Every Friday I receive a wonderful letter from my Stepfather (Benny) to kick off the weekend. They are full of wonderful information that you can use in everyday life and conversations. The following are unedited excerpts from letters sent by Benny. While many parts might seem slightly confusing, remember that I have 5 chickens, 2 boys and a husband.
Excerpt from email sent January 9th, 2009 (Names have been changed to protect the guilty)
Let's just begin by saying I hope you celebrated Friday in a style that was fun, full of frollic and...well, I can't use that type of language with my kids.
I realize that today wasn't much to you, just another day at work, commuting in traffic, get the kids fed and off to bed, and the other mundane things that life brings. Which pair of scrubs to wear? Does this saddle make my donkey look fat? If I get the large diet coke, can I super size my fries? Did I really put that new hot red sweater in with the whites? Will Tom wear pink undies? Shrunken, does that sweater fit even better? Well, would Tom think it fits better?
Well, Ivan missed you today. I asked, and he tells me that you didn't so much as respond to the invitation, much less send the RSVP! What gives? No slightly extravagant gift? No little something (think bling) that shows your appreciation for all the blood, sweat and tears I've shed over you? No treats for the dogs? No second hand card, suitable to be sent to anyone I know named "Ramon"? No singing of the theme song to that masterpiece of the cinema arts "TGIF"? Not even a phone call? You could have phoned, if nothing else and just breathed deep and heavy into the phone. After all, it is Friday! And what's a little suggestive breathing on the phone on a Friday afternoon? Around here we call that "normal".
Excerpt from July 2, 2009 email
My Dearest Melissa, Chickens and assorted others who might read this.
This is absolutely appropriate for today.
Today is "Stay Out Of The Sun Day".
Really. You think I could make this stuff up?
I mean, honestly, who could come up with "Stay Out Of The Sun Day"?
But, don't you think it really should be held on a Sunday?
So, gather all the chickens and herd them all inside. Put 'em in the garage with that Screaming Yellow Zonker Corvette you're hiding from the local Fuzz. Wait minute, let me rethink that. Chickens are not known for being the quietest creatures around. Sorta like Frat boys at a bikini contest. Put them in the garage where you're hiding the car is a sure way to get busted.....
I know! Put the chickens in the garage, let them party like it's 1999. That'll distract the Fuzz. Then move the Corvette inside. Say, in your bedroom. The Fuzz'll never think of looking for the car in there!
Explain to Tom that it's cheaper to put the car in your bedroom for a few months than it is to pay those pesky storage fees down at the county impound.
Then explain to Tom in a sultry voice, how you plan on marking the 64th Anniversary of the Bikini on Sunday. Do that right, and he'll not only forget about the fact the chickens have invited the neighborhood Chihuahuas over thinking they're a small time mariachi band, he won't even mind the music when they start to play!
Excerpt from September 3, 2009 email
September is National Chicken Month!
WOO HOO!
I knew you could do this.
It's also National Rice Month.
Mmmm......chicken and rice.....that sounds good....
*ahem* excuse me, lost my train of thought there....
It's also "Library Card Sign Up Month"
National Courtesy Month
and National Honey Month.
Now me? I'm off to the Library to politely ask for a cookbook so I can find a recipe for some honey glazed chicken and rice!
So, sashay into the backyard when you get home and let the Ladies know that this is their month! And this is your Friday!
Excerpt from October 22, 2009 email
My Dearest Melissa,
Well, your Momma has climbed K2, the worlds second tallest bed. Only Mount Everest is higher. And this will be proven in the coming weeks as the new box springs she talks about arrive and we slip them under the mattress.
Which brings up a suggestion for an appropriate Christmas present for her: a foot stool. She needs one to get into the bed. It's that high.
We have a sleigh bed, with matching foot and headboards. You can see the footboard, from the door. And most if not all of the mattress above the footboard. There is no way you can see the footboard from the bed itself. As a matter of fact, when I tried out the bed, I got off it by sliding over the footboard, cleared it like an Olympic high jumper.
As for the headboard. You can see it from the door. If there are no pillows on the bed. One pillow, and we're talking throw pillow here folks, and the headboard disappears. Seriously, you can't see it.
In the old house, the bedside table was an inch or so higher than the top of the mattress. Here it's a good six inches below the mattress.
The bed is belly button height on your Momma.
Landon would have a hard time seeing over the bed. Willow thinks twice before attempting to jump up on it. Heck, your Momma thinks twice before getting in it. Fall out of it and you'll run the risk of serious injury!
Brings a literal meaning to the term "go climb into bed."
About your truck...come and get it.
I went out on Tuesday to get in it and head to the other house to get boxes and keep on moving. It had other ideas. I do believe the clutch has decided it don't want to work any more. Which puts it just a half step behind the Volvo, which will go into gear, it just would prefer to fight you on every shift.
I'm getting an automatic in my next car. I'm old, I'm cranky, I don't want to fool around with putting in clutches and adjusting them anymore.
Just let me know when you're coming, I'll get the freezer in the back of the truck for you so you can take it all at once! Heck, we'll even throw in a cinder block or twelve to put it up on. You know, to give the place that proper red dirt road down the hollar ambiance. You have to supply your own stained toilet as a planter.
This just a small sample of his handy work. I really think his letters should be published in a book. I think it should be titled "Letters to the Chickens"
I know this isn't my usual rambling, but I have enjoyed all of Benny's letters and think the rest of the world deserves to enjoy his random babbling.
Excerpt from email sent January 9th, 2009 (Names have been changed to protect the guilty)
Let's just begin by saying I hope you celebrated Friday in a style that was fun, full of frollic and...well, I can't use that type of language with my kids.
I realize that today wasn't much to you, just another day at work, commuting in traffic, get the kids fed and off to bed, and the other mundane things that life brings. Which pair of scrubs to wear? Does this saddle make my donkey look fat? If I get the large diet coke, can I super size my fries? Did I really put that new hot red sweater in with the whites? Will Tom wear pink undies? Shrunken, does that sweater fit even better? Well, would Tom think it fits better?
Well, Ivan missed you today. I asked, and he tells me that you didn't so much as respond to the invitation, much less send the RSVP! What gives? No slightly extravagant gift? No little something (think bling) that shows your appreciation for all the blood, sweat and tears I've shed over you? No treats for the dogs? No second hand card, suitable to be sent to anyone I know named "Ramon"? No singing of the theme song to that masterpiece of the cinema arts "TGIF"? Not even a phone call? You could have phoned, if nothing else and just breathed deep and heavy into the phone. After all, it is Friday! And what's a little suggestive breathing on the phone on a Friday afternoon? Around here we call that "normal".
Excerpt from July 2, 2009 email
My Dearest Melissa, Chickens and assorted others who might read this.
This is absolutely appropriate for today.
Today is "Stay Out Of The Sun Day".
Really. You think I could make this stuff up?
I mean, honestly, who could come up with "Stay Out Of The Sun Day"?
But, don't you think it really should be held on a Sunday?
So, gather all the chickens and herd them all inside. Put 'em in the garage with that Screaming Yellow Zonker Corvette you're hiding from the local Fuzz. Wait minute, let me rethink that. Chickens are not known for being the quietest creatures around. Sorta like Frat boys at a bikini contest. Put them in the garage where you're hiding the car is a sure way to get busted.....
I know! Put the chickens in the garage, let them party like it's 1999. That'll distract the Fuzz. Then move the Corvette inside. Say, in your bedroom. The Fuzz'll never think of looking for the car in there!
Explain to Tom that it's cheaper to put the car in your bedroom for a few months than it is to pay those pesky storage fees down at the county impound.
Then explain to Tom in a sultry voice, how you plan on marking the 64th Anniversary of the Bikini on Sunday. Do that right, and he'll not only forget about the fact the chickens have invited the neighborhood Chihuahuas over thinking they're a small time mariachi band, he won't even mind the music when they start to play!
Excerpt from September 3, 2009 email
September is National Chicken Month!
WOO HOO!
I knew you could do this.
It's also National Rice Month.
Mmmm......chicken and rice.....that sounds good....
*ahem* excuse me, lost my train of thought there....
It's also "Library Card Sign Up Month"
National Courtesy Month
and National Honey Month.
Now me? I'm off to the Library to politely ask for a cookbook so I can find a recipe for some honey glazed chicken and rice!
So, sashay into the backyard when you get home and let the Ladies know that this is their month! And this is your Friday!
Excerpt from October 22, 2009 email
My Dearest Melissa,
Well, your Momma has climbed K2, the worlds second tallest bed. Only Mount Everest is higher. And this will be proven in the coming weeks as the new box springs she talks about arrive and we slip them under the mattress.
Which brings up a suggestion for an appropriate Christmas present for her: a foot stool. She needs one to get into the bed. It's that high.
We have a sleigh bed, with matching foot and headboards. You can see the footboard, from the door. And most if not all of the mattress above the footboard. There is no way you can see the footboard from the bed itself. As a matter of fact, when I tried out the bed, I got off it by sliding over the footboard, cleared it like an Olympic high jumper.
As for the headboard. You can see it from the door. If there are no pillows on the bed. One pillow, and we're talking throw pillow here folks, and the headboard disappears. Seriously, you can't see it.
In the old house, the bedside table was an inch or so higher than the top of the mattress. Here it's a good six inches below the mattress.
The bed is belly button height on your Momma.
Landon would have a hard time seeing over the bed. Willow thinks twice before attempting to jump up on it. Heck, your Momma thinks twice before getting in it. Fall out of it and you'll run the risk of serious injury!
Brings a literal meaning to the term "go climb into bed."
About your truck...come and get it.
I went out on Tuesday to get in it and head to the other house to get boxes and keep on moving. It had other ideas. I do believe the clutch has decided it don't want to work any more. Which puts it just a half step behind the Volvo, which will go into gear, it just would prefer to fight you on every shift.
I'm getting an automatic in my next car. I'm old, I'm cranky, I don't want to fool around with putting in clutches and adjusting them anymore.
Just let me know when you're coming, I'll get the freezer in the back of the truck for you so you can take it all at once! Heck, we'll even throw in a cinder block or twelve to put it up on. You know, to give the place that proper red dirt road down the hollar ambiance. You have to supply your own stained toilet as a planter.
This just a small sample of his handy work. I really think his letters should be published in a book. I think it should be titled "Letters to the Chickens"
I know this isn't my usual rambling, but I have enjoyed all of Benny's letters and think the rest of the world deserves to enjoy his random babbling.
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