Tree Hugging

Posted on May 3, 2018 by Sheila Moss

 

The_Survivor_Tree_at_the_Oklahoma_City_National_Memorial

Survivor Tree at Oklahoma City National Memorial – Attribution: Dustin M. Ramsey

Probably most people remember a tree that was important to them in some way, either in childhood, or because of some special event in life. My special tree was a walnut tree in the yard of the house I grew up in. It was not even a full-grown tree at that time, but the trunk split at just the right height to make a perfect foothold for s child to climb the tree. 

I played games underneath the tree and climbed in its shady branches to sit among the leaves. I swung from a rather low branch and used it as a trapeze. Another branch was just right for a rope swing with a board for a seat. I spent many happy hours playing under the walnut tree.

I saw a story somewhere about an artist that sketches trees that have a special significance attached to them. He started by sketching a tree that was important to him, and as it turned out, it was also significant to other people who saw the drawing.

It seems that trees are important to a lot of people, so important that there is actually National Registry for Historic trees. These are not like my walnut tree, but trees that are landmarks or have historic importance. The Angel Oak of Charleston, S.C. is a beautiful old tree believed to be 1400 years old and the oldest living thing east of the Rockies.

Other trees are important because of events that happened near them, such as the dueling oaks of New Orleans, where sword fights occurred in the olden days. There are “hanging trees” near jails in Texas and New Mexico. Jacksonville, Florida has a famous old live oak tree where treaties were signed between settlers and the natives. Boston had a elm in colonial times known as the “Liberty Tree” due to its association with the American Revolution.

Some important trees are associated with or named after a special person. General Sherman, a giant Sequoia tree in California, is the world’s largest tree and 3,500 years old. Methuselah, a bristlecone pine in California, is believed to be the world’s oldest living organism at over 4,700 years old.

Some trees are so important they have a pedigree, such as two large Tulip Trees planted by George Washington at Mt. Vernon. Seeds from famous trees are actually gathered by an organization and sold so that you can buy them and plant a tree that is the actual offspring of a famous parent. Your backyard could become a living history story.

Trees are often taken for granted until they are gone. Elms were a popular shade tree at one time, but they were nearly wiped out by Dutch elm disease. Millions of firs have been lost in the Smoky Mountains due to imported insects that are toxic to the species. Many old trees are cut down to make way for roads and buildings. My walnut tree is now gone, a victim of urban development.

The National Registry of Big Trees enables anyone to nominate trees to be included in case you happen to have a piece of infamy growing in your yard. The trees in my yard are not worthy of national distinction. However, they are still special either because of who planted them or because of other associations. I have a plum tree, the lone survivor of four trees planted by my dad. My Jonathan apple tree was planted by my late husband to honor a grandson and is the same age.

I also have a large silver maple tree that the kids in the neighborhood seem to favor. Like my walnut tree, the trunk of the tree splits at just the right height for a child to be able to use it as a foothold for climbing.

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Environment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Showboat

Posted on April 27, 2018 by Sheila Moss

3540148507_0cc213a1a0_bIt was more than we could resist. We had just been talking about how long it had been since we had been on a riverboat and how we need to get out and do something. Then an email came offering tickets at half price. Kind of makes you wonder about ESP, doesn’t it?

“It’s Chinese acrobats,” said the voice on the phone when I reserved tickets. “And dinner is Land & Sea.” Yes, I knew that. It was in the email.

The night came and we got dressed and drove over there. They have been doing construction on the road for years it seems. Will, they never get it finished? Between my honey’s aggressive driving and the crooked path between concrete barriers, I felt a bit like I’d been on a roller coaster by the time we arrived.

All we had to do was park and get on the boat. Park? Easier said than done. They just keep building things, shopping centers, theaters, and restaurants, all in a confined space with limited parking. We rode around and around until someone finally backed out and we swooped in and parked.

