Arkansas!

Last weekend we went to Arkansas for a family reunion. We took along our 3-year-old nephew for entertainment. Actually, we just thought it would be fun if he got to go; and we thought his parents might enjoy a break since they had just moved and were trying to get settled. For us, it turned out to be fun and entertaining.

My brother dropped him at our house about 9:30. We loaded up his gear and went inside to get my stuff. He picked up a pair of swimming goggles and tried them on. “Cool… everything is blue. Can I borrow these?” We were in the house for about 3 minutes, in which time he borrowed a small stuffed animal and the goggles.

Grandma (my mother) rode with us, too. Our first stop, and a major priority, was for hearing aid batteries. Then we were off. Every now and then we would ask Nathaniel, “Where are we going?” and he would shout, “Arkansas!” Obviously, the irony of such enthusiasm about a trip to Arkansas was lost on him, but it made the rest of us chuckle.

Nathaniel was hungry about half an hour into the trip, but we had to drop the dog off before we could stop to eat. We asked him what he wanted to eat, and he said, “A CHEETHEBURGER!”. Mark asked if he wouldn’t rather have buzzard, and he just said, “No, I want a cheethburger… and French frieth”. Throughout the weekend whenever we were discussing where and what we would eat, the same buzzard conversation came up. Sometimes he preferred a grilled cheese sandwich … and French fries. After we dropped off the dog, we went to the Hitchin’ Post in Pilot Knob and he got his cheeseburger and fries. The smallest one they had was 1/3 pound. He ate half of it – must have been starving.

On the way into the restaurant there was a large bubble gum machine. Uncle Mark promised him he could get some on the way out if he ate good. When I heard about this, I made it very clear that there would not be a 3-year-old with a big wad of bubble gum in my car. So we agreed upon Skittles, which were to be rationed.

When we saw the “Welcome to Arkansas” sign we hooped and hollered, “Yay, we’re in Arkansas! Yay!!” Just a piece down the road (hey, I AM in Arkansas now) we stopped at the Welcome Center. We took pictures by the big rock that had “Arkansas” carved into it. The ladies inside gave Nathaniel stickers and a lapel pin, and he was in hog heaven.

There were a few phrases we heard repeatedly. “Whatever you do, DON’T TOUCH DADDY’S MAIL” and “Get it in second gear”. We didn’t ask.

On the way home as the sun was going down, Nathaniel turned to Grandma in the back seat and prepared to take her dinner order.

Nathaniel: Grandma, what would you like to drink? Would you like a Sprite?

Grandma: Yes, I’d like a Sprite.

Nathaniel: What would you like to eat, Grandma?

Grandma: I think I’d like a cheeseburger.

Nathaniel: Would you like some French fries?

Grandma: Yes. Thank you.

Nathaniel: Okay, I’ll get that ready.

Nathaniel: Aunt Denise, what would you like to drink?

Me: I’d like a Sprite.

Nathaniel: Okay, and what would you like to eat, Aunt Denise?

Me: I’d like a cheeseburger and some French fries.

Nathaniel: Okay.

Nathaniel: Uncle Mark, what would you like?

Mark: I’d like a Sprite.

Nathaniel: What would you like to eat?

Mark: What do you have?

Nathaniel: We have buzzard.

“Y'all ain't from around here, ere ye?" #1

Last weekend I traveled to Memphis for a football game and a mini-vacation. After finding our favorite barbeque spot (Nelly’s) had a 45-minute to an hour wait we decided to head in the direction of the game and return for barbeque the next day.

We hadn’t gone very far when my “Low Fuel” light came on, so I stopped at the first gas station I saw. I swiped my card at the pump and set the handle on the slowest auto-pump setting. Being a city girl and knowing I wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, I kept looking around, checking people out, watching my back. 8 gallons… 9 gallons… What’s that guy doing by the front door of the gas station? Oh, he’s lighting his cigarette. Great. Smart guy. 17 gallons… 18 gallons… 19 gallons… then splash. Gas pours out of the tank, onto the ground. I quickly grab the handle and turn it off.

Then the genius with the cigarette calls out to me, “Hey! What you doin’?” I told him the thing didn’t shut off like it’s supposed to. He makes some comment about me wasting gas – like I did it on purpose – and starts walking toward me while he’s saying it. I said, “Don’t be coming over here with that cigarette! You shouldn’t even be smoking here.” His retort: You ain’t from around here, are ya?” I said, “No, where I come from the pumps shut off like they’re supposed to.” What I wanted to say was, “No, where I come from people are smart enough not to smoke at gas stations.” I wanted to say that, but it would have been a lie.

Elvis Is Alive Museum, Wright City, MO

The tackiest roadside attraction I've ever seen was the "Elvis Is Alive Museum" in Wright City, Missouri. One side of the building was a "greasy spoon" hamburger joint. The other half of the building, separated by an OPEN doorway, was the museum (and I use the term loosely). On display, for all the world to see, and touch, was a white outfit with rhinestones that was supposedly worn by The King.

Now, I've got to ask you, if you were in possession of anything worn by Elvis Presley would you not keep it stored in such a way that nobody could get their greasy, ketchupy, mustardy, pickled fingers on it? Not too bright, the owner. Not to mention that due to this open door policy the "Elvis outfit" resembled the topside of a range hood... or anything you have on a shelf in your kitchen that you haven't cleaned in a few years. You know what I mean? That coating of grease with dust stuck to it?

There was a section at the back of the room that was separated by a picket fence. Beyond the fence was a casket and graveyard. This area, of course, was dedicated to the oddities surrounding his un-death. Just weird.

The most interesting thing about this museum was the list of reasons they believed Elvis was not dead. I'm not kidding - they might have done something with that.

I almost forgot to mention Elvis' Cadillac that was parked out front... in the weather... year-round.

It's hard to believe this museum has closed - died, per se. But, at least, Elvis is still alive.

Long live The King!

I Survived

Monday night I watched (for the first time) a program called “I Survived”. There were three stories: a lady held hostage in a gas station for 18 hours or more, a man attacked by a mountain lion, and two ladies randomly shot while driving down the highway.

The stories were told by the survivors themselves, not a narrator. The program was compelling, but jumping from story to story was very annoying. Do they think we’ll lose interest if they tell a whole story all the way through? If that’s the case, they better do away with commercial breaks.

10 Things that chap my hide (in no particular order):

Tailgaters. Especially the ones that don’t really want to drive any faster than you. They just can’t stand it that someone is in front of them.

Butt-er-up-ers. They’re in the same category as tailgaters. They think the world revolves around them.

Service companies that tell you the repairman will be there “early tomorrow morning”, then have to admit at 1:30 in the afternoon that they really don’t have any idea when he will show up.

Neighbors that mow their grass at 6:30 on Saturday mornings (when they’re retired and could do it anytime), but yell at your kids for making a little noise in the afternoon.

Telemarketers that act like you’re their long-lost buddy. They ask how I’m doing, how’s the weather, make small talk… and just when I think they’re going to ask “how’s the family?” or “how’s your mother?”, they’ll ask for my boss (by his first name, of course). When I tell them he’s not in, click.

Companies that change the amount of ingredients in a package rather than charging the extra twelve cents they need to keep up with their rising costs. For instance, flour that comes in a 4-1/2 pound bag, coconut that comes in 14 oz. packages instead of 16 oz., evaporated milk in a 12 oz. can when it used to be 13-1/2 oz. Don’t they know we all have recipes that are based on using the original amounts?

AFLAC sales reps that won’t tell you they’re with AFLAC until you squeeze it out of them. “What company are you with?” I’m with “American Family Life Assurance Co.” Sounds like American Family to most people – all your family’s protection under one roof. That’s the part they want you to hear, because they emphasize “American Family” and almost whisper the rest.

Sales people that won’t take a polite “no” for an answer (see above), especially the ones that insult your intelligence for not wanting their product or service. “Wouldn’t you like to save money?” No, I prefer to waste money and overspend whenever possible.

People that use the last of the toilet tissue and don’t replace it with a new roll.

Neighbors that let their dogs out at 6:15 every morning and let them bark incessantly for an hour or so.

Duly Chastised

Okay, I have been properly admonished for my failure to write anything in so long. I have a long list of excuses, but it basically boils down to one of those “the dog ate my homework” things.