OK, Now I've GOT To See If Her Forehead Truly Was Shiny?....

*

OMG, but my little sister (in Dallas) just met former President George W. Bush --- and she shook his hand and chatted with him!

She says he's "very warm, personable, and nice" --- and that he said he likes her "good Irish name"--- and the whole thing was photographed. (Yes, I've already asked for a copy of the pictures.)

But now she says "she wishes her forehead hadn't been shiny".....but I don't know what she's complaining about because my sister always looks "perfect".

*

*

The Flying Dutchman of I-635 (or Diggity Dawg Does Dallas)

Good bye hard life -- don't cry,

Would you let it ride?

*

You can't see the mornin',

but I can see the light,

Ride, ride, ride, let it ride...

*

While you've been out runnin'

I've been waitin' half the night,

Ride, ride, ride, let it ride.....

*

("Let It Ride" by Bachman, Turner Overdrive)

Christmas is coming, guys.... Has everybody been good? (You know Santa's making a list and checking it twice!) Speaking of Christmas, did anybody go to the Walmart Day-After-Thanksgiving-Sale? I was going to go, I truly was, but then I wimped out at the last minute. And I think it was because I got spoiled while visiting my sister in Dallas. Because she took me to the Biggest Walmart in the Entire World--and I mean, it was the most awesome Walmart I've ever seen in my entire life. I'll probably never be impressed by any other Walmart again. But speaking of big, EVERYTHING in Dallas is bigger---no, HUGER---than I'm used to here in Podunk. Dallas was actually where I went for my first job out of nursing school--I worked at Baylor--and I thought it was a Big City then. But oh, how it's grown. In fact, it's gotten so big---and I've gotten so used to Podunk---that I was completely in awe of the place the whole time I was there. Two days just wasn't enough to do everything there is to do in Dallas. And, drat, I forgot my dang digital camera and had to take pics with a $3.75 disposable camera. Which at first I thought was a great deal, but later realized wasn't such a great deal---because the stupid flash wouldn't work for crap on the thing. In fact, it was almost worthless for indoor pictures. But here's an outside shot of the Walmart---and it is so large that it won't even FIT into one picture. (That's the drive-thru pharmacy cut off on the right edge of the picture.) It's so big that I bet the whole town of Podunk would fit inside it. I'm not kidding---that place is huge. It has a "Home Decor" section, a "Starbucks-style" coffee bar, and it sells absolutely EVERYTHING under the sun. My sister told me that you can even buy $500.00 bottles of wine in their liquor section!

But I just can't imagine a wine snob buying a $500.00 bottle of wine there---because what on earth would they say when someone complimented them on it? "Oh, my, this is lovely wine, dah-ling," someone would say at their cocktail party, sipping out of a fancy Lenox goblet. "It has a good bouquet. Where did you get it?" And the hosts would have to lie like big dogs. Because they sure as hell wouldn't want to reply with the truth, saying "Oh, it's a nice '06 vintage we picked up for a song at Walmart-- and that bouquet you smell is probably a leftover wafting from the Scented Candle Section, which is right next to the Wine Section." (You see my point?) Anyway, they had a really huge Christmas tree in there under the American and Texan flags.

You know, Walmart aside, I was overwhelmed with the sheer size and modernity of ....well, everything in Dallas. I felt like a complete bumpkin country mouse there. And there's eighty zillion restaurants. You could eat at a different restaurant every day for ten years and never repeat the same place. My sister and I had lunch at a lovely place called La Madeleine's which contains a bistro-style restaurant, a French bakery, and a selection of gourmet coffees. I will go on record here to say that La Madeleine's makes the most delicious fruit tarts I've ever eaten in my entire life--- but it bugged me that you couldn't buy any of those wonderful little French pastries called madeleines in there. Dang it, you'd think they'd sell madeleines in there since they're called La Madeleine's, right? (When I mentioned this culinary failing to my well-mannered sister, she hissed in a stern whisper: "Don't you DARE ask them why they don't sell any damn madeleines. I've got a madeleine pan at the house and if you've absolutely GOT to have a damn madeleine I can make you some damn madeleines.")

I think she was a little touchy because one of my favorite things to do to her is to play one of my favorite games called "Embarass My Sister to Death In Public". (It's very similar to my other game, "Embarass My Mother To Death In Public".)

I will confess here that I simply cannot resist playing this game because my mother and sister are so very prim and proper. I know, I know---I'm utterly EVIL for doing such a bad thing, but I just can't help it! Because they're so prim and proper that they're simply TOO TEMPTING to resist. Their perfect manners and delicate countenances practically BEG for embarassment and mortification. I mean, they are two very beautiful ladies who never have a hair out of place, never do anything unladylike, and are utterly charming at all times....and whenever we're in public I find myself looking around for whoopee cushions or Groucho Marx spectacles---because it's just too delicious to see them turn three shades of pale and try to slink away un-noticed and pretend not to be related to me. I always follow and say things like: "She's trying to pretend she's not related to me--but she's my sister, everybody!"

(It's like a sickness with me.....I've been doing it for years.)

But .... surprise, surprise... when we were at Walmart and I started my predictable antics, my newly-confident sister slayed me with one simple statement. "Go ahead and try your shenanigans. It won't bother me in the least---because I'm immune to you."

But I wasn't worried. What? Immune to me? Bah! And so I tried everything on her---all my best ammunition, all my best routines. I tried the Country Bumpkin Routine where I talk in a Gomer Pyle voice and holler out things out like "Whar in the tarnation are them thar douche thangs?" but it didn't even phase her. She simply pointed her finger and replied evenly: "Over there in the Personal Hygiene Section."

So I tried the Rapper Video Routine where I strut up and down the aisles dancing and posturing like a rapper, saying things like "Yo! Yo! Yo! Hey homey-sistah--where's the Bling Section?" I glanced at her to see if she was mortified but she calmly turned to the shopper next to her and said: "The poor dear--we brought her out to shop for feminine hygiene items today, but she's got to be back at the Insane Asylum by 5:00 pm."

Her unexpected composure caused me to panic--and so I got desperate and started doing free-form clowning for all I was worth, all up and down the next few aisles, thinking that I'd fix her little red wagon for SURE---but it went wrong, so very, very wrong.....because I degenerated to such new lows that I actually embarassed MYSELF by resorting to scrubbing my armpits with a long-handled shower brush in the Bath & Body Section.

And it was then that I realized the terrible truth.....I simply didn't want to believe the horrible fact....(you don't think?!?).....and, reluctantly, I was forced to suddenly come to my senses, stopping dead in my tracks, completely horrified in the blinding flash of a moment of clarity...a moment which revealed the ugly truth to me.... that my sister has finally....and at long last.... truly become IMMUNE to me!

