Category: Observational Humor

Thars a bar.

Alexandra Langstaff1 Comment

I’m impressed with Claudia’s last story taking place on the Pacific Northwest Trail. https://substack.com/@cccandc/note/p-176889628?r=35kr11&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action

Dealing with the elements, minimal provisions and possibly building her own snow fort for 3, takes balls. However, I’m surprised she didn’t mention potential wild animal encounters.

Maybe she had enough to think about. Better out of mind and out of sight, I’d say.

I’ve felt that way when Lassie stops short while we are walking in the woods. I don’t know what’s out there but if you ignore them, whatever them are, they will ignore you. I then pay attention to things that are more afraid of me than I of them, like newts, and keep on walking.

Yesterday Lassie charged off the porch and stopped 8 feet short of a teenage porcupine. She wasn’t moving any closer. She’s smart like that.

“HEY…Whoa there!” I yelled at both animals as I picked up a piece of house trim that had fallen off of something.

The teenage porky was coming home late. This was all he needed.

“G’won git. You ain’t stay’n’roun here” I growled, as I neared him and then leaned on the trim like a shovel. (I do a really good Sam Elliot impersonation.)

The standoff took a couple of minutes.

“Wha’jew jest say ta’ me?” I sneered at his puffed up back as he finally toddled off, rolling his eyes.

Earlier this summer, my friend Maggie, her dog JJ, Lassie, and I were setting off on a walk in the woods.

She said, “Did I tell you about the bear on Playhouse Lane? He was eating berries off the bushes, in front of the old schoolhouse. We wouldn’t have seen it except a neighbor waved, put his fingers to his lips and pointed. I couldn’t believe it! I’ll show you the photo when we get back to the car. I walk with an air horn now. Wait…it must have fallen out of my pocket when I took off my sweater.”

“It’s blue and white” she yelled over her shoulder. as we retraced our steps. I could have used more specifics like shape, size, or shade of blue. I didn’t know how to focus my eyes.

I asked myself, “Aren’t air horns huge and loud? Is there smoke? Are they dangerous? Do they detonate if they are dropped?”

Well, evidently not.

“Found it!” She announced.

It looks like an inhaler.

Back at the car she showed me a picture of a teenage bear brazen enough to pick at easy eats in the historic district of town.

It looks at the camera with a goofy, yet bullying expression, as if saying,

“Keep moving, nothing to see here. Buggawuggawoo! Runaway scaredy cats”.

I’m going to practice making air horn noises just for fun. BAAAaaaaaWHAAaaaa. I can add it to my repertoire of impersonations. I’ll also add a real one to my emergency pack along with candy and duct tape in case I ever go on a real hike.

Who doesn’t want to have a point?

Alexandra LangstaffLeave a comment

My writing friend is a good influence. Somehow she encourages philosophical prattle and slight irreverence in me whenever we get together.  The other day we met to discuss petty, yet important, dramas and strains in our lives.

“I just realized that no matter how bad, sad, or frustrated I feel, I’m not the only one feeling this way. That’s sort of a bummer,” I whispered as we sat at the end of the mystery section in the library.  “Why can’t it just be about me? Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, not even Jesus,” I half sang.

I believe Jesus is quite aware of my woes. Just as I am aware of the woes of others.  This is what I mean about her influence. She made  selfish, whining words roll off my tongue. It was liberating. Maybe that was her intention.

”Write that down” she exclaimed excitedly. And of course I did because that’s what we do.

The day’s discussion got pretty deep as we discussed writing goals. She intimated she was aiming towards a large manuscript. “My point is I want to have a point,” I confessed. 

“Write that down” she directed. 

I don’t know if I made up that sentiment about making a point, or read it on a poster in the early 80s. 

That happens. Phrases that resonate are like discovering buried treasure when all you’re doing is lazily digging your fingers in the sand. “Enjoy your next trip around the sun” popped up on social media one year. That’s brilliant. Who came up with it? Euclid?

