Category Archives: Humor

A good laugh goes a long way; practice it daily!

Superstitious…Nah!

 

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Friday Morning-Coming Down

© Jeanne E Webster

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Enjoying a swing on the patio

Sitting in our little “Rose Garden”

Looking at that pale blue sky

Rain’s a no-show, I’ll pardon

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Blurred with white chalky scrapes

Overhead is a see-through image

Last night’s leftover half-moon

Must ’a lost the rest in scrimmage

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Hummingbirds all a’ squeak

A winged rush hour traffic jam

Zooming like mad robotic bees

Deftly loving the ambrosial jamb

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Gum trees shake off their sleep

Casting shade all over the hills

Cicada males not yet awake

Dreaming of their mating shrills

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Melodious call of an oriole male

Not yet sipping of my nectar

Crepe myrtle in fuchsia regalia

Rose petals, the sun rays detector

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A blue jay is squaring off afar

Probably out protecting his mate

Neighborhood roosters a’ crowing

Pleased that the night did vacate

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A dull thumping of railroad cars

Mulishly moving down the tracks

Loaded with sooty coal, I guess

Heading up north, a’ clickity-clack

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A hummer just flew past my nose

Stopped on a dime then returned

Saw my bright red shirt, I reckon

Inching closer, drooled and yearned

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Ready to propel even closer now

Till I uttered, “I don’t think so!”

Off it flew with a squeak and snip,

In a blaze of its slinky chapeau

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Bathed my two Cavalier Spaniels

Got my front end as wet as they

But I can’t run around the yard

And shake off and loudly bray

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Certainly I knew I had better not

What would the neighbors think?

An old lady romping with dogs

Surely needs to visit a shrink

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But when those baths are done

Oh, to become a little girl again

I’d chase my tail and play dog

Bark and run after the mailmen

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I’d dance the day away… maybe

But I’m afraid this tired ole body

Would give out fast and furious

Put me to bed with a hot toddy

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My knees would grate and grit

My hips would start to grumble

The hard ground would beckon

And I’d surely take a tumble

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But jes’ for the tiniest moment

I would be all tickled and pink

For I’d soon be soaring home

In just about forty odd winks!

Here Doggie…

The Dog Days of Summer…

©Jeanne E Webster

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Ooops!  They aren’t here yet!  :)

(So much for that article.)

Sorry about that.

Seems like they should be here.

It’s hot out there,

dusty,

lazy,

hazy,

downright lethargic,

a bad influence on the entire body…

oh well.

Anyway, have fun and stay cool.

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Remember those blessings from God?

Share them with your family and neighbors.

Shalom

Dust and More Dust

(I knew I wrote this months ago for some reason!  Gotta keep a sense of humor…the weather could  be worse!)

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Dry Bones Waltz

© Jeanne E Webster

Dressed in dingy denim
Drab as dusty darnel
I doze deeply deadpan
As I digest decline.

Deep dents, despised, deplored
De skin deplumed, doleful
Dance, dried divine dolly!
Dodge death, dizzy dotard!

Best Headlines of 1999

And the Beat Goes On…

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1. Include Your Children When Baking Cookies

2. Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers

3.  Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over

4.  Plane Too Close to Ground, Crash Probe Told

5.  Miners Refuse to Work After Death

6.  Stolen Painting Found by Tree

7.  Two Sisters Reunited After 18 Years in Checkout Counter

8.  War Dims Hope for Peace

9.  If Strike Isn’t Settled Quickly, It May Last a While

10.  Man Struck by Lightning Faces Battery Charge

11.  Kids Make Nutritious Snacks

12.  Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half

13.  Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead

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It appears that news never changes.  The printed word continues to confuse  rather than educate.  Better yet, perhaps the printed word is merely humor for the day?!  Smile…have a nice day.

Dry Bones Waltz

An Imagined Hoedown (Spring Feverish) (Sun Stroked in the Garden)

© Jeanne E Webster

Dressed in dingy denim
Drab as dusty darnel
I doze deeply deadpan
As I digest decline.

Deep dents, despised, deplored
De skin deplumed, doleful
Dance, dried divine dolly!
Dodge death, dizzy dotard!

Little Bit an’ da Rumor


©Jeanne E Webster

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The way of all rumors follows many trails!)
Scene 1


“Did ya hear ’bout that lil’ ole cheewawa dawg? He done went an’ nipped at Miz Smith’s cat. She had to shoo ‘em away with the broom.”

“Ya don’t say!”

“Yep, he sure ’nuff did. Yes siree.”

“Did he hurt the cat a’ tall?”

“Nah, jes’ scared it a mite, is all.”

“That’s good. I’m going ta tell my maw.”

“Ok. See ya later.”



Scene 2
A few minutes later:

“Hey, Maw, did ya hear ’bout Miz Smith’s cat? It got chewed up pretty good by a shepherd dawg. It dang near bit its head off!”

“Ya don’t say, son! Did it hurt Miz Smith?”

“Don’t know. She rushed the dawg off with her walkin’ stick tho’. I hear she be needin’ a new one.”

“Well, my, oh my. She be mighty brave to do that. I gotta call Sally ’bout this dawg.”

“I’m late for the movie, Maw. See ya.”

“Bye. You take care now, ya hear?”

Scene 3
Phone dialed:

“Sally, you betta be careful when you go down Walnut Lane. There’s a rabid dawg down there, he’s biting folks right ‘n left. He done ate Mz Smith’s cat and dragged Miz Smith clean out to the street!”