AAARGHHH and DAMMIT!

(I was going to try scrubbing my er...personal area, but couldn't bring myself---I simply didn't have the guts---and I knew, sadly, that it was the End of an Era....)

(Oh, the humility!.... But, sigh, I guess we all have to grow up some time...)

(I just hope she doesn't blab about this to my mother--because if my mother ever becomes immune to me then I'll truly be lost....)

Anyhoo, after our visit to La Madeleine's and the Biggest Walmart in the Entire World, my sister took me to an even MORE wonderful place.....which is The Woolie Ewe yarn store, YEAH!

When I saw that place, I thought Yarn Heaven, thy name is Woolie Ewe. Because I definitely thought I'd died and gone to Yarn Heaven, I really did. They had EVERYTHING in the world a knitter could want. Every shelf in there was draped, covered, and surrounded by all the most wonderful yarns, knitting books, yarns, needles, yarns, gadgets, yarns....and did I say, YARNS? All I could do was drool. Because it has literally been years since I was able to go to a real knitting store and pet the yarns.

I would have liked to go to a bunch of other knitting stores but we simply didn't have the time, and The Woolie Ewe is fairly near to my sister's neighborhood. I bought myself a sampler of some very luscious yarns, including some Schaefer "Miss Priss" in a couple of colors, some Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran, and some Plymouth metallic-flecked Mira Mira. I also grabbed some Addi Turbo's while I was there. There was a nice social group in there, sitting around a table knitting and talking--but alas, I was far too shy to say anything. (Yes, it's true---I'm extremely shy in public when acting respectable and not hollering in a Gomer Pyle voice about douches to my sister in Walmart--go figure.)

(And...well, also, I... er.....certainly didn't want to get myself thrown out of The Woolie Ewe in utter disgrace for something as ridiculous as playing the "Embarass My Sister To Death In Public" game in there, that's for dang sure. Believe me when I say that I was on my BEST BEHAVIOR in there...)

There is all kinds of wondrous shopping in my sister's lovely neighborhood. She lives in a story-book house in Carrollton where she does all her own landscaping and flower gardening. She's amazing, like my mother. (I don't know why they put up with me.)

And see that tree? Two years ago my teenaged niece hid an Easter Egg up in that tree during our family's Annual Adult Easter Egg Hunt. Yes, she actually hid an Easter Egg up there. Does she think I'm agile or something? I spotted the egg and claimed it for myself---but I made her climb up there and get it for my Easter Basket. Because although I can usually rise to any occasion, and have been known to hop many a ranch fence during my visits to patients, I am not quite up to tree-climbing with an Easter Basket on my arm during an Easter Egg Hunt....

Anyway, my sister and I had the greatest time ever during my trip to Dallas. My niece came home from Texas Women's University for the weekend and we watched movies and hung out. My sister didn't make me any madeleines but she did make me some homemade currant scones, which we had with our tea that Sunday morning as she showed me some of her artwork. She's an oil painter, like my mother, and also does needlepoint. Here's her staircase wall where she has some of hers (and my mother's) oil paintings and needlepoint, hanging near the picture of my grandfather wearing his cowboy hat:

As much as I love Dallas, it has really grown in size and hustle-bustle since I was there last. It's more cosmopolitan than ever before, and waaaay more sophisticated. Truly a great place for this little country girl to go shop and see the sights. There's really only one bad thing about Dallas and that is, of course....... THE TRAFFIC.

My GOD, but Dallas traffic is truly horrible. It is lunacy in motion. Because those people are insane. They WILL NOT LET YOU CHANGE LANES there. Really! They won't let you. If the other cars on the road even SUSPECT that you are going to change lanes, they will all speed up and box you in, preventing you from changing lanes. And if this happens to you while on Interstate 635 (which is configured in a big circle around Dallas) you could find yourself circling Dallas for all eternity. SERIOUSLY! You could end up becoming the dang Flying Dutchman of Interstate 635, and I am not kidding here.

Thus, you have to make a decision about where you're going to turn at least 5 miles away from where you actually want to turn--just so you can have time to do the required lane-changing. But I got stubborn. And mad. Those crazy Dallas drivers thought that they would frighten me, eh? Hell NO! They underestimated this little Road Nurse, OH, YES-SIR-EE-BOB!

Because, as they say here in Podunk, it ain't my first rodeo, ya get me? I practically LIVE on The Road!

So whenever I wanted to change lanes, I pulled out some of my good ole Dukes of Hazard techniques. I flipped on my turn signal, grimaced at the drivers near me, yelled something hideously wicked in my loudest hick voice, and then GUNNED THE ACCELERATOR, by God. And I'd subsequently barrel my way across the 6-lane highway like a bat out of hell. I changed lanes, dammit!

I don't know whether it was my redneck-style, bold, in-your-face driving that showed the Dallas drivers that I meant business or else my yelling and cursing in a totally hick, Daisy-May accent. But whatever it was, it worked. So just in case it actually WAS the stuff I was yelling-- and you would like to use such epithets for yourself the next time you're on Interstate 635 in Dallas-- here's some examples of Tried and True Hick Things to Yell on the Road at Insane Dallas Drivers (they worked for me and so I'm sure they'll work for you) (And be sure to yell them in your best hick accent--see my "Podunk Travel Guide" with the section on Hick Dialect and Terminology):

Example One: "YEE-HAH ya lilly-livered road hogs! Stick THAT up yer BMW!"

Example Two: "YEE-HAH--and tell THAT to the State Trooper, baby! CUZ HE'S WEARIN' A COWBOY HAT AND WON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A PISSANT TOYOTA!"

Example Three: "HOLD YER HORSES, greenhorns--cuz this Jeep's gonna CLOCK THE BARRELS!! So get the hell out of my way or be STOMPED TO DEATH!"

Example Four: "HOT DIGGITY DAWG, ya yeller-belly, egg-suckin' yard dog--it's TEN POINTS if I hit a PORSCHE!"

In defense of my violent nature here, you have to remember that I'm sooooo not used to traffic the likes of Dallas's. (Yes, I know that I didn't need the extra 's' on the end of 'Dallas' but that's the way I pronounce it and so I just can't resist spelling it that way.)

(I also pronounce the word "Crème Brûlée" incorrectly, pronouncing it instead using the hick dialect inflection of "creme BREW-lee" , a hideous sound which causes my sister to cringe in excrutiating pain every time she hears it.)

