which tranquilizer will be the best. Oh, this is really terrible!”

I buried my distraught face in my kleenix, but I don’t know if this brand is still the softest and best, so that was pretty upsetting as well.

Roy really does try to be encouraging, “If you hear some political programming, you might learn about the issues.”

“Someone is actually talking about the issues?” I asked incredulously, “When did that start?”

I spent some more time in that dark closet worrying about which restaurant will allow me to have the laughing best time and which cereal will give me the best start to the day. I thought a lot about air fresheners (it was stuffy in the closet), and I wasn’t at all confident about which energy system would save me the most money. And worst of all, what if I needed a new vehicle (while sitting in the tiny closet)…where would I go and what would I buy????

Still, I will stay in my closet. It may not be the best solution, but I can’t handle the so-called, “election process” and I think bipartisan cooperation may be something we will only see today in the history books.

The closer we get to the election, the more vicious and unreasoning it becomes; I have irrefutable proof of this. While I was sitting in the closet worrying about how I would use the best bleach and how I would vacuum my rugs (the one I was sitting on was kind of dirty), Roy suddenly opened the door again.

“I don’t want to come out of the closet,” I screeched at him.

“I didn’t come for that,” he answered quietly.

“Then what?” I was truly puzzled.

“I just watched the last debate,” he answered grimly.

“And?”

“And, I want you to move over; I’m with you now.”

Golly, I really hope my teeth are white enough for this up-close contact, but on the other hand, the closet is pretty dark.

I hope you all survive the election season!

 

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In The Well with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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October 10, 2016 · 12:38 pm

Skol Vikings!  Let’s Lose the Beer!

I love a good road trip. And a road trip so Roy can watch the Vikings play in their brand-new stadium? Why not? It would be fun!

Our road trip required that we get to the Minneapolis area the night before, so we’d have plenty of time at the stadium. So, we got pretty much the last motel room in Chaska on the outskirts of the city. We got our key and checked out our room…and sat down on the bed…and lifted the covers to check out the slab of marble that had to be what it was made of, it was so hard.

A quick visit with the desk clerk wasn’t helpful:

Me: Could we get a room with a mattress and a box springs instead of two box springs?

Clerk: Are you trying to infer that the bed is hard?

Me: No, I’m saying right out that this bed is so hard, Goldilocks would have sued for back injuries!

Clerk: If you are dissatisfied, you are welcome to vacate the room.

Of course, he knew that every hotel in the area (including his by that time) was sporting a no vacancy sign. There was no help for it…we had no choice but to stay with a bed that had all the comfort of a metal table in a morgue. About five o’clock a.m., after tossing and turning for a while, I finally decided to sit up in the overstuffed chair in the room. It was apparently overbalanced as well, and I immediately went over backwards in the chair, hitting my head on the wall with the required swear words along with it. Roy sat straight up in the bed, hollering, “What the …..” He wasn’t too upset however, or he was just too asleep to react, because while I struggled to get out of the overturned chair, he fell back asleep!

I left the hotel, bent over from a serious “bed-back,” and headed out to the game, fortified with a great breakfast consisting of a banana! We got to downtown Minneapolis and then searched for a place to park. The closer the parking space was to the stadium, the more it cost, so we finally found a parking lot charging only $15, compared to $25 or $30 by those with geographic advantage. Our lower price parking was offset by the fact that we walked for half an hour to get to the stadium.

But what a stadium! It was amazing with the huge doors standing wide and music playing and souvenirs being hawked. As we headed inside, I was thrilled to see that at 9:30 a.m., the hawkers were standing in the entrances to the stadium trying their best to sell the people coming in some beer. Even more disturbing is that they were succeeding.

Now I don’t mind if a person wants to enjoy a beer, but at 9:30 in the morning? Really? And of course, the person who was buying and consuming the most ended up right behind me…as usual. He courted disaster by taunting fans from the other team with comments about their looks and actions. He screamed so loud in my ears that I am still not hearing entirely right, but I know I’ll hear him yelling, “Come on, ref, throw a “f……” flag once willya?”

He was pretty well greased when he got to his seat, but he continued to buy beers from the vendors coming around. They came around with beer three times as often as any other (non-intoxicating) refreshment. I know the beer was cold because what he missed guzzling down, he spilled on my arms and neck and spit on me as he was screaming at the game. After he left permanently in the fourth quarter, I discovered that my coat pocket (with my camera in it) had been soaked at some point with beer as well, no doubt courtesy of my inebriated friend.

It really was a very nice road trip, and a great game in spite of hard beds and too much beer. Fortunately, my camera survived its alcoholic sponge bath, but I have to ask the venders at US Bank Stadium if maybe, in the future they could sell hotdogs, soda and water and maybe some peanuts and just lose the beer?

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In The Well with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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