I just finished mowing the expanse of grass we manicure here at Damphewmore Acres and, while I wuz mowing, I came to the brilliant idea of starting a new national campaign.
No, not a campaign for president under a third political party named the “Just for Just Folks” Party. I’m talking about a national campaign that, if I’m successful, will do the self-serving job of earning me and Damphewmore Acres national patriotic recognition.
My campaign is for the Congress and the President to declare crabgrass and foxtail as “national lawn grasses for eternity.” Please write your congressperson.
If I’m successful, Damphewmore Acres is a cinch to be declared the nation’s first “Patriotic Lawn” because nobody, and I mean nobody, has a better lawn of crabgrass and foxtail than I do!
One of my good buddies who regularly eats with us at the weekly Saffordville Old Boars’ Breakfast is about as much of a “clothes horse” as I am. We both have very exacting standards as to the work clothes we wear — namely, we both very stringently require that our work clothes cover the essentials. Beyond that, all else is fair game. His trademark is cutoff shirts. Mine is gum boots.
That’s why when my friend showed up at breakfast a couple of weeks ago wearing a work shirt that looked like the sleeves had been unevenly hacked off with a dull pair of scissors, one wag in the crowd inquired loudly, “who cut the sleeves out of your shirt?”
To which my friend replied loudly, “Why, I did.”
Which garnered this final quip, “It might work better next time if you took the shirt off first before you cut off the sleeves.”
That exchange got everyone in the mood for a humorous breakfast.
And, from my friend, Jay Esse, at Lakewood, Colorado, comes this meaningful story.
Abe, a 92-year-old retired, widowed rancher, and Gertrude, a 90-year-old retired farm widow, decided to get married.
During a deliberately slow trip to town, they discussed their wedding plans. As the crept around the town square, Gert spied a drug store and commanded Abe to “Stop here.”
Together they entered the drug store and hobbled their way to the pharmacist on duty. This conversation followed:
Abe: “You still sell medications here?”
Pharmacist: “Of course we do.”
Abe: “How about medication for circulation?”
Pharmacist: “All kinds and descriptions.”
A: “Medicines for rheumatism?”
A: “How about suppositories?”
P: “You bet.”
Gert: “Fill prescriptions for memory problems, arthritis, and Alzheimer’s?”
P: “We sell a large variety.”
Gert: “What about vitamins, sleeping pills, and Geritol?”
P: “Most certainly.”
A: “Meds for heartburn and indigestion?”
P: “Absolutely. Variety to your heart’s desire.”
Gert: “How about canes, wheelchairs, walkers and crutches?”
P: “Whole array at the front of the store.”
A: “Adult diapers?”
Gert and Abe together exclaim: “Well, this store is wonderfully perfect. We’ll use it for our bridal registry.”
Jay added these two gems in his letter. “Milo. this fits me more and more each year. ‘My mind is made up, so don’t confuse me with the facts.”’ And, “I bought some Ginseng to improve my memory, but I keep forgetting to take it.”
And, he included these two history lessons: Jacob German, age 26, was a taxi driver for the Electric Vehicle Company in New York City. He was the first American to get a speeding ticket. On May 20, 1899, he was jailed for “bolting” down Lexington Street in Manhattan at a speed of 12 mph in a 8 mph zone.
And, in 1899, a magazine called The Literary Digest opined the following prediction: “The ordinary ‘Horseless Carriage’ is at present a luxury for the wealthy, and although its price will probably fall in the future, it will never, of course, come into as common use as the bicycle.”
That magazine should have stuck to literature, not mechanics or prognostications.
For this week’s words of wisdom, Yankees’ manager Casey Stengel said, “Never make predictions, especially about the future.”
Despite Casey’s warning, I’m predicting fall will be be much cooler than summer.
Have a good ‘un.