Anyhoo, I mean I'm used to the kinder, gentler traffic in Podunk where things go so slowly that I can gossip on the cell phone with Belinda, write Post-Its, ogle the paramedics hanging out in front of the Paramedics Barracks, eat hamburgers, wheedle doctors on the cell phone, argue with patients on the cell phone, and text-message...all while driving.

But all I could do in Dallas was grasp the steering wheel with both hands in a death-grip while staring in unabashed fear at the crowded highway in front of me--- while praying out loud to all that is holy that I'd make it off I-635 in one piece and alive. In fact, to prove my point, let me use illustrations. Here's a picture of the average Dallas death-trap road:

And here is a picture of the worst road-hazard that good ole Podunk traffic has to offer: See what I mean? Anyway, Dallas hazards aside, I made it back in time to make another Road Trip in the opposite direction to my mother's house for a wonderful Thanksgiving there. We had a houseful including myself, my sister and niece again, my nephew, and some family friends. It always cracks me up to watch my sister and mother in action in the kitchen because they are both "set in their ways" in regard to kitchen stuff. When I walked into the kitchen I could instantly see that there were "too many cooks" and so I wisely sat off to the side, knitting with my new yarn from the Woolie Ewe. The free-floating anxiety level in there was quite high and I think it was due to some sort of squabble over The Turkey. It seems that one of them wanted to use a Butterball Turkey but the other one wanted to use an "offbrand Turkey". I don't know who eventually won the squabble--- and I have no earthly idea which kind of turkey we actually ended up eating---but the dinner was fabulous and I brought home a week's worth of delicious leftovers. What cracked me up was that, at various times, I noticed my sister giving me "the look" behind my mother's back--which I, of course, have to "reply to" with a "look" of my own. And it drives my poor mother to distraction because she never really catches us in the act of "looking", but she definitely "suspects" that something's going on. So every fifteen minutes or so, just to prove that we're not fooling her, my mother will defiantly say something to the effect of "I know y'all are talkin' about me behind my back but I don't care!" But what my poor mother doesn't realize is that it just wouldn't be very much fun to have a family get-together if my sister and I couldn't give each other "the look" behind her back. I mean, what is being part of a pair of naughty sisters if you can't give each other "the look" behind your own mother's back? And my sister and I have raised the level of our facial expressions to a veritable art form--and I defy any professional mime to do it better. Our subtle, yet meaningful, looks can signify an entire host of maternal issue complaints--anything from "She's doing it again!" to "My God, she put the dog on a dang diet because the vet said that his body fat ratio was too high!" But my mother actually got off lightly at Thanksgiving---because at least my sister and I didn't play our truly favorite game. Which is where it all began, in childhood, when my sister and I were around 7 and 8 years old--- and we developed a serious vice playing that age-old game called "See-Food". Although I know that lots of children play "See-Food", I am proud to say that my sister and I raised the integrity of this game to Olympic Sport levels--and we were definitely Gold Medalists. The object of the game was twofold--that of causing your sister to observe your open mouth with chewed-up food in it, and that of NOT getting caught by one's parents. We two idgits shamelessly played this stupid game until we were well out of childhood. But then, alas, it all came to an ugly end. I had gone home during a college vacation one year and my sister and I happened to be playing the game during our evening meal---and, unbelievably, our deceptive skills slipped and my mother actually CAUGHT US in the act. We thought for a minute that both of us were doomed, but all my mother did was stare dumbfoundedly for a minute or two, the realization dawning upon her shocked face slowly ---and then she simply put down her napkin, turned to my father, and stated "So THAT'S what they've been doing all these years!" (I don't know whether the word "dumbfoundedly" exists or not, but somehow it just fits, you know?) I was telling my boss Lu-Lu about the whole "See-Food" thing thing and she confessed to an equally ingenious game that she and HER sister use to play behind their mother's back, the one called the "We're Not Really Sayin' Ugly Words" game (her telling of which caused me to practically PEE MY PANTS laughing.) Lu-Lu, like many of us here in Podunk, grew up in a strict Baptist home where "cussing" was totally forbidden. So she and her mischevious sister would titillate themselves (behind their mother's back, of course) by reciting, back and forth to each other, parts of "ugly-word" syllables--- and then laugh like hyenas as they sassily rationalized to themselves that they "hadn't actually said ugly words". The game goes like this: Lu-Lu says: "Duh..." Then Lu-Lu's sister says: "..amn" Lu-Lu says: "Sh..." Then Lu-Lu's sister says: "..it" Lu-Lu says: "Pee..." Then Lu-Lu's sister says: "..nis" Lu-Lu says: "Fuh...." (You get the picture?) If their mother had caught them doing this, they'd have both gotten whuppin's. But they never got caught, Lu-Lu said with satisfaction. (But then she ruefully added that she had gotten her just desserts because the game had "completely ruined cussing" for her forever --- because to this day she still can't enunciate a cuss word in its entirety at one time, and instead is only able to blurt out something like "Duh....AMN!" or "Shuh....IT" instead. "I'm cuss-word-challenged!" she wailed sadly. (And I'm dang glad that she cleared that up for us because we all thought she had a speech impediment or something.) (I guess you'd have to be two sisters who grew up in a strict Baptist home to see where games like "See-Food" and "We're Not Really Sayin' Ugly Words" would be considered funny as hell...) Where was I? Oh yes, Thanksgiving. How in the Sam Hill did I get onto the topic of all these stupid childhood games? Ahh well....perhaps it's simply my way of expressing (mourning?) the passing of my lost youth?... ....now that my dadgum sister is immune to me, sigh. Anyway, my trip to Dallas and Thanksgiving at my mother's was great. And I get to look forward to doing it all over again at Christmas. And I will eat like a Queen for a week on those Thanksgiving leftovers. And, so, I returned to my beloved Podunk, my Jeep's trunk overflowing with a bounty of turkey leftovers, yarns from The Woolie Ewe, a red tea-kettle and colander from The Biggest Walmart in The Entire World... and now I can settle in for the business of Getting Ready For Christmas. * I knew I was truly home today when I went out onto my balcony... and I could hear the faint sounds of the cattle auctioneer in the distance---and I suddenly remembered that there's a Cattle Auction today up by the Fire House. Home Sweet Home......

* * * * *

A Rip-Roarin' Road Nurse Weekend....

Well I've been sorta worried,

About Santa Claus this year

Cause we live way down south,

And it didn't snow down here,

But I'm telling you not to worry,

Cause I just got the word,

Everybody listen closely,

And I'll tell you what I heard,

Santa's comin' in a pickup....