”I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired” my buddy Mike said after we taught skiing all day in a blizzard. I had never heard anything so original, so grumpy, so perfect. It was like he channelled the old grousing crabs who sit in the box seat at the theater on the Muppet Show.

It became my go to response when I knew my crankiness and frustration was out of proportion to the situation at hand. It would be great printed on a rubber  bracelet as a reminder to snap out of it.

Research shows that activist Fannie Lou Hamer originally used the phrase in a more serious way. Bromley ski school had nothing on the Jim Crow South.

Later on the drive back to town I said, with a bit of alarm, ”Wow it’s hard to see. These snowflakes are huge”. The blizzard hadn’t let up.  “Well, don’t try to hit them” Mike said calmly.

With that advice, my grip on the steering wheel softened and my body began to relax.

Just because you’re driving in a blizzard doesn’t mean you need to hit the flakes. Wait. Did we just make up a slogan for an inspirational accent pillow?

As a wedding gift, a childhood friend gave me a glittery blue bumper sticker that had bold white letters saying “One day at a time”. 

What an incredible bit of advice. It could be an inspirational cross stitch done by Mrs. Walton or Ma on the Little House on the Prairie. The message was clear, life is filled with challenges, keep calm.

I was only 30 so the AA connection didn’t register.

I proudly stuck it on to our tractor but now wonder how many people driving by over the years wondered  which one of us was in recovery.

That marriage didn’t last, but the sentiment did. 

That’s the wonderful thing about seemingly trite phrases. Pretty much everyone gets them; however, our interpretations may be different. When we make fun of them, we are actually doing ourselves a favor. It transmits a message from the brain to the nervous system that says “Chill out man, you aren’t alone, there’s a special place in heaven for you.”

Maybe that’s my point.

Shouldering Chores

Alexandra LangstaffLeave a comment

Last Wednesday, Peter’s surgeon told me, in no nonsense medical terms, that “His shoulder was a mess but the operation was a success”. What great news! Just think, in six, short weeks he will be able to take off his sling and lift a cup of coffee.

In the meantime, I’ve had to take over some chores I prefer not to do. I just did the lawn on our spaceship lawn mower. I felt like Grandpappy Amos from the Real McCoys (Series 1, episode 6). He tried out one of them new fangled machines, albeit a tractor, and drove into a tree. Fortunately I only ran over some daffodils. Funny, I don’t remember the porch being covered with grass clippings after Peter mows.

Cleaning the toilets and taking the garbage and recycling to the transfer station are two chores I’ve yet to tackle. I hope there aren’t more.

Most everything else we take turns doing. But there’s no turn taking going on for the next month and a half.

He’s managing well for himself for breakfast and lunch, however I’m responsible for dinner. When Peter steps into the kitchen with a family recipe or something exotic, he stays there until it’s done. And he cleans up. It may take two hours but usually more.

I’m Queen of Casseroles and Leftovers. Short prep, easy clean up. However I can’t submit him to quesadillas and last summer’s, never-ending supply of frozen zucchini soup renditions for the next 45 days, so I’m trying new recipes. That means more research, more shopping, more prep, and more clean up. 

I’d rather not use the dishwasher because Peter rolls his eyes when I stack it. (Personally, I think it’s a poorly designed machine.) But unfortunately I’m using more utensils and such, so it’s required.

I’m an early riser so I give Lassie her breakfast. Peter, normally, does dinner at five. He washes out her dog dishes more often than I do. Like 100% more often. I thought dog dishes were better left to season like cast iron skillets and salad bowls. We’ll see how the Lass is doing at the end of June.

Of course cooking, cleaning and caring for my loved ones is not a hardship. It just takes more time than I’m used to giving. Frankly it’s a bit more of my time than I would rather give. That doesn’t make me a bad person.

I think Peter was secretly relieved when I told him that by no means was I taking over lawn mowing. It’s still his job. With any luck, I can reassure him more, once I find the toilet brush and the garbage permit.

Just think in 6 to 12  weeks Peter is allowed to make a sandwich. Did I mention it’s his right arm?

Darn good job!