Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County: Mustard Thursday & Informing God
***
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Deja Moo Day-Old Large-Crud Cottage Cheese Shop and Coffee House, with a statue of a Holstein in the seat across from him, so no one would sit with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Homer Runn came in and pushed the Holstein over and slipped into the booth across from him. There was a strange yellow spot on his forehead.
“I thought you’d be home rending your Cubs jersey, or sacrificing a billy goat, or some such, now that baseball season is starting,” said Randall.
“I’ve been to church,” said Homer. “It was a special service to start the baseball season, sort of like Ash Wednesday, except Pastor Patty smeared hot dog mustard on our foreheads. I was the liturgist today, so I read from Genesis. You know, In the big inning, God created the heavens and the earth, which is to say, She created first the National League, which is heavenly, and the American League, which is earth-bound, with its anti-biblical designated hitter rule.”
“You certainly have a strange way of interpreting scripture,” said Dr. Nathan.
“Hey, you’re the one who preached a whole sermon series on constipation, all that business about Moses taking two tablets and going into the wilderness, and Titus, and…”
“I was talking about spiritual constipation,” retorted Randall, “and how faith relaxes uptight people…”
“Don’t go on. I remember it too well already,” said Homer, an uptight look on his face. “Today’s worship was an ecumenical service. Mustard Thursday is the only time the righties and lefties will sit together, sort of like the relievers in the bullpen. Anyway, Sister Beulah Land was preaching, about how there is no crying in baseball, but there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth at the end of the season when the sheep and the goats, or at least those under the curse of the goat, will be left out of the kingdom again, but Pastor Patty had forgotten to tell her that the service had to be over by one o’clock, so everyone could get out in time to watch the Reds beat the Brewers on the Webster’s Definition TV at Barry’s Sports Bar & Steroids Outlet, and she couldn’t get at her, because she was sitting on the other side of the chancel, behind the icon of the Louisville Slugger, so she told C.D. Romm, the pastor of The Virtual Church South, of God, who was sitting beside her, to tell Sister Beulah Land, when he got up to give the opening day prayer just before Sister Beulah preached, but instead of making an announcement, he did it in the prayer. O Lord, Thou who knowest that this service must end promptly by one o’clock so that we won’t miss seeing the Reds beat the Brewers…”
***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
Dave Nash says that the links to my blogs and my email, which I post below, do not work. I apologize for any inconvenience. I have redone them, and so now I hope they work. If they don’t, you can type them in yourself as they are, because they are accurate, even if not workable.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Christian Outlet Mall
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at Alley Cat Magee’s Coffee Shop & Persimmon Neutering Clinic with a copy of Grey’s Surgical Techniques and Spaghetti Recipes open in front of him to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Ellen Palendro, the Sharon Baker Professor of Poetry at Hope’s Promise University, the big state university over in Crimson County, in the town of Hope’s Promise, came in and slipped into the booth across from him and said, “Did you know there’s a new mall out on the Wayfaring Stranger Memorial Highway? I didn’t think you would, since you never leave town.”
“What in hades do we need a new mall for?” asked Randall. “And what were you doing driving on the Wayfaring Stranger Highway?”
“Well, I realize that only Christians use that highway, because it’s a straight and narrow way. We heathen prefer the broad way that leads to Destruction. Makes you wonder why people in Ohio would want a town named Destruction. But I got on the Wayfaring Stranger Highway sort of by accident on the way home from Pennsylvania.”
“What were you doing in Pennsylvania? Isn’t that where you fractured your prosaic bone last time you were there?”
“That was personal. This was business. I went to the Algorithmic Poetry Conference there, at HUI.”
“What’s HUI?”
“Harvard University at Intercourse. I think maybe they decided to have a branch campus there in PA because of the ‘course’ part of the town’s name. Colleges like lots of courses.”
“Their students are usually fascinated by the ‘inter’ part, too,” said Dr. Nathan.
“Anyway, there’s a big sign on it that says Christian Outlet Mall. What gives? Do they sell shopworn Methodists? Scratched and dented Presbyterians? Baptist overruns? Holy Roller seconds? Catholic rejects?”
“Hmm,” said The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, “If so, I think I have some prospects for them.”
***
Because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental, a Golden Persimmon is awarded today to author Elaine Palencia. The last time I mentioned Elaine, in my Christ In Winter blog, I said: “I suppose the best known Champaign-Urbana author is Richard Powers, but I think the best one is Elaine. Try BRIER COUNTRY or SMALL CAUCASIAN WOMAN.” A reader commented: “Please don’t tell my husband to try a small Caucasian woman.”