* * *

(Alan Jackson, "Santa's Gonna Come in a Pick-Up Truck")

* *

Look! The leaves in ranch country are starting to turn beautiful fall colors. Cool, huh?

* *

Hey, I'm excited as HECK because my sister has invited me to Dallas. I'm goin' to the Big City, yee-hah! She has promised to take me to knitting supply stores and....Joy!....a Dallas-sized Walmart! I'm really looking forward to haunting the yarn stores in the "big city", and I certainly hope I don't betray my bumpkin self with my hick accent. And thus, since I won't be here next weekend and the following week is Thanksgiving, I decided to use this past weekend to get caught up on my unpacking--- which I still haven't finished from my recent move. (Sigh...I know it's been a month---but remember, they only gave me two days off to move and I've been the on-call nurse for two of the last 6 weekends...) Anyway, I came straight home after work on Friday after telling everybody I was going to be "completely unavailable" for the duration of the weekend. I told everybody that I wouldn't answer my phone till Monday--- I VOWED that nothing would disturb me while I carried out my weekend plans. And then I locked my front door and happily settled in to unpack and organize to my heart's content. I wanted nothing more than to wallow in a full two days' worth of "piddling around" doing nothing but unpacking boxes, putting up shelves, hanging pictures, organizing cupboards, etc. etc. In the past month I have been able to get a few things done, in select areas of the apartment, like this little wall in the kitchen---

*

But I must admit that most of the apartment still looks like this room: And although I told all my friends that I wouldn't be answering the telephone all weekend, I wasn't going to be totally alone---because of course I did my usual which is to leave all the TV's on in the background tuned to some good ole movies, for "background noise". There's nothing I love better than piddling around my apartment with some good ole movies to keep me company. What is a "good ole movie"? Well, there's certain things that make a movie "a good ole movie". And I know, because I am a Movie Hound. And I'm kind of picky about what makes a movie a good ole movie. I categorize movies into several categories, i.e. "trash movies", "okay movies", and "good ole movies". And one thing about the state of moviedom these days is that it's getting harder and harder to find good ole movies. But they do exist. Criteria for a Good Ole Movie: I'm old fashioned. I love the kind of movies where there's "Wholesome Good Guys",

...and "Dastardly Bad Guys" (or "Dastardly Bad Ladies" if you will....)

...and also a complicated, "Rip-Roaring Good Story".

(Pay no attention to that infernal clock. I know it's in the wrong place---I only stuck it there to keep it out of the way while I worked on other areas of the apartment. It will be moved to a hallway shortly.) Too many crappy movies these days remind me of video games--- where all the characters look alike and are wearing designer clothes while they either shoot each other a zillion times, blow up buildings, crash cars or trains, and/or perform acrobatic martial arts---and you're left wondering what in the hell the whole point of it was because the story line was so dumb and unbelievable that it was complete crap. Give me a good ole movie where the Wholesome Good Guys in light-colored clothing are trying to Do Something Noble while the Dastardly Bad Guys in dark clothing are trying to Take Over the World and kill the Wholesome Good Guys--- and there's such an extremely intelligent, complicated story line that you become riveted to your chair, staring at the screen, while shouting comments like: "No, it's not like that at all, Han Solo! Princess Leia is really Luke's SISTER, for God's sakes!" It's also great if the good ole movie's Wholesome Good Guys have Loveable Sidekicks who do funny stuff and help them thwart the Dastardly Bad Guys: I love to cheer on and root for the Wholesome Good Guy (or Wholesome Chickens, as in the case of the movie "Chicken Run"). And what's even better is if there's a CHOICE of Wholesome Good Guys to root for...and ..er..admire. (Like Han Solo instead of Luke Skywalker, for instance.)

(Okay, I admit it---I like Han Solo because I have "issues" and....uh....tend to like the "bad boys"---but let's not go into my psychological problems right now...) (No, I didn't put a picture of him here because I was too busy slobbering over the TV screen whenever his scenes played, drat...)

Anyway, so there I was watching movies while I unpacked the apartment this weekend. But I should have known that I wouldn't get a completely phone-free weekend. Because the cell phone started ringing Friday night, shortly after I tore into my first box. Of course it was Belinda, who wanted to finish telling me the saga of how she finally quit her Road Nurse Company. She's been trying to get up the courage to quit ever since I quit the same company last summer. And let me tell you, I wasn't surprised that Belinda ignored my desire to be free-from-the-cell-phone for two days. Belinda will call me ANYWHERE at ANY TIME. It doesn't matter where I am or what I am doing, Belinda will call me on the cell phone.

I have answered cell phone calls from Belinda while shopping in Walmart, while sitting in traffic, while dropping off clothes at the cleaners, while sitting nekkid in a doctor's examing room, while peeing in the bathroom, while taking a patient's temperature, while picking cow pies out of the tread of my Road Nurse shoes on a ranch, while running for my life from a Ranch Dog, while ordering an ice cream cone at the Dairy Queen Drive-Thru Window, while waiting to deposit my paycheck at the bank's Drive-Thru Window, and even once while I was herding cows with Bonnie (remember the Rickenbocker Ranch!?!....)

But the good thing about Belinda is that she completely understands today's Cell Phone Etiquette, which is much less strict than the regular phone etiquette of the olden days when we didn't have cell phones.

Remember the days when there were no cell phones? In those days, when someone called you, you HAD to listen to them for a "decent" length of time. Phoning someone was such a social occasion that you just couldn't bring yourself to be rude and tell the caller that you couldn't talk right then. Getting off the phone used to be such a tricky issue. I used to have a whole list of plausible get-off-the-phone excuses that I could use to help me get off the phone, things like "I've gotta go---I'm bleaching my roots right now and it's been 23 minutes" or "I've gotta go---there's somebody at the door and I think it's the UPS Man". But it was a hassle because you'd always have to remember your lies in case you ever saw that person and they looked at your roots or asked you what you got from UPS. You never wanted to hurt someone's feelings.

But cell phones have changed all that. These days you don't have to worry about it anymore, because either party can get off the phone INSTANTLY without offending the caller or callee, not only because the get-off-the-phone-excuses are better, but because they're REALLY TRUE. And also, since everybody carries their cell phone with them at all times, a caller can simply call the person back 45 minutes later whenever they finish whatever they're doing. Because nobody could ever get their feelings hurt over the following get-off-the-phone-excuses:

"I've got to go--- I'm in the McDonald's Drive-Thru and it's my turn to order."

"I've got to go--- my call-waiting just beeped and it's my boss."

"I've got to go--- I'm done peeing and there's three people waiting in the toilet line."

"I've got to go----I'm almost at my Interstate Exit and I need both hands to steer."

