Tag Archives: funny

Creating a talking list

Okay, I admit it, I’m one of those people who probably overshares on Facebook. It is just such an easy way to instantaneously visit with large groups of people. But I’m also aware that there are some things which should not be discussed on Facebook. So, since all the other people have their “taboo subject” lists, I’ll make one too.

When I’m on Facebook, I don’t really want my religion challenged. I’m fairly certain God is not putting those challenges on about “if you believe in God, you’ll re-post this…if you don’t repost it, something bad will happen.” I don’t really think God is sitting up there in heaven, waiting to strike if I don’t share the proper thing on Facebook. While we’re at it, don’t talk to me about one religion (Christian or otherwise) pitted against another. Pretty much every religion under the sun has heroes and if we took a shovel and dug a little we’d find things we don’t like. Tell me when you’re having a fundraiser bake sale, etc. and I’ll be there, but no ideology, please.unnamed

No politics on Facebook. I won’t convince you and you won’t convince me, so all those political rants are a waste of time. I like to hear about successful programs and ways in which I can help, but the evils of the political parties are lost on me.

I’m also a little squeamish about discussions of sex lives. I don’t frequently read about someone’s activities in the area of amour, but when I do, I always wish I hadn’t read it! I don’t mind hearing about weddings and engagements and anniversaries, in fact, I like those. I even love all the pictures and posts about babies, I just don’t want to hear any creation details!

The next thing on my list is going to sound weird, but I don’t want to hear about farts on Facebook. Apparently, it is now all the rage to create little clever sayings about farts, but those always make me flinch. I have as many bodily functions as the next person, I don’t need any cute little sayings to remind me of how uncomfortable it is!

And then there’s liver. The subject of liver is always unacceptable to me. I don’t like liver and I don’t want to discuss its health benefits or anything else. I am also not very fond of almonds, so if I didn’t have to talk about them, I’d be happy.

Then, there is the color purple, especially as it appears on the backs of the Vikings. Okay, what I really don’t want to discuss if football—Vikings specific. The every Sunday scream fest at my house when the Vikings are winning or losing (the screaming is the same, either way) is enough. I don’t want to discuss it on Facebook.

Other things I don’t want to talk about: guns (I can’t shoot), jeans (I can’t wear them) recipes (I can’t cook), and music because I can’t play or sing. In fact, I think everyone should just clear everything they want to talk about with me before they post it on Facebook.

What do you mean, we have freedom of speech? If I don’t like what someone says or how they say it, they shouldn’t have the right to talk about it, right? Oh dear, I think I may have gotten something wrong here….but still, if you would, just don’t talk to me about liver, alright? Anything but liver. Is it a deal?

 

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Exercise….bah, humbug!

I read an article yesterday telling me how to exercise intelligently so that I will be slim for the holidays and not need to make the traditional New Year’s Resolution to exercise more. I laughed till the tears ran down my face and into my cup of hot cocoa.download (4)

In the first place, I don’t have any ambition to be slim for the holidays and in the second place, if I make a New Year’s Resolution it will be to find more time for naps!

It did get me to thinking about my sedentary lifestyle, though. I am prone to lying prone on my couch or my bed and I may not get enough exercise. Maybe I should worry about that.

The article recommended that I keep a journal of my exercise for a day, a week, etc. That seemed like a good idea, so I began to keep a record. It looks a lot like this:

Monday: Spent twenty minutes going up and down the steps to the laundry room several times. I wasn’t doing several loads of laundry—I would get to the bottom of the stairs with all the clothes I was washing and then I would remember something else and have to run get it. Surely going up and down the stairs several times constitutes exercise…my mind is weak but my body is strong.

Tuesday: Spent the day walking from one end of the school to the other. Not because I was deliberately exercising, I just made the mistake of sending my class on a fact finding project and then realized that the fact was I would find them all over the building. Hustling up and down halls in search of suddenly released children will work up a sweat.images (4)

Wednesday – Spent all of Wednesday evening chasing a small dog around the house with the flyswatter as she chewed up one item after another that she was not supposed to have. I don’t think the dog is at all concerned about my exercise, but she does contribute her share to keeping me active.

Thursday – I spent that evening exercising my arms. Well, I exercised my legs a little too. Okay, so I sat with my feet up and guzzled iced tea all night. We can’t exercise every day right? I wonder if this is what the article meant by justifying my lack of ambition?