We stood in line to get aboard getting our picture made whether we wanted a picture or not. Once on the riverboat we thought things would get better. But it was hotter than … well, it was hot. For some odd reason, we were not allowed inside the theater until the boat left the dock and we stood in the sweltering heat, fighting the bees that buzzed around my coke.

At last we got inside out of the heat and our waiter introduced himself. Land & Sea turned out to be strong salmon and a small steak that appeared steamed instead of broiled. But I’m getting ahead of the story. The waiters paraded out with trays held high and began serving. We waited and waited. No food. Other people ate. We sat. Finally, we attracted someone’s attention and a different waitress brought our food. We still don’t know what happened to our waiter. We didn’t see him again until time for the tips.

The show started and the acrobats twirled, tumbled, climbed, contorted, juggled, balanced and all the strange things that acrobats do. Before he did his disappearing act, the waiter had pointed to the sign above the stage and said the entertainers would be that high up. We thought he was exaggerating, but they actually were with a feat involving stacking chairs higher and higher and balancing on top of them. Cheap seats were in the back, but I was glad we were far enough away to avoid acrobats falling in the middle of the table if they toppled over off the stage.

At least we didn’t have to sit with the Mafia this time. The last time we were there, we had some very strange folks at our table. I still think they were gangsters. This time, however, we sat with ordinary locals who were bringing some out of town guests. It’s a touristy sort of place. Come to think of it, the last time we were there we were taking out of town guests.

“How did you like it?” asked my honey afterwards.

“Well, except for the traffic, parking, food, heat, and waiting, it was fine.”

“That’s pretty much all there was to it,” he said.

Now I remember why it had been so long.

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Entertainment, Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Following Directions

Posted on April 22, 2018 by Sheila Moss

mountain roadUnlike a man, I know how to ask for directions. Also, unlike a man, I follow the directions even if they get me lost. I needed to go to Fall Creek Falls, a Tennessee State Park. I’d never been there before so I wanted to be sure I knew where I was going. I got directions off the State Park’s website. Then I went to one of those Internet mapping sites for really specific directions. What I didn’t think of is that the closest way is not always the best way. Women who are great navigators don’t worry about things like that.

I slung my suitcase into the trunk and off I went, two sets of directions and a map right beside me. I watched the odometer carefully. Mileage was exactly right to the tenth of a mile at the first cutoff. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I congratulated myself on being so clever.

It was easy as long as I was on the Interstate. Unfortunately, Interstates don’t run through State Parks. I left the Interstate at Exit 288, just like the instructions said. Highway 111 was a four-lane road. How lucky could I get? Being a navigator who follows instructions sure pays off. What I didn’t know was my luck was running out.

According to the Internet instructions, I was to turn left onto Highway 30. There was  sign at the cutoff, “Fall Creek Falls.” But the park’s instructions said to go straight. What to do when instructions conflict? I did what any great navigator would do. I followed the signs.

I soon had a hunch that something was wrong. The road became narrow, winding, and steep. “Funny how there is no one on this road except me. Where are all the other cars?” But I followed the road and the instructions. This had to be right.

I wound around curves, S curves, U curves, reverse curves, hair pin curves and curves for which no descriptive name had previously been invented. I finally came to a curve that was so sharp I could see my own tailpipe. “This just can’t be right. But I’ve come too far to turn back now. Nothing to do now but go on.” I was grateful for one thing. At least it was daylight. I’d sure hate to do this road at night. Even great navigators have their limits.

“I’m surprised they do any business at all with a road this bad to travel.” I was starting to feel a bit nauseous from all the swinging and swaying around the curves. By the time I saw the entrance sign, “Fall Creek Falls North Entrance,” I was so dizzy that I really didn’t much care any more.

I continued on for what seemed like miles and miles. “There has to be a lodge in here somewhere.” The signs were rustic, but I thought I was reading them correctly. Finally, at long last, I saw the lodge on the other side of the lake. “How do I get over there?” Drive around it, of course. Good thing I knew how to navigate.