"I've got to go--- there's a cop behind me."

Anyway, Belinda started calling me on Friday night and I had to answer it. I was in the middle of unpacking a huge box while slobbering over a gorgeous Han Solo on the television screen, wishing he'd fly me away somewhere in the Millenium Falcon space ship. "What are you up to?" I asked her, noting that I heard the clink of margarita glasses in the background. That meant she was drowning her sorrows at the Mexican Restaurant. "Okay, I did it. I finally did it. I quit that damn company," she reported, taking a big swig of her margarita. "Remember I told you yesterday that I was going to give my two-week notice today? Well I did, but they wouldn't allow me to work the rest of the two weeks. They told me to just go ahead and clean out my desk and leave at 4pm."

*

"You know they always do that when Road Nurses quit," I told her. "They don't want you to spend the next two weeks blabbing about how you're leaving to go work for Company X in case those patients who really like you decide to switch companies in order to follow you to the new Road Nurse Company." "I know, I know," she said, taking another gulp. "But I think they're jerks for doing that. I think they ought to have to pay me for that two weeks. I have SOOOOOO had it with their crap."

And even though she had already told me all the reasons she was quitting the company, she told me all over again--- the whole story again about the things that made her angry enough to finally quit the company. "First they announced that they were going to "crack down" on what they call "excessive absenteeism". But the only time I've called in sick myself was when my child was in the hospital. I mean, I couldn't help my child being hospitalized for an allergic reaction, for God's sakes!"

*

"I know, but you know how they are," I told her for the one zillionth time since I've known her. "You know very well that they're so cold blooded that they wouldn't care if your entire family was lined up in matching coffins at the funeral home and the preacher was in the middle of the Eulogy---they'd STILL expect you to miss the funeral and come into work, come hell or high water."

Belinda continued her ranting. I think she was frothing at the mouth. (Or it might have been the salt from the margarita.)

"And THEN the boss called me into her office and formally wrote me up for those absences. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell that....that HORSE'S PATOOT to stuff her Absence Report right up her....her PATOOT!" "Why didn't you?" I asked her. "I would have." "I believe you would have," she replied. "In fact, everybody over there STILL remembers the day you quit, when you told them---if I remember correctly---that they were all a bunch of 'goddang, slave-driving yay-hoos who were all destined to go to Medicare Hell'".

*

"But it's the truth," I replied. "They ARE a bunch of goddang slave-driving yay-hoos. Remember that time I was half-nekkid in a gown at the doctor's office and the boss called me on the cell phone to remind me to tell the doctor that we needed three more patients to meet our monthly quota?"

*

"Yes, I remember," she sighed. "She called me for the same dang thing when I was at my child's bedside in the hospital."

*

"There you go, then," I stated with a degree of finality, hoping that she was finished ranting. Because I was getting interested in the TV screen--because Han Solo was about to kiss Princess Leia... and I wanted to imagine that I was Princess Leia, only I wouldn't be coy like she was--- I would throw myself into Han's arms and tell him that I'd be his loving Princess Road Nurse forever, and that we could just leave silly ole Luke Skywalker and the rest of the yay-hoos behind on the Death Star, and we could fly away together in the Millenium Falcon to a nice little planet where there was a nice little Space-House with a Two-Spaceship-Garage, and I could go shopping for groceries at an Interstellar Walmart down the street, and me and Han could go bowling every Friday night with the gang....

Where was I? Oh yes, listening to Belinda. I thought she was finished but she wasn't. Because then she told me the clincher.

"The absolute last straw was that....that MEMO!" she declared in a controlled whisper.

*

"What memo?" I asked impatiently.

*

"THE memo. They put it in our paycheck envelopes and made us open them during Case Conference--and we absolutely couldn't believe what the memo said...."

*

"Yes?" I urged, holding my breath in anticipation.... "So what on earth did it say?"

*

"Well first it listed a whole bunch of budget cuts they were making and how they wanted us to cut costs. They said that we would no longer receive free employee insurance and that we'd have to pay for it in the future. Then they said we shouldn't call 'Information' for phone numbers we couldn't find, and that we'd have to look up the numbers on the internet instead. Then they said they weren't going to pay for our uniforms to be cleaned and pressed anymore. None of this stuff was all that bad, you know? But then... right at the end of the memo... they said the last and worst thing.....which is that our office has been going through too much toilet tissue and that they want people to cut down on the amount of TOILET PAPER they use!!!"

Although this is pretty unbelievable, it was absolutely true. And I cracked up laughing when I heard it, as did the rest of the town once the story was leaked. In fact, once all the other local Road Nurse Companies heard this news about my old company's attempted cost-cutting measures via limiting the employees' toilet tissue--- that company's management instantly became a virtual laughing-stock. HAH! Because whoever heard of the NERVE? An employer trying to tell a bunch of nurses exactly how much toilet paper to use?!

"What a bunch of goons!" I giggled. "You should have told them that you could go home to take a you-know-what but then they'd probably write you up for the absence!"

*

"Actually, Bonnie DID made a crack," she said, chuckling at the memory. "Bonnie piped up and asked them why they didn't just simply 'issue each Road Nurse a roll of toilet paper like they do the prisoners in the County Jail?'--and the boss almost had an apoplectic fit, calling us all 'uncooperative smart-alecks'. But Bonnie had a point, don't you think?"

Anyway, after talking to Belinda a little more and getting a great laugh about the Toilet Tissue Memo, I returned to my unpacking and movies, thinking that I'd for sure be able to get some peace and quiet now that she'd finally quit the old Road Nurse Company. Before she got off the phone she told me that she would start at a new Road Nurse company on Tuesday. We made plans to go to lunch together to celebrate her new job on Monday or Tuesday---anywhere except the Sonic, because Belinda says that she doesn't want me to knock any more pieces off their debit-card shelves. I told her that it was a one-time fluke, but we're going to avoid the Sonic all the same....

(Switching Road Nurse Companies doesn't make a dang bit of difference to either of our schedules as she'll still be working on the same dang Road that I'm working, in the same dang area that I'm working, doing the same dang thing that I'm doing....)

Saturday dawned pretty cold and I had to turn on the heater again. But I never stopped my relentless unpacking and movie-watching. I continued. I wanted to figure out where to hang my Toulouse-Lautrec pictures. I "practice-hung" them all over the apartment and couldn't figure out where they looked the best. That's probably because I don't have anything else that goes with Moulin-Rouge style, but that is besides the point. I love those dang pictures. I figure it's as close as I'm going to get to Paris any time soon.....

Oh, I forgot to mention a few other things that a good ole movie has got to have.