Friday – Okay, on Friday, I had a good excuse. On Friday, I have to watch Hawaii Five-O and Blue Bloods; how in the world could I exercise?  I did do a bit of a run, though. I ran to the bathroom and ran back to the television so I wouldn’t miss the show. Surely that counts?

Saturday I did a lot of walking. I swept and mopped floors. Then, I cleaned the bathroom and did an accidental Pilate. That was painful, so I had to sit and do some heavy breathing for a while. Then, I dropped a meat tenderizer on my foot and I did a lot of energetic hopping around. That was kind of exercising, right?

Okay, okay, so I need to do more for exercise, I get it. I just don’t like all the sweating and huffing and puffing that goes along with it. And if I don’t want to be slim for the holidays it’s not that urgent. But when it comes to New Year’s Resolutions—maybe I’ll just resolve to avoid magazine articles that talk about exercise. Yeah, that’s a good one!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Just a quiet morning on the weekend…

It was a day to sleep in. It was Saturday, my daughters were home and we had stayed up too late the night before. They had a long day of travel ahead, so they were hoping for a few extra winks of sleep. Easy, since it was Saturday, right?

Not so easy. I had to be up early for an event of my own. Since I don’t have a large house, anyone up early can create issues. But I am the quietest member of the family when it comes to rising early. There was no need for anyone else to worry. I could get up and get out of there and no one would be disturbed.

I showered the night before, laid out my clothes so there would be no running of water and rummaging for fresh underwear and socks. I had even set out my breakfast bar, so I could just grab it and go. Everything was perfect.

Except I reckoned without my nightstand. You wouldn’t think a nightstand would be noisy and really, it wasn’t. The alarm on it went off, however and in reaching over the stacks of books, crossword puzzles and magazines scattered on it, I managed to knock the clock on the floor…still blaring. With a curse or two (out loud), I finally located the plug and jerked it out of the wall.

While I was doing this, my nightstand pitched my glasses to the floor as well, just for fun. Now I was in the dark, blind without my glasses and afraid to get out of the bed for fear I would step on the glasses. So, I reached down, practically standing on my head and felt around for my glasses. My reaching around grunting and groaning helped me locate my glasses and just as my hand closed on them, I rolled out of bed head first and hit the wall. Now I was upside down in the dark with no glasses. Worst still, I was no longer the only one awake.

“What are you doing?”I don’t think Roy meant the question that way. I think, still half asleep, what he really meant was, “Be quiet!”167957_617720307556_2635020_n

I managed to get myself upright with my glasses on and went in the dark to locate my clothes, which were on the dining room table. I still couldn’t turn on lights because one of my daughters had stretched out in a recliner because of a sore shoulder. She was still asleep, so I reckoned to dress in the dark in the dining room.

I heard Roy go into the bathroom, so I thought I’d just go in there, close the door and turn on the light and then I could get ready in the light. Roy wouldn’t care. So I went in, closed the door and my hand was on the light switch when I heard my oldest daughter say in the dark, “Excuse me, I’m in here.”

She didn’t sound too wide awake either, but I left her alone and went back to the dining room and woke up the third sleeper—the dog in her cage. The dog began to bark, so I decided to let her out. I dressed while she was outside and when she came back in, she immediately ran over to the recliner and brought my other daughter out of a sound sleep. She was not grateful to the dog or me.

After locking the dog downstairs, I decided that the best thing I could do for the household was to get out, so I did. I got into the car, backed it out and then realized I didn’t have my purse…and I had no idea where it was. I had to go back in through the basement to get a flashlight, which started the dog barking again. Then, I had to flash the light around in all of the rooms where there were people trying to sleep, attempting to locate the purse. I finally found it behind the computer in the dining room (I don’t know why it was there), just as my daughter from the recliner asked in a sleepy but aggrieved voice, “Are you sure it’s even in here?”

“It’s okay, I just found it,” I whispered, “I’m just going to leave now, so you can go back to sleep. Have a good day.”26496_590999231806_7679522_n

“Too late,” came grumpily from the chair as I shut the door. So that was my not so quiet morning on a Saturday. Better luck next time!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Serving two helpings of sick for supper

I have a recurring fantasy. I will be on my deathbed, ready for my final words of love and affection from my family. Roy will lean over the bed, take my hand tenderly and whisper in my ear, “What were you thinking about fixing for supper?” That is, if he lives longer than me…which he won’t if he asks that question too often.