I arrived at last, my nerves rattled and my car nearly twisted in half. I didn’t get lost after all. I only thought I was lost. I found out later that what I used was the “old road.” There is now a new entrance on the other side of the park, and a nice wide road to get there. You don’t need to go over the mountain at all — you can go around it.

I wonder if other great navigators have the problem of following directions too well?

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Automotive, Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Rooster Pitcher

Posted on April 19, 2018 by Sheila Moss

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I won! I got the item I was bidding for on E-Bay! This may seem like a small thing, but it was my first purchase on E-Bay. From all the email I’m receiving from them, they seem to be as excited about it as I am. I never thought before that I wanted to get involved in the trouble of bidding and haggling, but I think I’m starting to like it now.

It all started out in a rather unusual way. I was looking at Blogger; you know the place where people write online weblogs, called “blogs” for short. They have a place on Blogger where they ask offbeat questions just to get people started. Apparently, some people have trouble with this; though, I’m not sure why they are blogging if they have nothing to say.

The question of the moment was, “Your Aunt has just given you a maple syrup dispenser shaped like a chicken for your birthday. Write her a thank you note.” I found that amusing, which probably shows how easy I am to amuse.

My reply was “Thank you for the lovely rooster syrup dispenser. Ever since I  received it, my pancakes taste just like chicken. I’m really starting to get tired of chicken. Do you suppose you could get me a gravy boat that looks like a cow so I can have a steak?”

Then I started speculating. “I wonder if there really is such a thing as a syrup dispenser shaped like a chicken?” Naturally, I had to find out. I typed it into a computer search engine, and didn’t have much luck with “maple syrup dispenser,” but when I typed in “chicken pitcher” a whole new world opened.

It seems that there are not only pitchers shaped like chickens, but they are quite famous. Also, quite cute I might add. Auntie’s gift was not as amusing as it might seem as these things retail for some very fancy prices, depending on size and quality. They are believed to bring good luck and are often given as wedding gifts by those with little awareness of what newlyweds really need – like a laptop computer or a big screen TV.

Pitchers, by those in the know, are very well known in collectors’ circles and even have a story attached. According to the legend, enemies were attacking an Italian noble family after a night of festivity and wine, but the roosters were aroused and made so much noise the whole town woke up and stopped the attack. A ceramic pitcher that looks like a rooster was made to commemorate the event — and let the world know that the town gets up with the chickens.

I decided to buy a small one as a contest prize for my humor-writing friends who also came up with funny maple syrup stories at my request. Where else could I buy such a thing except on E-Bay? I had so much fun bidding on a small rooster pitcher, perfect for maple syrup, that I decided I wanted one for myself too.

The finest Rooster Pitchers come from Italy. I quickly figured out from the bidding that the ones bringing the highest prices were the genuine Deruta Rooster Pitchers named after the Italian town where they are made. I’ve become highly knowledgeable in fine Italian ceramics, or at least as knowledge as one can become in one week of studying E-Bay.

I’ve just received an email that time is running out to bid on another Rooster Pitcher on my “watch list.” My finger twitched on the mouse button, and before I knew what happened, I had clicked the yellow button to bid on it. Now I’ve received another email, and guess what? I won again! What am I going to do with all these pitchers that look like chickens? I will soon have an entire flock of the things.

Not only that, but I am beginning to wonder if there is really such a thing as a gravy boat that looks like a cow.

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Accident

Posted on April 16, 2018 by Sheila Moss

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“Hello, Mom?”

I was at work and it was my daughter calling. I had to put another call on hold to answer.

“Hold on for a minute.”

“Mom, I can’t, it’s an emergency!”

“Just a minute, I’ll be right back.”

The person on the other line just wanted a phone number, which I was trying to give them.

“Mom! I had a wreck! I was hit by a semi!”

That got my attention, “Are you all right?”

She was nearly hysterical. “Yes, I’m on the Interstate. The police are here!”