Besides having a Beautiful Heroine for the Wholesome Good Guy to kiss (and it's okay if that person is a fairy, like Tinkerbell or somebody), there has also got to be a Kindly Wise Man or Woman somewhere in the movie--someone older and kind of spiritual (like Obi-Wan-Kenobi or Glenda the Good Witch, for example)---who gives heartwarming and encouraging speeches to the Wholesome Good Guy and the Beautiful Heroine, to give them courage for their Quest. Which is another important ingredient---every good ole movie has got to have its "Quest"--which is the whole reason for what everybody in the movie is doing. You know, some sort of "terribly dangerous and difficult journey, filled with overwhelming obstacles and terrors" which the Wholesome Good Guy and the Beautiful Heroine must undertake in order to Save Everybody.

*

(And the Dastardly Bad Guy chases them all through the Quest--which, if it's a really good story, will have you spell-bound for the entire time, biting your nails, dropping your popcorn at the scary parts, and cheering out loud when the Wholesome Good Guy finally kills the Dastardly Bad Guy and Saves Everybody.)

*

(I'm going to admit here that when I saw the movie "Chicken Run" in a movie theater for the first time, I actually clapped my hands, stomped my feet, and cheered out loud when the Wholesome Good Chickens finally flew over the fence of the chicken farm in their home-made flying machine.)

(Okay, and I'm also going to admit that I had to dab my tear-filled eyes with a Kleenex after that because I had gotten so choked up about the whole thing---what with all that emotional worrying for two hours about just how those poor chickens were ever going to get free of the Evil Chicken Farm Owners and all---but I'm emotional like that about Happy Endings, okay?...)

(Most of the children in the movie theater looked at me like I was purely crazy when I did that---and I think I overheard some smart-aleck little creep saying something about "stupid idiots who cry at cartoons".)

(Okay, I am crazy but that's besides the point.)

(I wish the chickens on the chicken farms here in Greater Podunk could build a flying machine and fly out of their chicken farm pens.)

(But then, sigh.....there probably wouldn't even be a Greater Podunk if there were no Chicken Industry, would there?--Oh well.....)

Anyhoo, speaking of good ole movies, I got to see the "real" Ruby Slippers this weekend, hot dang!

I know I'm probably boring you to tears, but I've just got to mention one thing. It's that there's one particular little thing I like about "The Wizard of Oz" ---- which is a little-noticed scene that probably nobody but me ever really notices. And maybe I notice it simply because I've watched this movie about 1,439 times. But have you ever noticed the "Egg Hatching Scene"? It's a scene in the part where they're singing "Ding Dong The Witch is Dead", dancing around Munchkin Land, and everybody's joyful because Dorothy's house landed on the Wicked Witch.

It's a scene where some of the Munchkins are dancing up some stairs and there's a sweet little nest holding eggs---and then the eggs HATCH into cute little babies! You don't believe me? You've got to watch carefully for this scene because it's quick. Here's the scene---see the eggs?

And then here's the eggs hatching, Tah-Dah! See the little Munchkin babies coming out? I LOVE this scene. (Sorry, the picture's a little blurred):

Anyway, the whole dang good ole movie must be wrapped up at the end with The Happy Ending, which is even better if there is a Moral to the Story. Like at the end of the movie "Hook", when Robin Williams saves his children from Captain Hook, brings them back from Never Never Land, and promises to be a Good Father forever.

The only thing I don't like about "Hook" is their choice of Julia Roberts for the fairy Tinkerbell. She just doesn't strike me as very Tinkerbell-ish. She's too Pretty-Woman-ish or too Sleeping-With-the-Enemy-ish. I really think they should have picked somebody else---like Darryl Hannah or Winona Ryder or somebody---to play Tinkerbell, somebody more flighty or air-brained----well, more Tinkerbell-ish):

Right after the good ole movie "Hook" my cell phone rang again. This time it was my boss, Lu-Lu. She was moving into a new house over the weekend and had run out of gas while towing a trailer holding her new washer & dryer.

"Lu-Lu, you have GOT to be kidding me," I said in disbelief. "No Road Nurse in the history of the mankind has EVER run out of gas." "I did, I did!" she wailed into the cell phone. "And you've GOT to save me! You've got to come and bring me some gas!" I was dumbstruck. I simply could not fathom that she had run out of gas. "A Road Nurse running out of gas is simply NOT POSSIBLE!" I exclaimed. "It's....it's...it's just plain shameful, that's what it is! It's like a mail-man getting lost on the way to the Post Office. It's like the Walmart clerk not knowing where the Customer Service Desk is. It's like a doctor not having a stethoscope...." *

"Dr. Jenkins loses his damn stethoscope ALL THE TIME!" she hollered. "I know, because he used to steal mine all the time when I worked at the hospital. Now will you pleeeeeeeese just bring me some damn gasoline???" And just then, something else occurred to her.... "Oh my GOD....don't TELL anybody about this!" she whispered, stricken with fear and dread. "Nobody can EVER find out that I ran out of gas --- because it would positively RUIN ME in Road Nurse Legend and Lore!!!!" I could understand her dilemma. Lu-Lu is very scatterbrained and has definitely pulled some pretty crazy stunts, but running out of gas would be extremely embarassing to a well-known Road Nurse. And a well-known Road Nurse running out of gas during this particular week would be even more damaging to a reputation--- especially since everybody we know is busy enjoying the discomfort of our competitor's chagrin over the gossip about their Toilet Tissue Memo---and our own Road Nurse Company most certainly wouldn't want a story about our boss running out of gas overshadowing that company's honored place under the Ridicule Spotlight... And she was also right about Road Nurse Legend and Lore. Lu-Lu has definitely earned her place in the Road Nurse Hall of Fame through all of her adventures on the Road and also her sheer hard work and determination--and I'd certainly hate to see her hard-won reputation go down in flames over this little episode.

But I was still irked with her because I was trying to get my apartment organized and I certainly hadn't planned on gallavanting all over God's Creation to carry gasoline. But I told her I'd bring her the gas. (Actually, it's not entirely true that no Road Nurse in the history of mankind has ever run out of gas. There's an old story, whispered about around Road Nurse campfires, about a famous Texan Road Nurse in the 50's named Delilah-Dallas--- who once ran out of gas on her way home after a day of seeing patients in Ranch Country. As the story is told, she was also making a bootlegging run to a dry county and was carrying a bunch of moonshine in her vehicle's trunk. And it is said that when the ever-resourceful Delilah-Dallas ran out of gas, she simply poured some of the moonshine booze into her fuel tank and continued on her way--and that she was forever called "Smokey" after that. I don't know if this story is true or not, but those who tell the story swear it's the God's Honest Truth...) Where was I? Oh yes, talking to Lu-Lu on the cell phone....

