The entire Legel family of Alan, Gloria, Elizabeth and Tom joined Tracey, DD, Mom and me at the Cracker Barrel for dinner last evening. It was a good thing they hadn’t run out of cole slaw or Mom would have read them the riot act! We had a rousing discussion about cigarette smokers with no conclusion except it stinks. The discussion continued in a lighter vein on other topics when we all got to Mom’s trailer. Tom is trying to sell his truck and get a more fuel efficient car. DD is still frustrated with her job. And I continued to be a grouch about everything as usual!
We are getting a lot more rain again. The sump pump is running regularly in the basement. Parts of our front yard are beginning to get pretty muddy and messy as I continue to park the Blazer just off the driveway. I am afraid it will be a horrible mess to fix if it doesn’t dry up soon. I thought I was going to get stuck in it last night when I pulled in after returning from Mom’s. I suppose I could dump some gravel there but I hate to do that because the problem should be solved in a few years IF the boys move out. The rate the economy and jobs are going that may not happen. Oh Well ... what’s a little mud?
The Cowboy Boots Did you hear about the Texas teacher who was helping one of her kindergarten students put on his cowboy boots? He asked for help and she could see why. Even with her pulling and him pushing, the little boots still didn’t want to go on. By the time they got the second boot on, she had worked up a sweat.
She almost cried when the little boy said, “Teacher, they’re on the wrong feet.” She looked, and sure enough, they were. It wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to keep her cool as, together, they worked to get the boots back on, this time on the right feet. He then announced, “These aren’t my boots.”
She bit her tongue, rather than get right in his face and scream, “Why didn’t you say so?”, like she wanted to. Once again she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off his little feet. No sooner had they gotten the boots off when he said, “They’re my brother’s boots. My Mom made me wear ‘em.”
Now she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. But she mustered up what grace and courage she had left to wrestle the boots on his feet again.
Helping him into his coat, she asked, “Now, where are your mittens?” He said, “I stuffed ‘em in the toes of my boots.”
She will be able to have visitors soon.
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Border Disorder