Everyone knows that not only am I a mediocre cook, I also don’t much enjoy it. Somehow, when Roy and I got married, I must have missed the part which said that I would do all the cooking. The sad part of this is that Roy is a much better cook—he just hates it even more than I do.

Over the years, it has been his mission to make sure I end up with the cooking. He happily mows lawn, tends garden, even does some laundry. But inevitably, no matter what, he asks that question: “What are you planning for supper?”

It doesn’t matter the circumstances. I have come home at 9 o’clock at night, dragged in the door, dropped my things and been ready to follow them down and he will be sitting at the empty table and no matter how dangerous I might look, he always sings out, “What are you planning for supper? I’m starved!”

His perseverance in this little ceremony even extends to illnesses. I can be laid out on the bed, wheezing like a noisy radiator, smeared in smelly Vicks and he will come in, look me over and say, “What will you be fixing for supper? Soup would be good for you.”

Di

Dinner preparation of the sick…

I sniff up the snot sliding down my nose, slurp up the drool that has been coming from my mouth and suggest that he do something with himself that is anatomically impossible. He leaves and inevitably I will feel sorry for him and go out to fix him something. He never seems to mind eating a meal that has been fixed by his disease-ridden wife and even worse, he never seems to get the disease!

The only thing he invariably agrees to cook are steaks on the grill. First, he loves steak. Second, he thinks it’s expensive meat. And third, without even trying, I burn it on the grill more often than I don’t. So, if I really want the night off of cooking, I am likely to propose steaks on the grill. It’s the only time I hear those magical words, “I’ll cook it.”

So, that’s actually going to be the end of that final fantasy. When Roy leans over to ask what’s for supper, instead of saying, “I’m dying, you insensitive rat!” I’m going to reply softly, “Well, I was thinking I’d make steaks on the grill one more time.” He will stand up, head for the door, and announce to anyone listening, “Where’s my lighter? I’ve got to get that grill warm before I start the steaks.”

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Forget me not…for I may forget you!

You know, even those of us who are not so unlucky as to have Alzheimer’s, may have our own little problems with memory. And I’d like to say that my memory problems have become an issue with age, but that’s not true, either. I just have that unorganized kind of mind that makes a good memory very difficult.

There is a commercial on right now, cautioning about the symptoms of Alzheimer’s in which a woman is trying to find her keys and her husband discovers that she has put them in the refrigerator. keysThe caption then reads, “If you place things in unusual places it may be the symptom of early onset of Alzheimer’s.” If that is so, I have been in the early stages of that unfortunate disease since I was about 15! In fact, when I am looking for a misplaced item, the refrigerator and freezer are some of the first places on my list to look!

I admire people with perfect memories, I really do. It’s just that I can’t always remember why. In any given week, I can forget any number of things. My students love it when I forget to ask for homework that they may have forgotten to do, but my dentist and hairdresser are not nearly so fond of the fact that I forget those appointments.

This week, it was intended for me to bring some food to church for the coffee hour. I bought all kinds of cookies and breads to deliver, put them in the car so I would remember to take them to the church before I left town for the weekend, and then left town in the other vehicle. When I came home, it was entirely likely that I can no longer go to that church, but it is also true that I will remember the bread and cookies for a long time, because they ripened unfortunately in the warmth of my car over several days!

I do have tricks to try and help my flabby memory. I make notes and use sticky-note paper to put things up all over the house. Things like, “Be certain to put clothes in the dryer so you have underwear for tomorrow,” or “Turn the roast on in the oven or have raw meat for supper.”

I put kettles on to boil and then get busy elsewhere and don’t remember them until the smoke alarm jars my recollection. I like to watch old movies on television and I’m always delighted when I find one I haven’t seen before. Of course, halfway through I frequently find that oh, yeah, I have seen this one before, but luckily, I have no recollection of how it ends, so it’s all brand new again.

The good news is that my poor memory has remained in the same condition since, oh, I can’t remember when. I can always hope that it doesn’t get any worse, but as I move into old age, it may be that I start putting bigger things than the keys in the freezer…like the cat. Until then, I guess I’ll continue to enjoy life as it is, as long as I can remember why!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Visitors – My reason for cleaning!

I read a poster on Facebook yesterday (well, actually, my daughter sent it to me) which said: My housekeeping schedule—Do the absolute minimum until someone is coming over, then clean like a crazy person.

