2012 and Beyond…

I hate to mention it, but this world is in a bit of a mess.  And the year has only begun.

I wish the Old-timers were here right now to chat with us about it.  We need to sit down with these old “survivors,” and figure out what we’re doing wrong to cause such havoc on Planet Earth!  Seems like crises are building all around us.  Strange things are happening everywhere.

Now, folks.  We know all this hype about 2012 is just that.  Hype.

We know that the movie “2012” is ridiculous.  We know it’s simply not possible for ancient Mayans to predict what is coming, today.  Besides, when we study it out, we realize that the Mayans weren’t predicting the “End of the World” at all.

They were actually predicting a New Beginning.  A turnover on the world-calendar of events.  New leadership.  New outlook.  New everything.  Isn’t that wonderful?

According to the Mayans,  a “god” is about to rise on the world scene—a Messiah of sorts—bringing great change to the planet.

After the catastrophes of 2011, we need some change…that’s for sure!

Hazardous Holiday in the Heartland

I couldn’t believe it was happening.

My long-awaited vacation was falling apart before it had begun.  I was about to be arrested.  Maybe even get thrown in jail.  Then all of my rootin,’ tootin’ relatives would have to bail me out and—

But wait!   I’m getting ahead of my story.  You won’t believe it, of course…but it’s true.  Every word of it.

You see, my kinfolk were planning a big holiday reunion in the Heartland.  Everyone would be there…People I hadn’t seen for eons!  It was exciting, but nerve-wracking, too.

Panic time!  I was ten pounds overweight.  Wrinkled.  Full of sun spots, and as old as Methuselah.  I couldn’t go to the reunion looking like this!

I started jogging and doing exercises.  Hair treatments!..Skin-toning!…Extreme measures to make up for lost time.  One evening, my husband came home to find me using the vacuum cleaner on my face.

“What now?” he said, “What are you doing?”

“In-laws and Outlaws…a Holiday Hullabaloo”

I drove 2000 miles to get to the Family Reunion. It was an insane thing to do.

You don’t know my relatives. They’re loud. Bossy. Opinionated. They fight frequently, tossing things about. Hammers. Frying pans. Tea-cups.

They don’t take after me.

We all gathered at the Family Farm—the Funny Farm, that is—crowding into Granny’s kitchen, bumping and jostling. Eating huge amounts of food and dirtying a million dishes, until at last we were shooed outside.

Our father was there—reigning over his unruly clan with a certain pride. “Straighten your shoulders, now!” he said for the tenth time that day, “You don’t want to look stoop-shouldered like your Great Aunt Bertha.”

My sister frowned. “And whatever you do…” she said. “Don’t step in the chicken poop! It’s everywhere. Those dang chickens!”

She’s the Sophisticate of the family, you see. She might wear overalls, at times—but they’re always neat and clean. She seldom comes near the rest of us—for obvious reasons—having fled east to the sanity of Indiana, many years ago.

The hubbub in the farmyard grew suddenly louder. The menfolk had taken out their guns, and were pointing them haphazardly in all directions, sighting down the barrels.

Of Blunders and Blessings

It was one of them days.

I stood in a long line at the Dollar Store. Ahead of me was a flustered old Granny—juggling enemas and a handful of loose change. She dropped her coins and enemas all over the place. Everybody sighed and shuffled their feet.

I should have spoken up, then. Should’ve cheered up the old lady.

“Yep. It’s one of them days, Granny—but we’ll make the best of it.  I’ll write about you in my newspaper column.  You’ll be famous in four States—enemas and all.”

But no.  I didn’t say it.  Didn’t try to cheer up the old gal.  I was feeling grumpy, today—not benevolent.
Leaving the store, I drove out of town toward the coast. I was thirsty. I’d bought a can of Dr. Pepper. But I’d forgotten to buy some ice.

Ice addicts have intense cravings, especially on these kinda days. I had to find some ice, somewhere. I drove along slowly—hopeful, watchful…Feeling desperate.

Then, I saw it. A bunch of ice-chests sitting on a lawn. There was a crowd of people standing around, eating. They all had on cowboy hats and fancy boots. Cowboy convention? Family reunion? Funeral?

Didn’t matter. I needed ice.  I braked to a stop. Putting on my sunhat, I went to join the cow-folk.  Mixing.  Mingling.  It didn’t take me long to get to the point.

“May I have a cup of ice?” I said. Politely, of course—as is the custom in these situations.

“Ice? Sure!” They gave me some in a cup. “Have some cheesecake, too.” They insisted on it—handing me a paper plate and a fork.