People are Funnier Than.........

Almost 30 years ago a coworker and friend I'll call Dwayne said, “people are funnier than anybody.”  My friend was right.

It has always amused me that people apparently think they are invisible when they get into their car.  Even when they are driving, women “adjust” and check out their makeup or their hair as if they can’t be seen.  Men clean their ears, primp, pick their teeth and even worse.  People reading a book, a map or a newspaper have passed me on the way to work. 

About ten years ago, the same woman passed me almost every morning as I drove to work.  Not that I mind being passed by a woman, but I was driving about 65 and she was applying eye makeup as she passed me, using the lighted mirror on the back of her sun visor.  Since it was before daybreak, I would watch as the glow of that lighted mirror would go over the distant hill in front of me each morning.

Men and women now use their commute time to talk on their cell phones.  Don’t get me wrong, I do it sometimes myself.  Other than the time you are dialing, I don’t think that the act of TALKING on a cell phone is any more dangerous than talking to someone in the car with you.  I have been surprised to see some pass me, holding their cell phone with one hand and gesturing with the other.  It made me wonder what kind of autopilot they had.

  

Cell phones certainly are a real asset for us to keep in touch with our family, loved ones as well as work.  It has finally moved from status symbol to a useful tool and finally just about a necessity.  However, I continue to be amazed by how some folks act as they use these things.  Some folks must believe that they become inaudible as soon as they hit the “send” button.  Either that or they completely lose their sense of where they are.  Once while traveling,  I overheard a woman talking on her cellphone, who was walking through the airport say, “Yes I’m here in Orlando and I just hate this airport.  It is the absolute worst!”  She was getting in line for ice cream on concourse B at the ATLANTA airport.

People that would look at you like you were CRAZY if you ask them their name think nothing of exposing their name, address, phone number, Social Security number, mothers maiden name and more while talking in public on their cell phone.  I have heard about hysterectomies, gall bladder surgeries and divorce, all in more detail than anyone would want to hear, while waiting for a table at Longhorn. 

When you travel, it seems as though it is even worse.  I have heard lawyers give advice, and threaten while in the privacy of the gate area with 200 other people waiting for a plane.  I have overheard enough business details in a series of cell calls that someone listening could have absolutely wrecked some pretty good deals.

I think that parking lots are probably the most unique place for people, though.  Like on the road, people must believe that they are invisible not only as they drive into the parking lot, but also must believe that they remain invisible for at least 10 feet as they leave their car.  Many people, particularly heavyset ones do an inordinate amount of adjusting and retrieving undergarments from areas of anatomy that I’d rather not discuss too much.  I can’t imagine that they would do that if they knew that we could actually see them. 

This 10-foot “invisibility buffer” obviously is only effective when you are leaving your car.  I say this because these same people bounce up like a Superball if they slip and fall when they are returning to their car.  They may break their hip or leg, but they jump up and look around to see if anyone actually SAW them fall.  If you ask them if they are OK, they will invariably say, “Sure, I’m fine.”  They’ll say this even if they have bones protruding and are bleeding profusely.  

Yes Dwayne, you were right 30 years ago and you are right now, people are just funnier than anybody.   

Grannies in a blanket

A few weeks ago, the leader of our church’s senior adult group, “Senior Friends” asked me about helping with a hayride for the group. He said, “My wife told me to ask for your help because if you helped, it would be fun; if I planned it by myself, it would be boring.”

I suspect that she may have suggested that he ask for my help, but I really doubt that she said anything about him planning a boring trip without me. He is a retiree who rides a motorcycle, for heaven’s sake. How could he be boring?

In any case, I gave him my thoughts and told him that I hoped they had a good time; I wouldn’t be there for it though.

The weekend before the hayride, he again asked me a few questions. I answered as best I could, but again wished him well and told him that I couldn’t (wouldn’t) be there.

A couple of days before the event, my wife casually mentioned that she had signed us up to bring soup to the “after the hayride” festivities. You could have heard a hay bale drop…… “Honey, didn’t I mention that I couldn’t be there?”

Well, as you can imagine, the night of the event was a beautiful, full moon-lit night, with temperatures hovering around a crisp 32° F. That’s cold enough that those who were actually crazy enough to get on the trailer wouldn’t admit to having been there.

They had borrowed a nice trailer from “Gully Branch” that was actually built for that purpose. It had a nice John Deere paint scheme and plenty of bench seating. It was even equipped with a slide out, walker-wide ramp so that the infirm (both of mind and body) could get on and off.

The way I heard it, the ride started with a bang. The driver pulled out with a trailer full of seniors, wrapped up in light jackets and a smattering of gloves, hats and blankets.