Good grief, don’t you just love cell phones? There is nothing like getting an eyewitness accident report when you are at the office and can’t do anything about it.

“Are you hurt? Tell them to take you to the hospital.” A third line on my phone was now ringing and going unanswered.

“I’m okay, I’ve gotta talk to the police now!”

“Where are you?” She told me.

“I’ll be right there.”

The first line gave up, and the other line kept on ringing. I don’t know if the first person ever got the phone number or not. I also don’t know why I’m supposed to be directory assistance, but that’s another story.

I called my boss and explained that I had to leave… then I realized that I didn’t have a car. I called my honey and told him the story. He called his boss and explained that he had to leave too.

My daughter called again, “They are towing the car,” she reported.

“Go to the hospital!” I told her.

By the time we got out of the parking garage and drove the fifteen miles, the car had already been towed and my daughter was gone. I wasn’t sure whether to try the hospital or go home. I called her from my cell, “Where are you?”

“I’m home.”

We arrived at the house to find her on the door step wrapped in a blanket and shivering. The police gave her a ride home, but she was locked out. That figures. Her keys were in the car.

“Are you okay, do you want to go to the hospital?” How can someone be in a car that was run over by an 18-wheeler on the Interstate and be okay? She continued to assure me she was not injured.

“What happened?”

“He changed lanes and I was right beside him. My car went under the truck.”

I knew exactly what she meant. I have had the same thing almost happen to me several times. Later when I told other people, they all said the same thing. “That has nearly happened to me.” It seems that trucks have a very large blind spot and if they don’t know you are there, you may end up as tinfoil.

The car is a total loss and is now in the junkyard waiting for the giant beer can crusher to take it to the big recycling center in the sky.

I open the mail today and there was a card from the car dealership, “Happy Birthday to your car.” Guess they don’t know it’s deceased. If I tell them, they will be delighted to fix us up with another one, I’m sure, for the right price. I can practically hear them rubbing their hands together now.

Take my advice and never have children. They will make you crazy. If you already have children, never let them have a driver’s license or a car. If they already have a car, don’t let them have a cell phone. And if all else fails, don’t give them your phone number.

Now, since my daughter doesn’t want to go to the hospital, would someone please take me?

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Automotive, Family, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Wild, Blue, Yonder

Posted on April 11, 2018 by Sheila Moss
airshow

They came… they flew… they’re gone!

I wish they would bring back the local airshow! I’ve missed it since it quit coming. I don’t know where it’s been or why it is taking so long to return. Like all the other fans around here, nothing could make me happier.

I remember the last time I went like it was yesterday:

I didn’t have an inkling there was an airshow until I saw the flashing sign on the highway, “AIRSHOW.” We whizzed by it, but I was sure it said airshow. I rushed to the computer when I got home to Google “airshow”. Yep, there it was in black and white, or electronic letters – whatever.

I have my own little set of rules on how to go to an airshow. Unfortunately, I forgot about them in my excitement and didn’t obey my own rules too well.

Rule One is get your tickets early and save five bucks per ticket. Problem was, I couldn’t figure out where to get them, some bank I’d never heard of. Once again, I was saved by the Internet and found it was in a grocery store. But I got there late and had to stand in line for 30 minutes. Fifty thousand people going to an airshow and one person selling tickets. No wonder people pay extra and get tickets at the gate.

Rule Two is go early to stake your claim on a good spot up front. We overslept. I didn’t have anything ready. I had to dig through the garage to find lawn chairs and then dust off spider webs.

Rule Three is take your own food because they charge $3 for a bottle of water. I didn’t have anything to take, so I just grabbed up what I could find, water, apples, and diet soda. It wasn’t enough for an entire day.

When we arrived we had to wait in another long line to park. They didn’t seem as organized as they used to be. I guess it had been a long time for them too. By the time we got in and dragged our chairs a mile across the parking lot, all hope of a spot anywhere close to the front line was gone.