I’m sure this was meant to be funny, but seriously, who doesn’t do this? Am I actually going to dust that back corner of the basement unless I have a serviceman who needs to check the furnace? I know there are people who regularly clean their woodwork and scrub their floors, I am just not one of those people.images

What I clean is dependent on who is coming. If it is a guest stopping through on the way to or from somewhere else, then the bathroom must be cleaned. Not necessarily the shower, I’m not going crazy; just the toilet and the sink and if time permits, I might even clean the mirror.

If someone is coming to look at the dishwasher, then it seems necessary to scrape the grime off the outside of it and maybe even clean the floor—you never know when something sticky might be there. The same is true of the stove and the refrigerator, but if I have to clean the oven in a hurry, then I’m going to need the shop vac.

When my parents come, that’s a bathroom, dining room, even living room going over. I frequently employ the laundry basket ploy here. I run around scooping things off of every surface into a laundry basket and shove it in a closet. You must realize that this may result in your address book ending up in the bowl you used to eat sticky melon last night, but it’s all in the cause of making the house look “kinda” clean.

I’ve even taken essence of clean advice from other people in regards to smell. If your house isn’t clean and you don’t have time or Febreze, pour a little cleaner in the corners. It does work but it’s messy. Someone else advised me to mask the smells by baking some cookies before the visitors come. If I have the energy to bake cookies, wouldn’t I have the energy to clean? I can’t take this kind of advice from someone who clearly doesn’t understand my cleaning philosophy.

I found out recently that I have passed these skills on to my daughter. We were sitting around my house both knowing we had things we needed to do, but luxuriating in the mess instead. Then, our expected company called to say they would be unexpectedly early and we both leapt to our feet. As I attempted to scrape the grime off the kitchen counters and straighten the bedding in the bedroom, my daughter managed to single-handedly remove the large living room rug from under two heavy chairs and the sofa and resign it to the outdoor deck in order to improve the look of the floors. House—semi-clean!images (1)

So, if you want to visit my house, thank you in advance. If you have small children, I’ll sweep the floor and if you’re coming for a meal, I’ll wipe off the stove and the refrigerator. If you crave a cooler place to sit on a hot day, I’ll even take a shovel to the basement. Cleaning like a crazy person before the company arrives is the only way to clean in my book!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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A Walk in the Gloaming

I read somewhere that some bugs are very high in cholesterol if ingested by a human being. I really hope this is not true, because I’ve been having a rather steady diet of them lately.

It’s bad enough that I keep falling asleep in my chair only to be awakened by some fly trying to crawl in my mouth. You wake up fast while trying to spit fly off your tongue but so far, I don’t think I’ve actually feasted on one.fly

The same cannot be said for bugs when I’m out walking. I know that I need to walk, but unfortunately, this time of year, I can only get in a walk in the evening, just before dark—a time that my ancestors might have termed the “gloaming.”

Unfortunately, in the gloaming, the sun is actually going down, which reduces the heat, but encourages the bugs. I walk out there with my slow step and heavy frame and I have no chance of outrunning those bugs. Therefore, I end up waving my arms around like a disjointed windmill, trying to fend them off. And there are a lot of them.

I’ve been reading stories and watching programs which predict that some animal will take over the earth from the humans. I frankly don’t worry about tigers, dogs, bears or apes. I think the earth will be overrun by bugs.

I recognize this as the ugly truth every time I take this walk in the gloaming. Every type of winged creature makes its way outside and straight for the path I’m walking.

Charlie Bug will say to Arnold Bug: “Hey, buddy wanna have a good time?”

“Sure,” exclaims Arnold, “What do you have in mind?”

“Fly on over to the Fauth walk and we can fly into the old lady’s hair, eyes, ears, etc.” Charlie leads the way.

“Sounds like fun,” shouts Arnold as they fly my way. “It’ll be so easy, especially when they don’t have any better sense than to walk in the gloaming!”

Tonight, they were in particularly good form. I ran into the side of a building while trying to wave off some particularly persistent friends of Charlie. Arnold managed to win the annoyance trophy by flying between my eye and my glasses, but I’m afraid the news was not so good for Charlie. As I was talking to my husband, Charlie flew down my throat to become a mosquito canapé. All the spitting in the world couldn’t bring poor old Charlie back.giant_gallinipper_mosquito

Hence, my hope that bugs are not high in cholesterol, because here is a human than seems bound to ingest more than her fair share. Happy gloaming, everyone—celebrate it by not walking with the mosquitoes.