Living in the Deep South, I am not all that familiar with, nor have I ever had the need to understand, a wind chill chart. As best I can tell, with an ambient temperature of 32°F and a truck pulling a trailer at 35 MPH, frostbite is not a serious threat, but you would have a hard time convincing about 30 of my senior friends that it was not possible.

“Hey, Hey, Hey, Are you late for some appointment somewhere?” they shouted.
When the driver finally stopped, he asked, “Are you cold back there? I was only going 30-35!”

“We could fly a kite back here, if the wind-chill didn’t freeze and break the string!”

A whole nest of Grannies were all wrapped up in one blanket, shaking their heads.

After that, he held the speed down to 18-20, so the wind chill was only about 20°F. This made the next 100 yards, or so, NOT TOO BAD.

One couple was completely under their own blanket by the time they got to the next stop sign.

“What are you doing under that blanket, David?”

“Leave me alone, I’m smooching with my wife.”

“David, are you sure that that is Jan under there with you?”

“It’s too cold to come out and check, right now.”

By the time they got to the next stop sign, riders were saying, “Great, we can turn around here, and maybe we won’t all have pneumonia.”

It didn’t happen.

By this time, several folks were beginning to express concern that the driver and his wife were really missing all the fun that was happening on the trailer. At least 10 men volunteered to drive so that the driver and his wife could ride in the back where the “fun” was.

“This whole trip was their idea and they are missing all the fun.”
Really, this was a trailer full of caring, selfless people. (If I had been there, I might have cried.)

When a car pulled up behind the trailer, someone said, “Don’t look right at them. They might recognize us. We don’t want them to think that our church if full of idiots that would be out on a hayride on a night like tonight.”

Indeed.

They made it a full six miles before the threat of violence appeared, “turn around, get us back to the church and get us hot chocolate and no one gets hurt…”
Even though they were headed back, several were still not convinced that the driver was not lost. “Is he still looking for a place to turn around?”

“These are my best gloves and I still can’t feel my fingers.”

“Don’t touch my ears, they might fall off.”

And my personal favorite, “I can’t tell, is my nose running?”

This was an over 50 crowd, a group that, as a whole, is technology averse. I suspect that they will all have a better understanding of weather forecasting and wind chill before they get on a “Gully Branch” trailer at night again. The way I heard it, there were more than 30 “Senior Friends” out that night, but none would admit to actually being on that hay ride. I know that if I had been there, I probably wouldn’t admit it either.

Hometown Heroes

While my wife and I were on our way out of town for a few days of rest, we drove through several small towns. I always enjoy reading the signs as we pass through. In one town we saw signs in front of two different churches declaring “Today is Hoyt Smith Day!” This little town wasn’t half the size of my hometown, maybe a couple of thousand people, so getting his name on two church signs was quite an accomplishment, I thought.

It turns out that Hoyt was celebrating his 100th birthday. He had spent most of them in that same community. He had farmed, gotten married, and raised a family there. But he had also been an asset. He had been a scout leader, active in the community and his church.

This made me think about my community and the many people that give of their time and talent to make it a better place to live.

My next door neighbor is on our city council. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that he hears a thousand complaints for every pat on the back that he gets. I’ve never heard him complain about it. In fact, when he mentions his responsibilities at all, it is usually talking about something that we could do to make our town a better place to live.

Can you think of a single pastor that gets the respect, recognition, (and pay) that they truly deserve?

There is a church near my home that has a very well kept lawn. There is always a nice mix of blooming flowers throughout the warmer months. I just know that the elderly man that maintains them is a volunteer. I say that because I don’t think that they could afford to pay him for all the time he invests. Our church had one of those men. For years, Eddie Edwards made sure that the weeds were few, and the grass was green. I don’t ever remember telling him how much I appreciated that.

I have no idea who the scout leaders and recreation ball coaches in my community are. They give of their time to help mold the leaders of tomorrow.

The children’s choir and high school band may sound great in their spring concert, but some hardworking director has had to listen to hours of pretty awful, ear-bleeding stuff to get them to that point.

The list goes on. We have heroes all around us. There are school bus drivers, teachers, policemen; just a lot of people that do jobs that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to do. I’m glad that they are able, and willing to do those jobs. We should say something to let them know that we appreciate what they do.

Last weekend, they presented Mr. Smith with a proclamation that talked about his being a kind and generous man, who brings joy and happiness to his many friends, neighbors, and family members. It talked about the example he has made of his life. It said that he makes this world a better place in which to live. Of course, it had all the “whereas and therefore” words that proclamations always have.

I wasn’t there, but I suspect that Mr. Hoyt wondered what all the fuss was about and kinda wished that they hadn’t gone to all that trouble. Hometown heroes are just that way. I’m glad that they did. He deserved it, I’m sure, and it made me think about the hometown heroes right here in my little part of the world.