I noticed that we were hopelessly out of fashion with our heavy folding lawn chairs. Everyone else had the collapsible kind with its own portable tote bag. Two out of our four were broken, so we had to be careful how we sat on them. Lawn chair upgrades were sorely needed.

Rule Four is to take sunscreen and sunhats. I did remember that, thank goodness! I couldn’t find my airshow hat with the small brim and had to wear my fishing hat, but it was a hat. I used sunscreen, but I forgot about my feet. Who would expect feet to get sunburned?

The flying was just as fabulous as in all other years as the show unfolded against a clear blue sky. There were loops, spirals, Cuban eights, near passes, bombs, synchronized acrobatics and other thrilling demonstrations of man’s artful mastery of the air.

I wonder what it is about an airshow that captures the imagination and holds thousands spellbound as they watch the various aerial feats. Probably something as basic as man’s discovery of the airplane itself, the dream of escaping our earthbound existence and flying like the birds. It has to be something inexplicable to get people to sit in the hot sun for five hours looking up.

But it was a first-rate show, in spite of my sunburned feet. I was already thinking about next time. I saw those portable lawn chairs on sale! And my grandson, who attended for the first time, wanted to add his idea, “Next time, let’s get an umbrella.” Sounded like a good idea to me.

And, if it isn’t too much trouble, let me know about it a bit sooner next time!

Copyright 2005-2018 Sheila Moss
Updated
Posted in Entertainment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

My TV Has Bad Hair

Posted on April 7, 2018 by Sheila Moss

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In the long list of life’s little annoyances, one of the most aggravating is having the television go out. I have just gone through the tunnel of darkness at my house with a non-working television. I don’t watch television that much, but my honey lives in front of it.

One night the television was working just fine, the next morning “poof” no picture. The aggravation was greatly amplified by the fact that it is one of those large-screen monstrosities that men are so fond of and women hate with a fury.

Honey clicked remote control buttons frantically, thinking it must be something that needed to be re-set. It was no use. The sound was fine, but the screen was as black as the backside of the moon. Like all electronic and mechanical gadgets, it lasted just long enough for the warranty to expire.

“It doesn’t work! I have to get it fixed! Who can I call?”

“Try the place where you bought it,” I suggested.

We couldn’t remember the name of the store. We looked in the Yellow Pages and couldn’t find anything that sounded right. Honey dug through his old receipts, which was much like looking for a lost lottery ticket in the dumpster.

Finally, he said, “I know where the store is – I’ll just go by there tomorrow.” It was on the other side of town, but I didn’t have any better suggestion. He left early the next morning, a man with a mission. When he returned hours later, he said they told him to take two tranquilizers and call them back on Monday when the technician was in.

He was intolerably depressed with no buttons to push all weekend. “Why don’t we put the one from the bedroom in here till it’s fixed?” I asked foolishly.

“It’s too much trouble. I’ll have to disconnect it and move the cable.”

That didn’t seem like much work to me, but I figured I’d better just leave it alone. “Maybe you can watch it in the bedroom then?”

“I’m not ready to go to bed yet,” he growled.

Although the store had said that plasma screen monitors never have problems, the technician was fully booked and could not come for several more days. So, honey “listened” to TV, stared at the empty screen, and brooded.

Being female, I just couldn’t seem to comprehend the magnitude of his despair. He actually tried to blame me for the problem, saying it was because I used the button on the TV to turn it off instead of the remote control. I was beginning to get highly annoyed at this point and assured him emphatically that I would never touch the thing again, not even to turn it off, even if it played all day and all night – forever!

Finally, the technician showed up. Honey took the day off work to be there. It took hours to fix it I learned later, something about it being connected all wrong. A fuse blew and it shorted out. The more complicated the gadget, the more there is to go wrong with it, I’ve noticed.

The monster now works better than ever. It was not set for high definition before. Now it is so sharp it will burn your eyeballs and singe your eyelashes. “You can tell if it’s high definition by looking at people’s hair,” I was informed by honey, a piece of information that he had just learned from the repairman. “If you can see the individual strands of hair, it’s high definition,” he asserted.

