Post last updated: December 17th, 2017
My regular readers have probably figured out by now that I have a unique outlook on the world and quite a few things strike me as downright funny. After Momma passed, The Grande Poobah in Ohio sent me a plant. First, you need to know that she has an oddball sense of humor funnier than mine. She couldn’t possibly have arranged what happened but it would have been like her to do so.
Poobah’s order was filled by Gladwell’s Florist, Inc. and, for whatever reason, the owner was making the delivery. When he pulled into our street, he was flummoxed because the road was completely blocked. Rather than being the normal 60 foot right-of-way, our country lane has only a 30 foot right-of-way and we pull over to give each other room as we drive the road. Needless to say, the road was impassable with half of a double wide mobile home sitting in the middle of it (a family who had been good neighbors for the last few years had fallen on hard times).
Mr. Golf Cart, who was watching the repossession from his golf cart, swung into action. He offered to ride the florist down to our house in his golf cart. So away they went, riding across the five acre pasture across every bump and ant hill. No doubt, the florist wondered if he was to be hurtled across the windowless dash as he hung on for dear life in a vehicle with no seat belts, no hanging things to grab onto, and his butt sliding all over the seat while he was trying to hold a bromeliad in his lap. For all I know, he might have been bald with little tufts of hair flying in the breeze, too. Work with me here. Try to visualize this and see if it doesn’t tickle your funny bone.
Next, the family went to see the preacher to make arrangements for Momma’s memorial. My sister wanted to see the main altar where she would be delivering her eulogy. The preacher unlocked the church doors and led us up to the altar. What lay there on the floor of the main altar was a shocker. I’m sure Jesus didn’t mind but I knew my sister’s eyes were bugging out. Momma always described my sister as an “iron fist in a velvet glove” which is very accurate. I would add that she’s an uppity stuffed shirt. So the minute my eyes zeroed in on that kayak sitting on the floor of the altar, I kid you not, I had to clap my hand over my mouth and turn away to stifle a guffaw.
My brother thinks I have a “weird” sense of humor and I’m hoping he doesn’t see this because it will just confirm it for him. Let’s keep it a secret, okay?