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Dave Nash says these links usually don’t work. If they don’t, just type them in. They are accurate, even if not workable.
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at Alley Cat Magee’s Coffee Shop & Persimmon Neutering Clinic with a copy of Grey’s Surgical Techniques and Spaghetti Recipes open in front of him to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Ellen Palendro, the Sharon Baker Professor of Poetry at Hope’s Promise University, the big state university over in Crimson County, in the town of Hope’s Promise, came in and slipped into the booth across from him and said, “Did you know there’s a new mall out on the Wayfaring Stranger Memorial Highway? I didn’t think you would, since you never leave town.”
“What in hades do we need a new mall for?” asked Randall. “And what were you doing driving on the Wayfaring Stranger Highway?”
“Well, I realize that only Christians use that highway, because it’s a straight and narrow way. We heathen prefer the broad way that leads to Destruction. Makes you wonder why people in Ohio would want a town named Destruction. But I got on the Wayfaring Stranger Highway sort of by accident on the way home from Pennsylvania.”
“What were you doing in Pennsylvania? Isn’t that where you fractured your prosaic bone last time you were there?”
“That was personal. This was business. I went to the Algorithmic Poetry Conference there, at HUI.”
“What’s HUI?”
“Harvard University at Intercourse. I think maybe they decided to have a branch campus there in PA because of the ‘course’ part of the town’s name. Colleges like lots of courses.”
“Their students are usually fascinated by the ‘inter’ part, too,” said Dr. Nathan.
“Anyway, there’s a big sign on it that says Christian Outlet Mall. What gives? Do they sell shopworn Methodists? Scratched and dented Presbyterians? Baptist overruns? Holy Roller seconds? Catholic rejects?”
“Hmm,” said The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, “If so, I think I have some prospects for them.”
***
Because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental, a Golden Persimmon is awarded today to author Elaine Palencia. The last time I mentioned Elaine, in my Christ In Winter blog, I said: “I suppose the best known Champaign-Urbana author is Richard Powers, but I think the best one is Elaine. Try BRIER COUNTRY or SMALL CAUCASIAN WOMAN.” A reader commented: “Please don’t tell my husband to try a small Caucasian woman.”
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Dave Nash says these links usually don’t work. If they don’t, just type them in. They are accurate, even if not workable.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Clara's Education
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at the Doctors Without Boarders Coffee House & Real Estate Agency, entertaining three-year-old Clara Wembley by doing back-lighted shadow puppets against the window while her nana, Kate Bates, was out looking for her husband, Professor Ben “Seymour” Bottoms, because Shingles the dog had told them that Professor Bottoms had been abducted by gypsy-impersonators who were holding him hostage at the bottom of a well. At least, that is how Clara interpreted Shingles, since she wanted to get rid of him or her—no one has ever been sure of Shingles’ gender—because she has still not forgiven Shingles for stealing her blankie on Christmas eve in 2009, and she wanted to get both Singles and her nana out of Doctors Without Boarders because she knew they would not approve of the double- caffeine Persimmon latte-dah she was planning to talk the old bald guy into buying for her, and Kate went along with it because she knew her sociologist husband was likely to get into trouble on the streets by himself because he had recently decided to revisit phrenology and some people do not like having a stranger walk up and start feeling their head to see if they have criminal tendencies. But Kate was back quickly, this time with Claire Nathan.
“Randall, you’ve got to stop doing those finger puppets,” said Claire. “Bessie Bandervilt was walking by and thought you were giving her the finger. She’s still pretty sharp for 98, but her sight must be going. She’s writing a letter to the editor about it right now.”
“No, Bessie sees okay,” said Clara. “Dr. Randy Retard was really having the bunny give her the finger, just like our teacher at pre-school does when she gets mad at us.”
“Good grief, Clara,” said Kate. “Miss Aprehenshun gives you the finger?”
“Yep, if we aren’t being have enough for her. She jumps up and down and gives us the finger.”
“Show us how she does it, Clara,” said Rev. Nathan.
“Oh, no, I don’t think…” started Kate, but Clara was already holding up her chubby and grubby little hand and extending a finger.
“Oh, thank goodness,” sighed Kate, as Clara plopped out her index finger and wagged it up and down.
“Here comes Bessie again, Clara,” said Randall Nathan. “I’ll show you another way to give the finger to someone who’s bugging you.”
“You do and I’ll show you five fingers all bunched up,” said Claire.
“These nanas keep hanging around,” grumbled Clara. “The only time I learn something good is when they’re not here.”
***
[The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.]
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at the Doctors Without Boarders Coffee House & Real Estate Agency, entertaining three-year-old Clara Wembley by doing back-lighted shadow puppets against the window while her nana, Kate Bates, was out looking for her husband, Professor Ben “Seymour” Bottoms, because Shingles the dog had told them that Professor Bottoms had been abducted by gypsy-impersonators who were holding him hostage at the bottom of a well. At least, that is how Clara interpreted Shingles, since she wanted to get rid of him or her—no one has ever been sure of Shingles’ gender—because she has still not forgiven Shingles for stealing her blankie on Christmas eve in 2009, and she wanted to get both Singles and her nana out of Doctors Without Boarders because she knew they would not approve of the double- caffeine Persimmon latte-dah she was planning to talk the old bald guy into buying for her, and Kate went along with it because she knew her sociologist husband was likely to get into trouble on the streets by himself because he had recently decided to revisit phrenology and some people do not like having a stranger walk up and start feeling their head to see if they have criminal tendencies. But Kate was back quickly, this time with Claire Nathan.
“Randall, you’ve got to stop doing those finger puppets,” said Claire. “Bessie Bandervilt was walking by and thought you were giving her the finger. She’s still pretty sharp for 98, but her sight must be going. She’s writing a letter to the editor about it right now.”
“No, Bessie sees okay,” said Clara. “Dr. Randy Retard was really having the bunny give her the finger, just like our teacher at pre-school does when she gets mad at us.”
“Good grief, Clara,” said Kate. “Miss Aprehenshun gives you the finger?”
“Yep, if we aren’t being have enough for her. She jumps up and down and gives us the finger.”
“Show us how she does it, Clara,” said Rev. Nathan.
“Oh, no, I don’t think…” started Kate, but Clara was already holding up her chubby and grubby little hand and extending a finger.
“Oh, thank goodness,” sighed Kate, as Clara plopped out her index finger and wagged it up and down.
“Here comes Bessie again, Clara,” said Randall Nathan. “I’ll show you another way to give the finger to someone who’s bugging you.”
“You do and I’ll show you five fingers all bunched up,” said Claire.
“These nanas keep hanging around,” grumbled Clara. “The only time I learn something good is when they’re not here.”
***
[The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.]
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A Car By Any Other Name
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
Randall Nathan was in his usual booth, labeled LJ, at The Good to the Last Slop Coffee Haus and Pig Repair Center, with two crash dummies dressed in snowmobile suits sitting across from him, so that no one would sit down with him, lest he lose points in The Hermudgeon of the Year contest, hermudgeon being a combination of hermit and curmudgeon.
That’s when a clean-shaven man in clean-washed overalls and a long ponytail pulled up into a hairnet, with the word “Mr. Snoodwrench” stenciled on the back, and the name Rex in needlepoint on the front, slouched in and grabbed up a chair from a table and pulled it up to the booth of The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce “retired” in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him.
Abbey Rhoad grabbed a cup and the coffee pot with the chartreuse handle and negotiated her way over to booth LJ.
“Is that you, Rex?” asked Abbey.
“What was your first clue?” muttered Randall Nathan.
“How come you’re in here this time of day, Rex?” said Abbey.
“Lost my job.”
“I thought you were working at the Ford garage,” said Randall.
“Yeah, I was. But Stu DeBaker, the owner, got to thinking about my name and decided it was bad publicity. My full name is Rexford Carr.”
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to LJ Booth, guitarist supreme, from Scandinavia, WI.
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
***
Randall Nathan was in his usual booth, labeled LJ, at The Good to the Last Slop Coffee Haus and Pig Repair Center, with two crash dummies dressed in snowmobile suits sitting across from him, so that no one would sit down with him, lest he lose points in The Hermudgeon of the Year contest, hermudgeon being a combination of hermit and curmudgeon.
That’s when a clean-shaven man in clean-washed overalls and a long ponytail pulled up into a hairnet, with the word “Mr. Snoodwrench” stenciled on the back, and the name Rex in needlepoint on the front, slouched in and grabbed up a chair from a table and pulled it up to the booth of The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce “retired” in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him.
Abbey Rhoad grabbed a cup and the coffee pot with the chartreuse handle and negotiated her way over to booth LJ.
“Is that you, Rex?” asked Abbey.
“What was your first clue?” muttered Randall Nathan.
“How come you’re in here this time of day, Rex?” said Abbey.