Wow, I don’t know how we could possibly have survived all these years with a TV that had bad hair.

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Mule Day

Posted on April 3, 2018 by Sheila Moss

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You won’t believe what I did for a story. In fact, I don’t believe what I did for a story. I went to Mule Day. It was like dying and waking up in good ol’ boy heaven. There were mules, dirt, mules, crafts, mules, wagons, mules, food, mules, farmers, mules and more mules.

One of the biggest mule related events in the country is right here in Tennessee in Columbia, not far down the road from Nashville. I had never been before, but since it was nearby, I felt it was my responsibility as a humorist to go see it so I could report back to you. I had never seen so many mules in one place in all my life – big mules, little mules, black mules, white mules, even a few spotted mules.

Mule lovers from all over the country came to show their mules and compete in mule contests. One of the bigger events was something called “pulling mules.” It consisted of hitching up a team of mules to heavy weights and trying to see which team could pull the most weight. It was actually a spectator event.

At one time, Columbia was a big center for breeding, trading and selling mules. It seems that mules are unusual in that they cannot reproduce in the usual way and each mule is produced by cross breeding between a donkey and a horse. This creates a constant mule market. If you didn’t know that before, don’t feel badly. Neither did I.

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Columbia’s Mule Day started way back in the 1840’s when farmers came to the livestock and mule market. Mules were stronger than horses and able to pull plows, draw wagons and provide transportation. Mules were work animals, especially important in the development of the country before motorized vehicles. A good mule was a farmer’s most valuable asset.

Mules in this country go back as far as George Washington, who was not only the father of our country, but was also the father of the mule industry. It seems that the first breeding donkey in our country was a gift to him from the King of Spain. No, I’m not making this up, and it isn’t nearly as dubious as the cherry tree story anyhow.

Before my mule encounter, I thought all mules were brown, but they are as varied as the horse species that are used to produce them. I wanted to take some close up photos of the various mules in the livestock pens, but the mules kept turning their backsides toward me. I think they saw my camera and did not want the flash in their eyes. That’s my story anyhow.

Over 200,000 people come to Columbia for Mule Day. Can you believe it? Mingling elbow-to-elbow with country folks in coveralls and tractors hats, trying not to sneeze from the hay or step in anything awful, I decided that I might skip this part next time and just go for the parade. I especially liked the parade since those mules were dressed in their finest gear and also hitched to wagons so they could not turn their backsides towards me.

Mules have a reputation for being stubborn, but mule experts say this is not true. Mules are actually highly intelligent, smarter even than horses. Mules know when they are tired and it’s time to quit — so they do. I’ve learned a whole lot more than I every wanted to know about mules, but have come to appreciate them in a way I never did before. However, the most beneficial thing I’ve learned from mules is that when you are tired, just quit.

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Copyright 2004 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Entertainment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Spring Has Sprung

Posted on March 28, 2018 by Sheila Moss

 

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Photo by Jason Long on Unsplash

Spring is sprung, and with it that blight of suburbia known as the dandelion has also sprung. Do not tell me that they are merely wildflowers. Do not say, “If it’s green, let it grow.” Do not tell me that dandelions are delicious when prepared correctly or that they are medicinal herbs or that I should enjoy them instead of cursing their existence.

Dandelions are weeds, vicious, sneaky weeds that masquerade as innocent yellow wildflowers but turn into crazed white-headed demons over night. The slightest puff of wind turns their fluffy white crown into a hundred seed parachutes and sends the offspring on a mission to create more demons of the same kind.

I’ve tried to ignore the spring greening of the lawn and the sprouting of the early crop of weeds. But this past weekend, I finally had to face the inevitable and begin the first round of that detested annual chore known as “weeding”.

When I moved outside of the city, I dreamed of life where the air was fresh, the living easy, the lawns polished. I would have a yard full of flowers, a few tomato plants, enjoy the sunshine and be a weekend gardener.

