I imagine you are getting tired of my rambling on about bad weather and calving.
Posted April 26, 2013
I imagine you are getting tired of my rambling on about bad weather and calving. I imagine you think I lead a real limited life. Putting up hay, hauling hay, feeding hay, hauling out used hay, watching cows, pulling calves, sewing up prolapsed cows, and on and on and on. You think you are tired of it, you should be here. Forecast for tonight, April 22nd, is 13 above. Fahrenheit. The sales yards are going to have to have short-ear specials this fall, because there are a lot of calves in the country that have had their ears shortened
So, this morning, as I wait for that cold, cold sun to come up, I thought I would have warmer thoughts.
I suppose it was about thirty years ago, Shirley and I accompanied some friends to Hawaii. I’m a country boy. Hadn’t been around much and was pretty unfamiliar with airports. I had traveled some, but not enough to where I was comfortable.
Shirley and I had only been married for about ten years or so, so she was unaware of my weaknesses. She still thought, and rightfully so, that I was dang-neared perfect!
If you’ve flown, you know that at the ticket counter, you get an envelope with your boarding pass, luggage tickets, and stuff. Used to be a lot of stuff. Ads for rental cars. Looked like junk mail to me. So, as we made our way down a long concourse in Denver, I glanced at this envelope of junk mail, and much like junk mail at home, tossed it in a garbage can as we went by. Shirley happened to be looking the other way, so I blame her.
Anyway, we get to our assigned gate just as they announce our flight is now boarding. We get in line and get up to the lady taking tickets. I hand her the stuff I had salvaged from the junk mail. She glances at it and says she needs our boarding passes. Boarding passes?
Shirley turns to her loving spouse and asks pleasantly, well, asks for the envelope. I inform her that I don’t have it. She not so pleasantly asks where it is?
When I mention that it is in a garbage can somewhere on a concourse far, far away, she loses that pleasant country smile and I see a side of her that scares me.
You remember those O.J. ads where he runs through the airport, jumping chairs and luggage carts. Ducking and dodging through the crowds. They got that idea from me. Not only was I in danger of missing my flight, but also I really think my marriage was in jeopardy!
But, thanks to me speed and pornographic memory, I found the right trashcan, and we did get boarded.
So this morning, I am thinking warm thoughts.