Cranks My Tractor

People just don't do that anymore

Although I truly enjoy cooking, I also enjoy going to the Thai restaurant less than five minutes from my house. It’s my “Cheers,” you know the sitcom about the bar that ran on NBC from the early 80’s to the early 90’s. I don’t remember it being “political,” like so many television shows are now.

Cheers was good comedy and the reason that my Thai restaurant is my “Cheers” is not because I go there and drink, but because when I go in everyone knows my name. It is nice to be smiled at and spoken to and your humor laughed at. I’m sure my 12th grade English teacher would be cringing if she saw that last sentence.

Sometimes I do think that they don’t necessarily understand everything that I say. They speak and understand English very well, but they are not necessarily used to hearing it spoken with an Alabama brogue. So they smile and laugh a lot. I like that, as well as the food.

Mabel and Her Tomato

One of my favorite things to do is to sit or stand at the antique mall and go through all the postcards. I’m sure they were bought by the pound or bundle at an estate sale or yard sale for pennies a piece and brought to the antique mall where they can sell two or three and get their money back. The best I can tell, I’m one of the only ones who sit and go through them.

They go back to the early 1900s and have beautiful pictures from places I’ll probably never get to see. I like to think of them as “Poor Man’s Art.” Usually, I’m only interested in those that have not been used. Yes, there are a lot that have been written on, with penny stamps and more. I suppose some people would buy them for the stamps if they collected such things.

On this particular day, I was finding a nice handful of linen postcards from the 40’s and 50’s with some really cool things on them. I use them. I don’t frame them. I don’t store them. I put a stamp on them and send them to my children.

Somewhere around Turkey Heaven

About every week or so, I get a call from somewhere in rural Cleburne County, Alabama. I’m not sure what the place is called. It has to be somewhere around Turkey Heaven, Trickem, Lecta or possibly Edwardsville. I’ve been there and I could probably get there again, but I just don’t know the name of the place.

Since my Daddy passed away over 15 years ago, one of his good friends calls to check on me on a pretty regular basis. It means a lot to me and I know that this friend of his understands that it does. We talk about his kids, my kids, his grandkids and life in general.

He is about as country as country can get. Through the years, he has aged, but his sense of humor and outlook on life have not. A tall fellow who would probably remind you a little of country comedian Jerry Clower when he talks and maybe Reverend Billy Graham when he spreads his wisdom. He might throw in a few words and phrases that might sound a little irreverent, but I know he would never mean anything in that way.

Why all night?

Usually I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, but last night I got up all night. I got up and continued to ask the owl why he couldn’t just give it a rest. Honestly, I enjoy the sounds of a hooting owl, but you know sometimes they can overdo it.

Going outside in the middle of the night to try and locate the owl is about stupid when you think about it. I can’t see at night and not too well in the daytime, but I guess I just needed something to do or perhaps see if this owl was as big as it sounded.

How does one figure out how big an owl is by the sound of its hoot?

You don’t.

She looked up...

One of my favorite hobbies is people watching. Whether it be at the airport, the water park or the Walmart, it’s just something that I enjoy doing. It helps me to understand and appreciate how different we all are and the various stages of life that people are experiencing. Whether it be trying to corral small children, looking for that perfect plastic thing you can’t live without or trying to fit into last year’s bathing suit.

My love of people watching and appreciation carries over to church, where I get to work the left door four months out of the year. In my part-time position, I get to talk to people, listen to people and watch their reaction when I say something a little off the wall. Not to frighten anyone off, I only say peculiar things to people I know, who understand that I am just trying to get a smile.

This past Sunday was not one of my working Sundays, so this means that I will sit far enough back to see the folks who I know sit in my section. I am also always trying to convince myself that there just seems to be more folks on my side of the church during the months that I am the “Keeper of the Left Door.” It’s not true, I know it is not, but I still like to think it and brag about it to my fellow doorkeepers.