Then the demon weeds that live only to spoil the hopes, dreams, aspirations and lawns of suburbanites ruined it all.

Last weekend I prepared for the annual weed war. Gardening gloves donned, trowel in right hand, weed spray in the left, I pulled out some of the larger yellow-headed monsters from the flowerbeds where the ground was soft. But soon the brittle weeds began to break off at the root.

Dandelions can quickly reincarnate themselves from the smallest bit of root that is left behind. It is easier to spray them than to pull them. But then it is weeks before the hideous invaders finally die. And in their last gasp of life, they go to seed and recreate themselves a hundred times as their seed is flung to the wind.

It seems hopeless, and the war is merely in the first skirmish. There are many more to battles left to fight before the end of the summer.

I think I’ve eradicated the front line of defense. Of course, they have legions of reinforcements in the lawn. I can scarcely bear to look at it, bright green with yellow polka dots. I realize that the enemy has me outnumbered. I retreat and desperately call in reinforcements from the local lawn service. “Only one treatment?” they ask. “You will not get the results you want.”

I can’t maintain it like a golf course. “I’ll just hold them back for now and counter attack later.” The weeds will win. They always do. But I will never surrender. Thistle, plantain, burdock, wild onions and clover all dig in to resist. But the evil dandelion is the leader of the squad.

Warfare will rage until the end of summer.

Weeds always invade places where they are not welcome. Weeds are prolific reproducers, and grow where other plants cannot. Weeds are survivors and take away the sun and water from more desirable plants.

I know that into each life a little rain must fall and in each garden a few weeds apparently must grow. But not my garden, and not if they are dandelions. I yearn for flowers — real flowers — petunias, and marigolds, begonias and snapdragons.

I will check out the bedding plants down at the garden center and select my summer annuals. I will plant them and nurture them and maybe they will last at least until the heat of mid-summer. I crave flowers that behave themselves and stay in the flowerbeds instead of invading the lawn looking for trouble.

And if you should be one of those folks that loves the dandelion, come on over and you can have all you want.

Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Plants/Gardening | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

It Might be a Redneck Wedding

Posted on March 25, 2018 by Sheila Moss

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In spring we feel young, alive. Thoughts just naturally seem to turn to romance and marriage. We might even receive an invitation to a wedding. Here in the South, we have wedding ceremonies too, just like everywhere else. Well, maybe not exactly like everyone else. Some of our weddings might be just a tad different, but probably not enough you would even notice the difference unless you are looking.

It might be a Redneck Wedding…

If the groom is wearing a bowling shirt,

If the bride wears a crop top so her tattoo will show,

If the bride’s hair is bigger than her veil,

If the bride carries a bouquet of cotton bolls,

If the bride maids have fringe on their skirts and vests,

If the wedding is delayed because the groom’s truck wouldn’t start,

If the bride’s father brings a shotgun to the wedding,

If the wedding march is played on dueling banjos,

If the friends of the groom TP the church,

If the decorations include any pink flamingo,

If the best man is wearing a baseball cap,

If the preacher has sideburns and wide lapels,

If they throw corn at the couple instead of rice,

If the musical selections include Loretta Lynn or George Jones,

If the photographer is using a disposable camera from Wal-Mart,

If the groom’s men have western boots and sequins on their shirts,

If the reception is held at the local Waffle House,

If the hor dourves include pork skins and bean dip,

If guests play pinball machines or shoot pool at the reception,

If there is a jug in the back room,

If the wedding gifts include hubcaps, ammunition, or IOUs,

If the wedding buffet includes pork barbecue and toothpicks,

If the getaway car is a pickup truck with Pabst beer cans tied behind it,

If the wedding announcement is in the free advertiser newspaper,

If the couple plans to honeymoon in Branson, Mo.

If the newlyweds will reside in a mobile home,

If the groom gives chewing tobacco for wedding favors,

If the bride does too.

Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments