I can take the heat,

after all, I grew up on the High Plains. And, I am not saying it is muggy, but when you jump into the pool and nothing feels any different, something's just not right. 

--Bob Warr

 

Light Housekeeping

Funny thing, I told Herk.  Housekeeping, I mean.      

How so?

When I was a kid, I could seldom get it good enough to please Mama; lot of chores done twice.

Herkimer chuckled.

But I got pretty good at it, and now I am thinking, I said, how much things change.

Herkimer, quizzically, Really?

Yeah, I explained, for years meeting Mama's standard in my own home was the goal.  You know, perfection.  But as I got older, things changed.  Now I am at a point where "good enough" is good enough.  At the rate I am going, the day will come when "not at all" is good enough.

Herkie laughed.  I was just remembering, he remarked, the early times in my married life.

Do tell, I encouraged.

Well, he said, Tildy and I had been married maybe two, three weeks.  I remarked to her that the house looked like she needed to dust.

Dust? she asked, in all seriousness.  What's "dust"?

 From Bob Warr and Picket Fences

with Bob's permission.

The Bittermans

I was over on Bob Warr's blog last evening scrolling through his encounters with the Bittermans.  Some of these are really quite amusing, or instructive.

On the Web

Herk said that he told Tildy that she and her mother should have a website where they could post their best ideas. Said they could call it "Wikiwacky."

Cortisone, Girth, and Exile

It seems that Tildy told Herk that the ambient noise created by the TV being on all the time was causing her to gain weight. Some quasi-scientific mumbo-jumbo about cortisone, yakkety-yak. Herk told her that her knife and fork were causing her to gain weight. So Herkimer is over here in my garage watching me work.

Now, That's Shopping!

Tildy came home from shopping a bit shaken. "I was mugged on Second Avenue," she told Herk. "He took my purse, everything. My phone, my billfold, Mother's meds.
"My, gosh," said Herk. "I'm glad you're okay, but we've got to call the card companies."
"Oh, don't worry, that's not a problem. I maxed both of them out on stuff I ordered at Tiffany's and Saks."

 2√2b²

The Hirsute Manly Man

As I was browsing through the archives at Bob Warr 'n Picket Fences I came across some pretty good stuff, if I do say so on Bob's behalf.  Here's another commentary from June 2012.


What is it that makes facial hair fair game? You be clean shaven, or I be ravin’.

In the sartorial realm, mostly if we don’t care for someone’s hairdo or clothing selection, we smile and say nothing. If we really like something, we may pass along a compliment, unless of course we are a “dirty old man” and the recipient of the compliment is a nit twit who thinks everything is harassment.

 But we don’t pass along our distaste for another’s taste. Again, unless of course, the man is bearded, mustachioed, or side-burned. Then you are entitled to express your opinion, no matter how uncomplimentary or derogatory. Thank you very much.

 “You need to trim that beard.” Probably meaning, “Shave it off.”

“I hate handlebar moustaches.” Meaning, “That’s the ugliest thing I ever saw.”
“You are wearing a Fu Manchu? What’s that all about?” Meaning, “That’s the ugliest thing I ever saw.”
"Sideburns? Who are you, Elvis? or are you fighting the Civil War all over again?” Meaning, “Shave it off.”
“A van Dyke?”  Looks like the devil.” Meaning, “You look like the devil.”

 Ladies, scrape your face every day for a half-century or more, or cut us some slack. Every square inch we don’t have to shave is a square inch of relief from agony.


The ladies protest that they have their own shaving woes.  Too true, but I think Bob's intent here is commentary on comments, not on shaving.

Tomorrow we shall have another of Uncle Jep's tales of hi jinks on the High Plains.

C'est plus. . .

Bob Warr posted this on his blog a bit over a year ago.  O. Henry wrote it over a century ago.  The passage of time since either event occurred has not improved the situation.  Bob doesn't mind my re-posting this.  See I credited the source.  Both sources.

Excerpt from "The Foreign Policy of  Company 99" by O. Henry.

This was written over a century ago.  The more things change, the

more they stay the same.

Jeffries is James J. Jeffries, noted boxer of the day.

Bob's TV Reviews

Check Bob Warr's peek at two or three of the offerings for the new tv season.  Vanilla invites you to click here to visit Bob today.

We Are Not in Kansas...

Often it is the case that during a campout someone will organize an "excursion" for one purpose or another, e.g., to visit a nearby factory or simply to eat at a restaurant somewhere.  Usually BBBH and I  take the position that we have paid good money to enjoy the park and the outdoor experience, and thus decline the invitation to join the crowd.

On Wednesday, though, a knock on the door before we had finished our first cup of coffee brought with it an invitation to go shopping and have lunch in Toto.  "How far, when are you leaving, when will we be back? and we will let you know."

It was 8:30, the temperature already at 82^o and the dew point pushing 80^o.  Did I say it was quite warm and extremely muggy?  We decided a few hours in an airconditioned environment might be a good thing.  We got ready to go.

Toto,  we were told, was a half-hour  distant, though it turned out to be closer to an hour.  We rode with Doyle and Rose and were the second car in the caravan.  The lead driver was clearly following his GPS, for no one who was sane and owned a map would have taken the route he chose.  Anyway, we were barreling down a back country road when the dew point was reached with a vengeance.  The downpour was intense, and we continued to drive through rain all the way to our destination.  We got a parking spot right in front of the restaurant marquee, but in the ten-foot trip from car to porch, I got soaked, especially my back, and my feet which passed through the torrent in the gutter.

Are we having fun yet?

Our waitress was a jewel and the company around the table was pleasant.  I ordered the spaghetti, though, which was the day's special.  It is always a mistake for me to order spaghetti, because BBBH takes it as a personal affront, reminding me that she makes a much better pasta dish than I can get in a cafe.  And she is right.  And in this case, she was really right.

During lunch, the rain stopped.  We walked from the restaurant to the store, huge barn, next door.  There I sat at the entryway reading while the gang shopped.  Then we learned that we hadn't really had the "Toto experience" until we had been to Bailey's.  So it was back in the cars, and down the road.  Bailey's, I would say, really is not "in" Toto, for it was a six or so mile drive to get to this vast warehouse structure in the middle of a cornfield.  And it was pouring rain again by the time we arrived.

A bit about my experience at Bailey's can be found here should you be interested.

Conversation with Bob

Bob Warr was digging along the edge of the yard.  There was a flat of marigolds sitting nearby.  I stopped to pass the time of day.  He seemed pleased to entertain the interruption.  He stood and leaned against his side of the fence.

We chatted generally about the weather, as guys are wont to do.  This led to Bob's observation about the news reader the previous evening reporting on the floods in Texas.  "She was reading along and as she neared the end of the report she said, 'The rain fell at a rate of two inches per hour and the rivers overflew their banks.'  That," he continued, "was the first time I had ever heard of such a thing.  Imagine what I was seeing in my mind's eye as I tried to picture rivers overflying their banks!"

That is just wrong on so many levels.  Grammatically, editorially, educationally, meteorologically, and in general fluvial and riparian behavior.  Ah, the joys of the twenty-first century.

Bob's report is accurate.   BBBH and I were tuned to the same newscast.  We both heard the same thing.

Good People, Good Behavior

Bob Warr and Picket Fences

“Understand one thing, Mr. Chantry. You can make laws against weapons but they will be observed only by those who don’t intend to use them anyway. The lawless can always smuggle or steal, or even make a gun.”  --Louis L’Amour, North to the Rails

Eternal truth.

(Note from vanilla:  Bob is currently unable to access his blog posting tools and he has asked me to reciprocate his kindness by allowing him to post an excerpt from his reading on STSTT.  Fair is fair.)