Dear Edna
Dear Edna,
So, you’ve traded the Big City for a life on the farm. How’s the leg? If the wooden one gets too cumbersome, I hear they’re doing some great things with fiberglass these days. On the plus side, I spoke with your brother and he informed me that the haybaler will be as good as new once they manage to get your boot out of the gear box.
As I type this, my two-year old grandson is tugging at “Pa Pa’s” pantleg in an effort to get me in his room to discuss the global socio-political implications of a unified religious conglomerate in place of “Toys ‘Я’ Us” on the open market.
Either that, or we’ll play with his Elmo® collection.
It helps if I pretend the stuffed characters are members of Pink Floyd reenacting scenes from “The Wall”. Just who this helps is rather unclear; certainly not my grandson. Occasionally, he’ll look me square in the eye, wrinkle his brow, lower the decibel level of his voice while raising the pitch about an octave on the scale, and spew forth a series of syllables which I’m certain, could they be deciphered, would undoubtedly save the world.
His nine-month old brother just sits in his walker and gives me that look which says, “If you don’t have functioning breasts, why are you even here?”…If I had a nickel…
As ever,
Pinhole
Pinhole's Shop
Dear Pinhole,
Life on the farm is great, though it takes some getting used to. Although a fiberglass leg sounds tempting, I'm afraid it wouldn't have the same effect when I threw it at the rooster. I can't say enough good things about walnut.
Your two-year old probably could save the world, but all those afternoons he and I spent splitting a fifth of Jack and watching "Barney" reruns while you were at work probably skewed his reasoning skills a bit. Come to think of it, he might understand your Pink Floyd re-enactment better than you think.
As for your nine-month old: don't worry about it too much. After the haybaler accident, hubby's been asking me the same thing.
Love to everybody,
Edna
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Dear Edna,
So good to hear from you, again. Step lively.
Regards,
Pinhole
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I am not Edna, but I have sililar experiences in the kitchen just trying to get a meal on the table...only it's not legs but fingers and it isn't a hay baler but hot grease. It's amazing what one can do with two thumbs and a pair of mittens these days.
It sounds like your wisdom is finding its way to your grandsons which is a very good thing as long as they don't get teachers who can't think outside the lines.
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Yes, Ms. Zola, I don't envy the kid's educators, if they insist on going by the book. It could make for some interesting trips to parent/teacher conferences.
Thanks for visiting.
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Maybe your best shot is to really explain Pink Floyd to your grandson. Oh, and if Edna's really serious about living on the farm, she probably won't be kicking and field goals anyway.
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Hi Montucky,
I always found the farm to be the best place to kick field goals. Bovine line judges are very forgiving.
And I'm not sure Pink Floyd can be explained so much as felt. Everyone takes something different from the experience.
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If you think field goals can't be kicked on farms, you must not have been watching that beloved classic "Gus" often enough.
You really have lucky grandkids.
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You tell him, PC.
And my grandkids are probably lucky to be moving a few miles further away in a week, or so. Not so far that I can't haunt them frequently, though.
Thanks.
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