“Lost my job.”
“I thought you were working at the Ford garage,” said Randall.
“Yeah, I was. But Stu DeBaker, the owner, got to thinking about my name and decided it was bad publicity. My full name is Rexford Carr.”
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to LJ Booth, guitarist supreme, from Scandinavia, WI.
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Advancing Civilization
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
“What you doing in here this time of day, Seymour?” Edith Whistle, of The Whistle and Thistle Biker Bar and Episcopal Ladies Tea House, asked Professor Ben Bottoms, who teaches at the big state university in the town of Hope’s Promise, over in neighboring Crimson County.
“Spring break, Edith.”
“Oh, girls gone wild, and all that sort of stuff,” said Edith.
“Well, the girls in Professor Cat Requies’ class have gone Wilde, since they are on a literary gravestone tour with Catherine [1], as I should call her, since she doesn’t really like to be called Cat, but the girls in my class, and the guys, too, have gone to build Habitat homes, as a way of contributing to the second most important advance in the rise of civilization.”
“Okay, you’ve got me hooked. What’s the most important one?”
“That was about 50 to 100 thousand years ago. Something happened to humans genetically that allowed us to use language. That opened up all sorts of possibilities.”
“So what was second, Prof?” asked Carla Carlson, who was sitting at the next table with her husband, Carl.
“Sedentary life style, which was based on growing crops and domesticated animals instead of hunting and gathering. If people could stay in one place, they could acquire non-portable goods, which allowed for advances in technology. The more sedentary we became, the more civilization advanced.”
“Good grief, Carl,” said Carla to her husband, “you’ve brought us to the brink of a whole new era of civilization.”
***
1] This is an obscure reference to Oscar Wilde’s poem, Requiescat, which means RIP.
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
***
“What you doing in here this time of day, Seymour?” Edith Whistle, of The Whistle and Thistle Biker Bar and Episcopal Ladies Tea House, asked Professor Ben Bottoms, who teaches at the big state university in the town of Hope’s Promise, over in neighboring Crimson County.
“Spring break, Edith.”
“Oh, girls gone wild, and all that sort of stuff,” said Edith.
“Well, the girls in Professor Cat Requies’ class have gone Wilde, since they are on a literary gravestone tour with Catherine [1], as I should call her, since she doesn’t really like to be called Cat, but the girls in my class, and the guys, too, have gone to build Habitat homes, as a way of contributing to the second most important advance in the rise of civilization.”
“Okay, you’ve got me hooked. What’s the most important one?”
“That was about 50 to 100 thousand years ago. Something happened to humans genetically that allowed us to use language. That opened up all sorts of possibilities.”
“So what was second, Prof?” asked Carla Carlson, who was sitting at the next table with her husband, Carl.
“Sedentary life style, which was based on growing crops and domesticated animals instead of hunting and gathering. If people could stay in one place, they could acquire non-portable goods, which allowed for advances in technology. The more sedentary we became, the more civilization advanced.”
“Good grief, Carl,” said Carla to her husband, “you’ve brought us to the brink of a whole new era of civilization.”
***
1] This is an obscure reference to Oscar Wilde’s poem, Requiescat, which means RIP.
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Friday, March 4, 2011
Always Sunny
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
Retired funeral director Jake Newland and three-year-old Clara Wembley stopped into The Whistle & Thistle Biker Bar & Episcopal Ladies Tea House for lunch. They joined the Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce “retired” in Periwinkle County, in his usual booth, overlooking Charybdis, the wishing Whirlpool washing machine.
“So it’s the three mugs of tears,” said Edith as she brought them a menu. “Where’s Shingles today?”
Shingles is the companion dog of the Wembley family, and sometimes of Kate Bates, Clara’s nana, or, the way Shingles thinks of it, they are his companion people. Clara has still not forgiven Shingles for stealing her blankie on Christmas eve of 2009 and continues to plot her revenge.
“Shingles has gone to that great Buddy Mutts in The Sky,” said Clara.
“OMG. He’s in heaven?” shrieked Edith.
“Not exactly,” said Jake. “The Brothers Jim are franchising Buddy Mutts, and their first franchisee is in Transkei, in African Violet County. Clara and I went over there sort of by accident, and you know how you can’t get in at Buddy Mutts unless you have a dog with you, and they didn’t have enough dogs, so they had a sign wanting loaner dogs, so Clara sort of leased Shingles to them. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put OMG in our food.”
Edith looked suspicious. “Just what were you two doing over in African Violet County, anyway?”