"I'll come save you, but would you please tell me how in the hell you didn't know that you were running out of gas?" I griped, still peeved at having to leave my movies and unpacking. "It's cuz I'm in my boyfriend's Chevy pick-up truck," she explained breathlessly. "And his fuel guage is broken---and it ALWAYS says it's on empty. So of course I didn't pay any attention to it." This was partially believable but incomplete---so I just had to ask.....

"How long has it been since you filled your tank up?" "I don't know," she replied. "Maybe two days ago...." "Lord Jesus, Lu-Lu!" I screamed. "Any nincompoop knows that pick-up trucks are Gas Hogs! You're a damn Road Nurse, Lu-Lu----which means that you're supposed to know the precise gas mileage, dollar per dollar, on every known vehicle in God's Creation, ESPECIALLY FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE!" So I lectured awhile, all about how 4-wheel drive pick-up trucks are gas hogs and can suck up a huge tank of gas in no time flat, and how she should have filled up at least every other day, etc. etc., nag nag nag...but I finally wound down and told her I was going to shut up and bring her the gas. She was silent, so I thought I'd really made an impression on her. "I'm sorry, I had you on hold just now," she said, coming back onto the line. She'd had me on hold for my entire lecture! "I was talking to my mother," she chirped. "And hey, I'm thirsty. Could you get me a Pepsi while you're at the gas station?"

So I put on my favorite Deer Hunting Season sweat pants (they're Camouflage print and were on sale for $11.95 at Walmart), drove over to the gas station, and bought one of those "Emergency Gasoline Containers" they sell. It cost $6.95 and only held one measly gallon of gas. And I bet I spilled two gallons on me trying to fill the stupid thing up. Have you ever seen one of them? They're flat boxes--and you have to unfold them, stretch out the plastic bag on the inside, fill the thing with gasoline, and then attach the pour spout.

After I got the gas, I drove to where Lu-Lu was stranded, a spot about 14 miles out of town. She was sitting in the truck's cab, blasting an Alan Jackson CD on the stereo. "Santas Gonna Come in a Pick-Up Truck!" she sang as I climbed out of the Jeep, bringing the Emergency Gas Container and a cloud of gas fumes with me.

*

"This Santa is going to fling that CD across the road like a Frisbee if you don't help me with this dadgum gasoline!" I told her. "And God help us if anybody sees us here--- we'll be the laughing-stock of Greater Podunk!" *

"Oh, don't get your panties in a wad," she laughed, snapping her fingers to the beat of the tune. "Nobody's going to see us, Worry Wart."

*

"Whatever you do, just don't light a damn match," I moaned, feeling faint from the gas fumes. *

Together, we up-ended the flimsy gasoline container into the pick-up truck's tank, spilling even more of it all over both of us. About 348 vehicles passed us on the road while we were doing this---but neither of us looked up. We kept our heads down, hoping that nobody would recognize us and ruin our reputations in Road Nurse Legend and Lore for running out of gas. "This ought to be enough to get you to the gas station," I said when we finished. "But I'll bet that this one piddly little gallon won't last 15 minutes in this giant pick-up truck. It'll probably snort it all up as soon as you turn the ignition on. So just drive like hell to the nearest gas station, and whatever you do--- don't run the air conditioner!" She took off with a wave and I followed her all the way to the gas station to make sure she made it in one piece. Then....I FINALLY went home to return to my unpacking and phone-free weekend.

When I got home I peeled off my gasoline-soaked clothing, cursing Lu-Lu's ding-battiness, and threw the items into the washing machine. And since I was going to do a load of laundry, I decided to throw the rest of my stuff--my dirty Road Nurse uniforms--into the load....

And to my utter mortification, when the load of wash was finished and I opened the washing machine lid to take everything out for the dryer---EVERYTHING smelled like gasoline. AAAARGHHHHHH!!!!! I washed everything again. Opened the washing machine lid. Sniffed. Gasoline smell. I washed everything again. Opened the washing machine lid. Sniffed. Gasoline smell. I ranted and raved to myself awhile, all alone in the apartment, cursing the cosmos and cell phones in general....

But then I finally did something smart. I looked on the internet. And sure enough, there were lots of helpful websites instructing on "laundry remedies". And so, after reading the information on several such sites, I opted to try ALL the remedies at once (not wanting to waste any more time doing endless loads of laundry)---and so I dumped EVERYTHING that had been suggested into my next washing cycle: a box of Arm & Hammor Baking Soda, a bottle of gourmet rice vinegar, some Pine-Sol, and a bottle of Johnson's & Johnson's Baby Oil. And guess what? It worked.

And then..... at last.... and finally.... I was able to continue my unpacking and organizing of the apartment. And I ultimately decided to put the Toulouse-Lautrec prints over the stove.

I have no idea why I put them there except they just seem to "go". And so there they'll stay.

(What would really be great is if I could find a teapot that matches Moulin-Rouge theme while I'm shopping in Dallas......)

(I wonder if there IS such a thing as a Moulin-Rouge themed tea-pot?)

(Never mind, I don't care. What I really want to see in Dallas is the yarn stores, anyway.....)

