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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Just one of those days…or weeks…or maybe a month….

Just one of those days…or weeks…or maybe a month…Jackie Wells-Fauth

For the first time in a while, I slept soundly and straight through the night last Tuesday. That may not seem like much, but for someone of my age and activity, that’s darned near a miracle. And there was a good reason for it that was not in any way connected to miracles.

It all started when I got up for a school activity on a Saturday morning. For me to get to the bus and meet the students at 7:00, I must be up and moving by around 5 a.m. This was the start of a very long few days.

After marking down the names of the students who had the foresight to stay home that early morning, I set out with the rest of the group. A long day of competing and trying to stay awake was followed by an evening of errand running before I made my sleepy way home, avoiding the various deer, skunk, possum, etc., as I went.

Sunday was my “day off,” so I celebrated by putting up two dozen pints of applesauce. Then I did about three loads of laundry. After that, I relaxed by baking and freezing some bread.

Monday, undeterred by my weekend activities, I took another group of students to competition over the afternoon and evening. I knew we were in trouble when the leaders of that competition announced, “We have a new system that will save a lot of time.” We left that competition approximately two hours later than normal and were not home until almost midnight.

After the students left, I searched for my car keys as I needed to take the half-hours’ drive home. No keys. I searched my bags, my purse and my pockets frantically. Still no success. It was almost certain I had left the keys in my room within the school…which I couldn’t access because I had also lost my key to the building.

After searching out a co-worker and pounding on her door after midnight, I was able to obtain a key to the building and then to discover my keys on the desk…one problem solved. I returned her key and headed home, reaching the house somewhere after one o’clock in the morning.

The following morning I picked up my purse, checking as I normally do for my cash and my pouch containing my credit cards and driver’s license. It was gone. I looked again. No pouch. I frantically tore through the car, my school bags and my pockets. The pouch was completely gone.

I got in the car to leave for work, still worrying about who could have my credit cards. I put the car in gear and backed up…into the garage door…which I had forgotten to open.

It was at this point that I knew that the bad day was stretching into at least a bad week and I was at the point where I was afraid to ask “What next?” because I might find out!

I poured out my troubles to my co-workers as I prepared to call my husband to cancel my credit cards because they were missing. After I was done with the phone call, my co-worker said, “You didn’t tell him about the garage door you ran into. Don’t you think you should?”

“No, not until I have secured the best divorce lawyer possible,” I answered.

“Surely he’s not going to divorce you over a wrecked garage door,” the co-worker scoffed.

“Maybe not,” I answered firmly, “but after the week I’ve been having, I’m not taking any chances!”

 

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November 28, 2016 · 2:06 am
November 9, 2016 · 2:27 am

Thank you, God for Election Day

I read somewhere a long time ago that someone in some foreign, unstable place would fix elections by chopping off the index fingers of unlucky voters. Why do this, you may ask? Well, it seems they marked off those who had voted by dipping the forefinger in ink. If you had no forefinger, you could not prove you didn’t already vote, so you couldn’t vote again.

I’m really hopeful this is a made-up story, but it does illustrate the complete ease with which we are allowed to cast our vote and speak our mind in this country. If we can escape all the political hype without being traumatized, we can step into a small, quickly erected, metal framed space with a red, white and blue curtain just covering our behinds and fill in the ovals for the people of our choice.

As I write this, I have indeed made my choices and cast my vote, but I don’t know who has won and you know what? I find it doesn’t matter nearly as much who won as it matters that I was allowed the chance to peacefully join my voice to millions of others.

Of course, there are any number of other reasons to be thankful for election day. One is that I can quit listening to non-stop political ads, and looking at political memes on Facebook filled with so much childish invective that I was hard-pressed to hold the line of silence and I just barely refrained from writing on posts telling me why my choices were stupid, “Oh yeah? Well, your candidate eats their own boogers, so there!”

In addition to that, I survived the polling place. Now, I have to tell you that election polling places scare me. I want a nice, quiet place to do my voting and try and puzzle out what all of those amendments are about. Instead, I have to produce identification to prove I am whom they have already written me down as, then I receive a stamped ballot and I am directed to that line of feebly erected booths.

With the curtain unable to cover my lower body, I must attempt to stand still and not wiggle as I wrestle with Amendments, Law Changes and Initiated Measures. After a few minutes of trying to figure them out, I frequently mark “No” just to get done. I can’t find the one that the politicians are bringing in just to steal my money or the one that was funded by “dark money” (whatever that is) from some super-secret spy place in the heart of the North Pole. 

As for presidential candidates, I so wished they would have had a line marked “Other”! I worked hard to fill in the proper little ovals, but I either didn’t fill it in enough, or I accidentally colored outside the lines. And the reason for this is because the people in the other little metal booths kept moving and shaking the narrow little table!

I did discover, however, that if you grab the whole metal structure and pick it up and holler, “Stop shaking the table!” they will ask you to leave. Apparently this “upsets the other voters,” and “creates an unsafe environment at the polling place.” Some people are so picky! I was done anyway, so it didn’t matter.

Now all that’s left is to sit back, thank God for the chance to vote, and wait for the election results, with both eyes shut and all my fingers crossed.

Happy election day, everyone and I sure hope that Lincoln fella wins! Four more years, Abe!

 

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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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