Clara piped up. “When Miss Jenny saw we were watching that Delphinimums show on TV, she told Mr. Jake to get lost, so he did.”
“Well,” said Jake, “getting lost wasn’t an immediate response to Jenny’s command. Clara and I drove over to the Jean Pool at Transkei, and got lost in the process.”
“Jean Pool?”
“Yeah, you have to wear jeans or be named Jean or they won’t let you in.”
“Sort of like church,” said Clara. “They cut off Mr. Smith’s tie last Sunday, and made him put double in the plate because he was wearing good clothes to church.”
“We’re trying to make our services user friendly,” said Jake. “People won’t think it’s friendly if there are folks in good clothes there. Pastor Tod says we need to be more like a Lions Club.”
“Roarrrr,” said Clara.
“But we didn’t qualify for the Jean Pool, so we went to the new Buddy Mutts there.”
“How come Clara was watching TV at your house in the first place?” asked Randall.
“She came down to my house to get me to take her over to Hope’s Promise, to the university, because she heard some frat boys saying they needed some hair of the dog. She was going to sell Shingles to them. She was going to hitch-hike over if I couldn’t take her. I figured it was better to have her watch TV with me than having her hitch-hike.”
“Wait a minute,” said Edith. “What TV show were you watching again?”
“Always Sunny in Phil’s Delphiniums,” said Jake, resting his head on his walker.
“You let Clara watch THAT?” shrieked Edith.
“I thought it was a gardening show,” protested Jake. “Who would have thought that delphinium is a euphemism for…”
“I don’t want to know,” said Randall.
***
(The similarity between activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.)
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
***
Retired funeral director Jake Newland and three-year-old Clara Wembley stopped into The Whistle & Thistle Biker Bar & Episcopal Ladies Tea House for lunch. They joined the Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce “retired” in Periwinkle County, in his usual booth, overlooking Charybdis, the wishing Whirlpool washing machine.
“So it’s the three mugs of tears,” said Edith as she brought them a menu. “Where’s Shingles today?”
Shingles is the companion dog of the Wembley family, and sometimes of Kate Bates, Clara’s nana, or, the way Shingles thinks of it, they are his companion people. Clara has still not forgiven Shingles for stealing her blankie on Christmas eve of 2009 and continues to plot her revenge.
“Shingles has gone to that great Buddy Mutts in The Sky,” said Clara.
“OMG. He’s in heaven?” shrieked Edith.
“Not exactly,” said Jake. “The Brothers Jim are franchising Buddy Mutts, and their first franchisee is in Transkei, in African Violet County. Clara and I went over there sort of by accident, and you know how you can’t get in at Buddy Mutts unless you have a dog with you, and they didn’t have enough dogs, so they had a sign wanting loaner dogs, so Clara sort of leased Shingles to them. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put OMG in our food.”
Edith looked suspicious. “Just what were you two doing over in African Violet County, anyway?”
Clara piped up. “When Miss Jenny saw we were watching that Delphinimums show on TV, she told Mr. Jake to get lost, so he did.”
“Well,” said Jake, “getting lost wasn’t an immediate response to Jenny’s command. Clara and I drove over to the Jean Pool at Transkei, and got lost in the process.”
“Jean Pool?”
“Yeah, you have to wear jeans or be named Jean or they won’t let you in.”
“Sort of like church,” said Clara. “They cut off Mr. Smith’s tie last Sunday, and made him put double in the plate because he was wearing good clothes to church.”
“We’re trying to make our services user friendly,” said Jake. “People won’t think it’s friendly if there are folks in good clothes there. Pastor Tod says we need to be more like a Lions Club.”
“Roarrrr,” said Clara.
“But we didn’t qualify for the Jean Pool, so we went to the new Buddy Mutts there.”
“How come Clara was watching TV at your house in the first place?” asked Randall.
“She came down to my house to get me to take her over to Hope’s Promise, to the university, because she heard some frat boys saying they needed some hair of the dog. She was going to sell Shingles to them. She was going to hitch-hike over if I couldn’t take her. I figured it was better to have her watch TV with me than having her hitch-hike.”
“Wait a minute,” said Edith. “What TV show were you watching again?”
“Always Sunny in Phil’s Delphiniums,” said Jake, resting his head on his walker.
“You let Clara watch THAT?” shrieked Edith.
“I thought it was a gardening show,” protested Jake. “Who would have thought that delphinium is a euphemism for…”
“I don’t want to know,” said Randall.
***
(The similarity between activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.)
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)