Pre-Planning

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 Surplus Surplice Unnecessary Clergy Clothing and Crying Towel Cafe with the 14 volume set of Karl Barth’s An Introduction to An Outline of A Sketch of Christian Doctrine on the table 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 Pastor Patty came in and slipped into the booth across from him.

“I have a problem,” said Pastor Patty, who thinks of Randall as wiser than he is. “It’s the Thanatopsis Circle of MWL, Methodist Women & Ladies.”

“The ones who do the funeral meals?”

“The very ones. They have recently made some new rules for funeral meals. For instance, they’ve banned The Bereavement Casserole, the one with the tater tots.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” said Randall.

“Yes, it is, except that Alice Chalmers is afraid it might cut into her husband’s business. He sells potato pluckers, you know. But the big problem is that they’re trying to get everyone to pre-plan.”

“Pre-planning funerals is a good thing,” said Randall. “Fay Talistic, the new undertaker at Dropem Brothers, will do a whole program for you on it.”

“But it’s not pre-planning funerals that The Thantopsis Circle wants. They want everyone to pre-plan their funeral MEAL. Cora Dorr is mad at her husband because he wrote on her pre-plan form they should have mixed nuts at the table reserved for her family, and Kate Bates insists on desserts only, and no paper plates, which has Rusty Steele up in arms because he has that paper plates and rug cleaning supplies store, and Clara Voyance says they should know what she wants without her having to write anything down. It’s just a mess. Pre-planning doesn’t settle anything. It just gives people a longer time to argue about stuff.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Randall.

“It’s well known that you are against people getting together to plan anything. I think you should talk to them,” said Pastor Patty.

A stream of Moose Drool shot out of Randall Nathan’s nose as he gagged and choked.

“I’m pretty stupid when it comes to women,” said The Rev. Dr. Nathan, “but even I am smarter than that!”

***
A Golden Persimmon goes today to Kathy Roberts, because 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.}

Lesbians for Fathers Day

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 Juan Valdez Coffee Shop and Donkey Exchange with a propeller beanie on the table 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 Beau Dacious, the oldest redneck sky-diver in Periwinkle County, and Dino Sauer, the oldest German-Italian in Periwinkle County, and Harvey Bristol-Kremo, the oldest English-Finn in Periwinkle County came in carrying a sign reading: LESBIANS FOR FATHERS DAY.

“In case you don’t know,” said Randall, “you guys don’t qualify as lesbians. You’re not even thespians.”

“We are now that we’ve found out that Gay Girl in Damascus blog is actually a forty-year-old American guy living in Scotland,” said Beau Dacious.

“Yeah, and that Paula Brooks who runs the LezGetReal website? She’s really a fifty-two-year-old retired military guy in Ohio,” said Dino Sauer.

“Apparently they flunked the psycho-social development stage of identity v. identity diffusion in their teen years,” said Dr. Nathan, in an attempt to get them to go away, psychobabble always being a good conversation squelcher. It didn’t work. It never does.

“Hey, don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” said Harvey Bristol-Kermo.

“Yeah, you need to explore your feminine side, Randy Preacher,” said Beau.

“If you must call me Randy, please put the title first,” said the Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan. “And just where would I explore my feminine side in a place like Periwinkle County?”

“Well, you could go to our website,” said Dino.

“Yeah,” said Harvey. “We’re Flopsie, Mopsie, and Cottontail, the three lesbian Jewish bunnies of the Playgoy web site.”

***

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/ or at http://christinwinter.wordpress.com/, according to which one is working that day.]

{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.}

Muskrat on My Head

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 St. Darwin Unitarian Church and Small Pox Vaccination Coffee House, with a copy of Atlas Shrugged on the table 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 Ben “Seymour” Bottoms, Extinguished Professor of Comparative Comparisons at the big state university over in the town of Hope’s Promise in Crimson County, slipped into the booth across from him.

“Kate said I should do something special with my sabbatical,” said Professor Bottoms, “so I have learned to sing the blues.”

“That’s surprising,” said Randall, “because you are not known for paying attention to the rubrics, and blues singing has specific rules. You’ve got to wake up in the morning, and have a good woman, you’ve got to shoot a man in…”

“Oh, I know all the rules,” said Prof. Bottoms. “Just listen.”

He took a tenor ukulele out of his backpack and began to strum and sing.

I woke up this morning, with a muskrat on my head. I’ve got me a good woman, but she wants me dead. That’s what the muskrat said.

I shot a man in Memphis because his name was Fred. “That was your father’s name,” that’s what my mother said.” I should have named you Eddiepus instead”

I ran to Mississippi, hid in a chicken shed. But those bloodhounds found me easy; that’s where the bread crumbs led. I should have trailed some Michelob instead.

The stuck me in Stoney Lonesome, no pillow for my head. There was a narrow hallway, beside my narrow bed. Up to the gallows, that’s where the hallway led.

They’re playing Benny Goodman, because I’m going to swing. It’ll take a while to get to heaven, ‘cause my angel’s only got one wing. And he don’t know how to sing.

I made my woman happy, ‘cause I got my body dead. “There’d be more women happy if their men were dead.” That’s what the warden’s winsome woman said.

If you ever go to Memphis, don’t shoot a man named Fred. It will make your woman happy, but you’ll get no credit ‘cause you’re dead. Shoot an accordion or a muskrat instead.

He finished with a flourish, which on a ukulele is known as the Hawaiian good luck sign. The Unitarians applauded uncertainly.

“You forgot the most important rule,” said Rev. Nathan. “If you get sabbaticals and drive an Altima, you can’t sing the blues, regardless of how many men you shot in Memphis.”
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded posthumously to my late blues-singing guitar-virtuoso brother of the cloth, The Rev. Gary Davis [born 1896], who came to NYC from the Carolinas blind and poor and served as an inspiration to many in the folk revival of the 1960s. I learned from listening to Art Podell of “Art & Paul” [http://www.artpodell.com/] and Jim Moran [http://compvid101.blogspot.com/] and Joe Frazier [http://chadmitchelltrio.com/] on Mary Katherine Aldin’s “Alive & Picking” radio show [http://aliveandpicking.com/] that Peter, Paul, and Mary learned “If I Had My Way,” originally a Blind Willie Johnson song, from Rev. Gary Davis. They made a hit recording of it and gave all the proceeds to Rev. Davis, which allowed him to buy the only home he ever owned, where he lived with his wife until his death in 1972.

The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.

You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much.

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://christinwinter.wordpress.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.}