* * * * *

Voting Day in Podunk, Texas

Today was Voting Day in Podunk. And they do Voting Day a little differently here in Podunk than they do in "The Big City". In "The Big City", candidates running for office put their names on the ballots, host events to promote their candidacy, hand out leaflets touting their political pedigrees and qualifications, buy commercial time on the local TV stations to spread their viewpoints, and take part in debates with opposing candidates in order to allow people to see them discuss important and pertinent issues. Podunk candidates do that, too. But they also do something else--they get a little more "personal" in their campaign behaviors--something that you won't often find candidates doing in "The Big City"--- This morning when I arrived at work, I noticed one of the candidates for the County Judge position---and he was standing on the street corner out front of our office holding a sign that stated: "So-and-So for County Judge!" And he literally stood there all day long campaigning for himself---in fact, he's standing there right now as I write this, since the polls don't close till 7 o'clock pm--holding his sign, waving at the passing vehicle drivers, campaigning for himself --- along with his wife, his children, and all his friends. They're all standing out there, wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, the men in cowboy hats--all waving their campaign signs. And the local traffic is loving it. The passing cars have been honking their horns in support of the family affair all day long. We Road Nurse girls took them out some coffee and donuts about mid-morning. And somebody else took them lawn chairs patterned like the Texas Flag. And then later we girls also took them out some hot-links from Daddy Hawg's Hot-Links for lunch. (Although we had to send Buford Winnison back to get some extra mustard because some idgity Road Nurse forgot to bring some....) All day long this family campaigned for the County Judge candidate, waving enthusiastically at all the passing cars and trucks who then obligingly honked their horns back merrily in reply, big friendly smiles on all the campaigners' faces. I had to admire their commitment and fortitude--because Lordy mercy, I can't believe they didn't get tired of all that endless waving, hour after hour, smiling and looking like they were having a blast. And since our office building is situated right next door to both the hospital's Paramedic Barracks and the local Firehouse #2, it meant that along with the passing motorists' horns blaring in support of the street-corner judge candidate, we were also graced with the additional noise of intermittent fire-truck and paramedic sirens, the combination of which created a complete cacaphony for most of the day. (In fact, I highly suspect that some of the paramedics and firemen were setting off their sirens every single time they drove by just for the purpose of joining into all that noisy fun--as I really don't completely believe that they could have possibly had THAT MANY emergency calls today.....) (And in fact, again, I wonder if whether the candidate actually picked this particular location for just that strategy--in order to make it seem like the sirens were just for him! Because whenever one of the Paramedic Trucks took off with its sirens and lights blazing, the candidate and his friends held up their campaign signs even higher, thrusting them up and down in time with the siren, and looking for all the world like it was an election rally ....) (Note: in spoken hickese, "siren" is actually pronounced "sireen"...) Anyhoo, at about 1pm in the afternoon, the owner of the building saw me in the hall on my way to the ladies room. The owner of our building is, as they say in Texas, in oil. (There's a picture of the first oil well he ever dug hanging in the lobby.) I was surprised to see him today because he's usually in Dallas doing his Oil Business, leaving his sons to run his buildings and business dealings here in Podunk. His sons usually run our office building pretty well except that they insist on putting signs up for every little thing. There are signs by the front and back doors that say: "Please turn out the lights if you are the last one to leave the building in the evenings." A nice thought--and totally fine except....how in the hell would a person KNOW if they're the last one leaving the building? There's about 6 different companies in this building--and one wouldn't always necessarily KNOW whether or not they were the last person leaving, you get my drift? And I don't really want to go around knocking on office doors to check, know what I mean? There's also signs in the ladies' room. One reason is because there's a "sticky toilet" in there--it's the one in the middle. It sometimes gets stuck flushing and won't stop. So in each toilet stall booth there is actually a sign which, unbelievably, says the following: "The plumbing in here is tricky. Please make sure the toilet in the middle flushes completely when you are finished. If the toilet gets stuck and won't stop flushing, flush the toilet next to it to see if that will work. If that doesn't work, tell Wanda-Evelyn in the front office. If it's a weekend and Wanda-Evelyn isn't here and you don't know her cell phone number, please call Chip Beasely, the plumber, at ###-####." I'm not sure why they have never simply replaced the dang thing except that I guess they just trust us to follow the signs' directions. And there's another sign in the ladies' bathroom, over the door, that says: "If you are the last one out of the bathroom, please turn out the lights". Now that's easy--I always know whether or not I'm the last one out of the bathroom. But as for the flushing problem--I've never had to go to the third tier of the solution sequence because I've always gotten the sticky toilet to stop flushing by simply flushing the toilet next to it. (The first time that particular toilet ever did that to me, both of the other toilet stalls next to me were occupied---so I nervously cleared my throat in preparation to say something to either of the women in there about the flushing trick --- but the one on my right beat me to it by calling out to reassure me: "Don't worry, hon--I'm going to flush in a minute." It was Wanda-Evelyn.) Anyway, the owner of the building was in from Dallas today, on hand for the election. "Little girl?" he called, removing his cowboy hat. "Little girl, ah wonder if you girls could kindly do me a big ole favor?" (Note--in Texan hick town etiquette, distinguished older men always call younger women "little girl" --- and it doesn't mean anything chauvinistic or condescending. It just means that they think you are much younger than they are. If they thought you were older than them, they'd call you "ma'am", and that's okay, too.) "Of course, sir," I said. "What can we do for you?" "Have y'all registered to vote? If so, my friend is out there on the street corner--running for office. If y'all git a chance today, could y'all git on over to the votin' place and put in a plug fer mah friend?" "It's already taken care of, sir," I told him. "We took him and his family lunch a little while ago, and now Lu-Lu's gonna let all of us girls go over and vote." "Thankee kindly, sugarplum," he replied. "Y'all have a nice day," and he continued ambling on down the hall to his office, probably to do more Oil Business. I was going to ask him how bad the traffic is in Dallas these days but I didn't want to put him in a bad mood. (And I tried to get a peak into his office when he opened its door---I've been told there's a big marble statue of an oil rig in there--- but I didn't want to look obvious about being nosy, so I missed it.) I thought about what he'd asked of me, but I also thought about my own reasons for whether or not I wanted to vote for the judge candidate out on the street corner. And I have to admit up front that I haven't really studied all the political facts about the candidate---or his opponent for that matter. But I did think about the following: That poor man has been out there all dang day, campaigning for himself in the sun and wind, standing up on his feet the whole time. I've not seen him sit down ONCE all day long, not him nor his family. And, thus, here's the way I figure it: He's been standing out there for 12 solid hours---so he ain't afraid of hard work. He's wearing jeans--so he's not an "uptight" sort. He waves at strangers---so he's not snobby or "uppity". His family is helping him out wholeheartedly---so he's definitely a family man. He's got friends campaigning for him in the halls of local businesses---so he's definitely a local man who knows his constituency. (Did I spell "constituency" right??) And as an added bonus, the guy also eats hot-links with mustard from Daddy Hawgs Hot-Links---so he's definitely not some hoity-toity type around whom you wouldn't feel comfortable eating spare ribs with your bare hands then licking the sauce off your fingers. All of the above are great qualities in a man--just the kind of hardworking man that Podunk needs as a County Judge, right? This is definitely a sincere, hardworking family man who obviously cares about his community very much and is down-to-earth enough to entrust with the important job of deciding local law disputes down at the Podunk Courthouse. And also, it crossed my mind that this is the sort of man that...er....just in case I ever have the unfortunate misfortune to ever be in some sort of situation in which I was in court, in front of him, for some sort of traffic violation or something--- and perhaps I just so happened to be short on cash for whatever hefty fine was involved or some such thing... ...then perhaps I could CERTAINLY remind him that I was the nice little Road Nurse who brought him donuts, coffee, and hot-links on Election Day..... Hell, he's got my vote!!

* * * * *