45 Grannies

I have quoted my friend Dwayne many times. He used to say (and probably still does say,) “people are funnier than anybody.”

A few weeks ago I was on a plane from London to Atlanta. I had settled into an aisle seat, gotten myself comfortable and began to read. I was pretty much ready for the nine plus hours of travel. A nice young lady came up to me and asked me if I could swap seats so that her aunt could sit beside someone she knew. I agreed and before I could get to my new seat, I was traded again. Of course, I didn’t care. All of these trades kept me in aisle seats.

When I finally settled down, I was beside two nice British women, Nan and Janet.

Janet said something like, “you aren’t going to be trouble, are you.”

I just explained that I’d just take off my shoes and would read or sleep for most of the trip.

“You’ll not take off your shoes and you won’t sleep much because we will need to be walking every 30-45 minutes and, since we’ll be drinking a lot of water to remain hydrated, we’ll need to go the lavatory often too,” Janet said, with Nan nodding.

I told them, “I don’t think so.”

We talked a bit and I asked them if they were on holiday and if this was their first trip to America. They explained to me that, yes it was their first trip and that they were part of a tour group: 45 women (late 60s, early 70s) from northern England. They had taken the four hour bus ride to London that morning.

“Where are you going in the US,” I asked.

“We’re going to Graceland, the Jack Daniels distillery and Houston.”

“I can’t believe that they are going to get 45 nice British women all liquored up and then take them to NASA.”

By this time, we were in the air and the nice crew came by offering refreshments. I had water. Nan AND Janet had white wine. Two bottles each. This was not exactly what I had in mind when they said, “Stay hydrated.”

As it turned out, the tour is actually a two week whirlwind tour that goes from Atlanta, has several stops in Tennessee, Mississippi and New Orleans and finally ends in Houston. They will see some of the great places the South has to offer: The Georgia Aquarium, Lookout Mountain, The Grand Ole Opry, and several Civil war era homes in Vicksburg, MS. They’re even going to eat an Authentic Southern Meal. (Well hush my mouth.)

“What should we expect in a southern meal?” Nan asked.

I explained that whatever it was, they could expect the meat to be either smoked or fried. If they were lucky, they may even get some turnip greens and cornbread, if they were lucky. The tea would be iced and sweet, just like God intended.

Nan rang for more white wine.

Before we got off the plane in Atlanta, I asked the ladies if they would be buying velvet Elvis paintings at Graceland.

Nan said, “We’ll buy something really nice there, I’m sure. I just hope Priscilla is not there. Elvis would be alive and singing today if it wasn’t for her.”

Well welcome to America, Nan. Welcome to America.

Signs along the way

I certainly don’t remember the first roadside advertisement I ever saw, but I suspect it was a barn rooftop proclaiming “See Rock City” or one of the Burma Shave sets that were along roadside across America in my youth. I specifically remember seeing:

Ma Loved Pa

Pa loved Women

Ma Caught Pa

In with 2 a swimmin’

Here lies Pa!

Burma Shave!

I’d always thought that roadside advertisements were born when the automobile came along, but they say that it goes back to Egyptian times. You probably could have convinced me that advertising flyers date back to Gutenberg’s original printing press, but there were no cars, or windshield wipers to put them under back then.


With the invention of portable signs and other, more permanent signage with changeable letters, we have moved into ever changing advertising and clever messages, especially at churches:

“Get off facebook and take out faith book”

“Go to church; don't wait for the hearse to take you”

“A bad day at work is better than a good day in hell”

“Down in the mouth? It’s time for a faith lift”

Over the years, I guess my favorite roadside advertisement has been hand printed signs and more recently, local signs on mobile lighted signs and professionally printed (but not well thought out) signs. Years ago on a road trip, my wife and I caught a couple signs of note on US 441 between Milledgeville and Eatonton GA.

Deborah took this picture, which is the one that really renewed my interest in the world of roadside signage. We didn’t buy any produce, but I would have paid a good price for the sign, if I thought I could have bought it without insulting the owner.

Deborah also took this priceless gem:







I especially like signs that need translation skills to interpret. It says, “Sweeting Quick Stop and Cafe and Short Order” At least that is what I think it says.


And then there are those that send a message that is probably not exactly what they intended. This one was in front of a business that was closed and for sale. They changed the sign a couple of weeks before the Mayoral election in Cochran, GA to indicate the owner's preference.






And then there is this one. They must have put up 100 within 25 miles of my hometown.






I am not quite sure why one would actually pay for leaks, but if you need a deal on some, I KNOW who to call.

There are countless others. I just felt the need to share these few.