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You may be a teacher if…

My grandson begins school today. I don’t mean that my little toddler boy is going to go off with his toy backpack and play alphabet games at pre-school. I mean my big, just-turned-five-and-how-did-that-happen grandson is going to actual school.

Royce's first day!

Royce’s first day!

He has a backpack full of school supplies and a head full of last minute instructions on how to behave at school and he is off to the races.

As a grandma, I’m proud of this fact, but I’m an even prouder teacher. He is about to make some teacher’s head spin with his engineering projects and his overwhelming preference for the color orange. And that got me to thinking about what it really means in this day and this age to be a teacher.

Now I know that we are all supposed to be teachers in one educational way or another. However, those of us in the classroom trenches know that to be a teacher in the school when all of those backpack toting little darlings walk through the door is a special, awesome, hair-pulling, screaming good time.

If you can simultaneously help a child edit their writing, take roll and lunch count and get everyone on their feet for the Pledge of Allegiance on time, you may be a teacher. Multi-tasking takes on hysterical new meaning in the classroom. I have literally found the right chapter of the book for one student with one  hand while searching frantically through my desk for the stopwatch which is beeping uncontrollably with the other. And I still had a foot free to shove the wastebasket at the third kid of the morning to achieve vomitus flu in my classroom!

I hear frequently that God is not found in our public schools. I would chuckle at this misinformation if I wasn’t so busy offering up my own prayers to generate as much learning and as little damage as possible each day. That is in addition to the students who are sitting in their seats offering up sincere and genuine prayers that the teacher will believe their reason for not having homework done or will grade the test they are about to flunk on the curve. God is in the public schools, ladies and gentleman and He is probably holding His head in His hands a lot while he is there!

Teaching requires a sense of humor and it requires you to disguise that sense of humor most of the time. It you can listen to a student regale you with the tale of their Christmas vacation when Uncle Harold had too much eggnog  and landed in the tree and not crack a smile, you’re doing pretty well. If you can hold it together when little Jimmy mispronounces the word “prostrate” while reading imagery poetry, you’re doing better than most, since “lying there prostate on the ground” conjures up some hysterical imagery for me.

A teacher must be prepared to impart knowledge while fielding any number of interesting sideshows. For instance, if, in the middle of reading “Casey at the Bat,” you suddenly find yourself refereeing a battle between two students arguing over who owns the tired-looking pencil they found on the floor between their desks, you have hit one of the high points of the teaching profession. And they don’t cover in college what the proper procedure is if your post-holiday essay on “What I Got for Christmas” turns into a show-and-tell between two boys who both think the superhero undershorts they got were the best!

Yes, I am so excited about my little grandson headed off to school. 20150831_083045And I hope his teacher is prepared for all his tape-and-string concoctions and his insistence that yes, even grass can be orange in color. I have faith in her or him,  though: a teacher is the perfect person to answer the burning question on the mind of every kindergarten child—“If I eat glue, will my insides stick together????” Have a great year, all of you teachers and all of you students!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Signs that YOU TOO may be an insomniac!

Well, folks, it’s 1 a.m. and here we are, up and at ‘em instead of down for the count. The world of the insomniac is something that is difficult to explain and it’s something that cannot be fully understood unless you, like me, suffer from chronic insomnia. However, I’ll attempt to give you some idea of the problem if you’d care to listen and for me at least, I’m not doing anything else, like sleeping, so I’ll take the time.

Where I should be sleeping...

Where I should be sleeping…

There are signs that you could be a chronic insomniac. They include, but are not limited to, the following:

  1. If you find yourself watching the clock at 10, 11, 12, 1, 2…maybe even 3, you could be a chronic insomniac. In fact, a chronic insomniac can tell you what time it is without the necessity of looking at the clock. They judge it by the grit in the eyes and number of times they’ve twisted over in bed.
  2. If you find your mind racing on such wildly diverse and ridiculous topics as whether or not Donald Trump will make all of us wear our hair in stupid styles if he is elected president, you might be a chronic insomniac. If you get up and go to the bathroom and actually try out some possible hairstyles just in case, you are definitely in our league.
  3. If you worry in the middle of the night about how much time you spend worrying, you might be a chronic insomniac. If you worry about being up in the middle of the night, worrying about the time you spend worrying, you may be too far gone to get help!
  4. If you are currently experimenting with at least three different aids to help you sleep, you may be one of us. If those aids include Melatonin, muscle relaxants and warm milk, you are probably up in the top ten of chronic insomniacs.
  5. If you spend your late nights surfing the Internet, exploring such fantastic sites as “Ten things you didn’t know about Leave it to Beaver,” you are definitely suffering the late night, non-sleep blues.

