OldTroubador's blog post - A Wee Bit of Randomness

Before we begin with today's eclectic essay, I would like to thank Howlin and Sugar for their hospitality last night. What better way to spend a warm spring evening than with a couple of wonderful friends. Thanks again you two!!!
-----------------------------------------------------------------

I saw a sign along the highway the other day that said “Watch for Fallen Rocks”. What should I do if I see one? How will I recognize that the rock is indeed fallen? Will it have a large letter A painted on it? Will a group of angry townspeople be standing around stoning it? Will it be dressed in a mini-skirt and tube top, standing on the street corner? Or will it be wearing Daisy Dukes and walking around the parking lot of the local truck stop, trying to make $20.00 the hard way? Or will this fallen rock just be lying prostitute on the ground? Really people, I need some guidance here.
----------------------------------------------------------------

I love seeing the signs on the interstates saying “Speed Limit Enforced by Aircraft”. I picture someone screaming along the highway, thirty miles per hour faster than the limit when, out of the clouds, a WWII vintage P-47 streaks down and strafes his ass into the afterlife.
----------------------------------------------------------------

I saw a sign on I81 in Virginia for the Battle of Cedar Creek Campground. Is it just me, or does anyone else picture a bunch of retired old men wearing socks with their sandals, shooting bottle rockets and Roman candles at each other? Do their wives use their bras as slingshots to shoot water balloons at the enemy? And how do they choose sides for this battle – RV's vs Tents?
----------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of years ago, I dropped off the interstate to drive through Lexington, KY. I was headed for the Bluegrass Parkway and the only way to get there was to drive though town – about ten miles and a dozen traffic lights. The first light was only about a quarter mile from the ramp I was and was, of course, red. It was a beautiful early summer day and my windows were down as I worked the Freebird into the line of traffic to my left. As I did,, I heard a distinctive sound - “pock-a, pock-a, pock-a...”
As I have said before, my truck is governed at about 63 miles per hour. This means I have been passed by school buses, U-Haul vans, and little old ladies driving great big Chryslers. I have even been passed by cars on parallel side roads. But this was the greatest ignominy of all. It made no difference that I was slowed by a traffic light, creeping along in second gear, half in one lane, half in another. This final insult? I was being passed by.....

A Ford Model T.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Back during high school, I went with my church youth group on a camping trip to Pennsylvania one weekend. We set up our tents that Friday evening, had supper, then a short service. After that, we sat around the campfire for a while, telling stories, singing songs, doing the usual camp out stuff. Too soon, it was time to lay down for the night. As it was a nice evening, I spread my ground sheet outside and put my sleeping bag on top of it. I crawled in and was soon asleep.
Sometime during the night, I felt a scratching in my hair and heard tiny toenails scratching the ground sheet. As I woke up, I figured that a raccoon had stopped by to see what manner of creature was sleeping there; I was also delighted to realize that I would see a raccoon up close and personal. As I opened my eyes in anticipation, all I saw was a white stripe surrounded by black fur. IT WAS A SKUNK!!! I did a U-turn in my sleeping bag and burrowed into the bottom of it. I wanted to get as far away, and put as much material as possible, between me and those scent glands. I also called that skunk every dirty rotten name I could think of, forgetting, of course, about the other people at the campsite. As I paused to take a breath, and thankful that the skunk was too scared to even spray me as it ran away, I was reminded of the company I was keeping when I heard the preacher's voice say,

“Bill, I don't think God does that to little skunks”.


A touch of brass