I’ve tried everything from meditative yoga, to regular bedtimes, to eating or drinking certain things before bed. Did you know that if you eat egg yolks and drink pink lemonade two hours before bed, you will have a full night’s sleep? Of course, it doesn’t work, but I like pink lemonade and egg yolks, which is more than I can say for straight vinegar, which is another suggestion!

I have come to accept that being a chronic insomniac is a part of my life’s makeup and, just for the record, I hope it’s not a part of yours. However, if it is, come on over about 1:30 a.m. I’ll be drinking a big glass of vinegar and watching the “Ten Things I Didn’t Know (and didn’t want to) about Leave it to Beaver.” On second thought, just play the re-runs…that would surely put me to sleep!

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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Vacation – not exactly what I wanted…

I’ve always loved the Vacation series of movies with Chevy Chase. Most especially do I love the first one, with the ever-optimistic Clark Griswold  taking his family in a new car through a series of catastrophic vacation blunders until in the end, he finally snaps and his car is a wreck.

I travel a great deal with my husband, but it is a sad fact that I could very easily be the female version of poor old Clark. I have gone through a series of mis-adventures over the years, but by far the worst was a car trip through the southwest where we fixed the car at every stop and never did get everything running smoothly. We finally landed in a very small town in Arizona, and they managed to at least get it working so it didn’t die on the road. I, however, declared that Arizona would be colder than the South Pole in winter before I ever showed up there again. I should have stuck to that declaration. This year, somehow, Roy talked me into vacationing in the southwest. That’s right, folks; Arizona—in June!

I knew we were in trouble before we had even headed south. The night before we left, there was a terrific rainstorm. It washed out the bridge we were to take south. This might have been a sign from God that we ignored. No problem though, we just drove miles out of our way through interesting places like the town of Bob. Interesting  fact—the town of Bob has a population of 11…one of them must be named Bob, right?

We finally made it to Denver after mistaking a military base for a bathroom break. The nice men at the gates with guns explained that we were wrong.  In Denver, we spent the night listening to a hail storm outside. In the morning, our very new car was sporting any number of hail dings and looked a little like a car with the measles.

However, it was vacation; we needed to carry on. Outside Durango, we observed a sign which said, “Watch for migrating wildlife.” I gave a laugh, “Now there’s an interesting sign. I wonder where they’re….” At that moment, we bagged the “migrating wildlife” with a 2013 Fusion. The deer came out of nowhere at top speed, hit the side of our car breaking the mirror and the headlight and pushing in the side front panel until we couldn’t open the driver’s door.

You should have seen the other guy...

You should have seen the other guy…

With the use of a mechanic’s jack and some sturdy tape, the car was again made drivable, but by now it looked a lot like Chevy Chase’s station wagon in Vacation. All we had missing was the wheels turning in!

We took that sad car all through the vacation with people giving it double takes all over the place. We traveled to Silverton, Colorado, where we were in a snow and sleet storm. We took it to the Grand Canyon where the fog was so thick, we couldn’t see anything but fog. And then we took it to Las Vegas, where the temperatures were a heart-stopping, knee-buckling 106 degrees! And through it all, the bent up, hail-dinged, mirror-cracked, taped-up light car seemed to keep on going.

The

The “view” at the Grand Canyon

The final straw came when we got back to Denver. We parked the car for the night on the street as we were staying with my daughter. Unfortunately, we parked it in an area meant for residents of the housing property. The following morning, the car was gone. I’m sure someone took a look at that banged up mess and supposed someone abandoned it there. We had to go 20 miles away to the tow company and pay $250 to get that semi-wreck back.

Roy swears that when he got in the car, the steering wheel grabbed him by the throat and the car snarled, “What the heck, Roy? Next year, take the other car!”

© Jackie Wells-Fauth and Drops In the Well, 2015. 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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