“Lord almighty! I’m glad you called. I was jes’ gettin’ ready to go for my walk. I’ll jes stay home, I betta.”

“You do that, for sure. I’m gonna call Darlene and let her know ’bout it. She can pass the word up town.”

“Ok, Becky. Thanks for lettin’ me know. Bye.”

Scene 4
Phone redialed:

“Hello, Darlene. You betta be careful outside now, ya hear? There’s a big brown and white pit bull dawg out in the neighborhood runnin’ loose. It’s done eaten most of the cats round here and dang near made off with that lil’ Johnson boy. You betta pass the word on.”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure will. When my husband gets home, I’ll tell him. He’ll get the shotgun out and hunt it down. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Scene 5
A while later:

“Gee, Lester, I’m sure glad you’re home. Get your gun out; there’s a big white wolf ’round here somewhere and it’s eatin’ everything in sight! Last I heard it was draggin’ a half-growed steer down the Dry Creek Road, slobbering all the way. Everyone’s run and hid in their house!”

“Settle down now, honey. I’m sure the police are taking care of it by now. Let me call ‘em and see what’s going on.”

Scene 6
Phone dialed:

“Hello. This is Lester Finch down on Maple Avenue. I just got home from work and my wife told me there’s a dangerous pack of wolves roaming around down by the Water Street Bridge. Have you got them under control by now?”

“There’s no report of roaming wolves in town, Sir. When was this supposed to have occurred?”

“A while ago, I’m not too sure when.”

“We haven’t had any calls about wolves at all. This morning early we had a call from Miz Smith down on Oak Street. She got into it with her neighbor’s pet Chihuahua. I guess it nipped at her cat but no harm was done. Everything is all settled down now.”

“Ok, sir. I’ll tell my wife it’s safe to go outside. Sorry about bothering you all. Someone must have made a mistake. Goodbye.”

To Starch or Not to Starch

©Jeanne E Webster

Being blessed this spring with warmer than usual temperatures, I started our garden early by  planting the usual cold weather plants such as spinach and Swiss chard, along with starting tomatoes and cukes seed indoors.  My family is ready to taste home-grown juicy vegetables after choking down the hard, tasteless store-bought’s all winter.  Our small strawberry plot is plum full of blossoms and green berries just bursting with tantalizing energy, almost a month ahead of nature’s schedule.

Due to the past few years of enduring dismal weather patterns, I decided to slack off on the main garden area and convert to mostly container gardening.  I thought this style of gardening would circumvent any surprises from weird weather.  So much for that thought!

Last night, (also forecast for the next few nights), Mr. Frosty served up a few frosty freezers to our area.  Aha!  Always on top of things, (uh hum), I sifted through the mental catalog to thwart ole Mr. Icy and settled on covering the tomato plant containers, spread sheets over the strawberry patch and blessed the Swiss chard and spinach with a wind-blown smooch.  Then I retired for the night and slept very well, thank you.

Up early and ready to go, I watched the news and weather forecast for the day.  We had had a slight frost and some areas, especially those in the northern part of southern Illinois, an actual freeze was had by all.  Out the back door I flew, coffee cup in hand and garden gloves a popping, and straight to the strawberry patch I ran.  I drew back the old sheets and inspected the plants for damage.  To my surprise, the sheeting was as stiff as starched shirt collars were forty years ago.

Well…I slowly mumbled some unsorted thoughts and returned to the house.  The television weather man was giving some advice to early gardeners and my wrinkled ears perked up enough to grab the data.  To prevent a hard frost or freeze on one’s garden plants, an excellent tip is to water, sprinkle, or mist them the night before a frost or freeze is expected.  Hmm.  Ok.  Well, you know my thinker; it got me to wondering how water protects plants from freezing.  Sooo…

I hopped on the computer and looked up “How does water protect plants from freezing?”   In no time flat, or better known as quickly, the information came up that I was seeking.

“… a better option is actually to spray your plants with water. When water freezes, it releases heat (a little counterintuitive, I know, but that’s why you have to put water in a cold place to freeze it – you have to take away heat). So, if your plants have a thin layer of water on them that freezes, it actually helps keep them warmer. Additionally, the layer of ice, being a good insulator, will then help keep the plant warmer through the cold spell.”  http://physics.stackexchange.com/questions/2430/how-does-watering-your-plants-help-protect-against-freezing

Tonight I shall be watering my strawberry plants instead of “starching” them and will observe the results.  The container plants will be covered as it is no problem.  And I have done my civic duty and passed the word on to you.  Be blessed…and enjoy your strawberries!

Do You Know Your Own Strength?

 

©2011 Jeanne E Webster

A farmer who was out plowing with one mule kept yelling at it,

“Giddap, Pete! Giddap, Barney! Giddap, Johnny! Giddap, Tom!”

A stranger, observing this, finally asked, “How many names does that mule have?”

“Only one,” answered the farmer.  “His name is Pete, but he doesn’t know his own strength, so I put blinders on him. Then I yell the other names at him, and he thinks three other mules are helping him!”

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In a serious sense, we sometimes feel we have blinders on when trying to plead our cause before the Lord.

“We know not how to pray.”

Reaching out to others not only strengthens us but deepens our zeal. There is nothing like prayer to bring hope to the downcast, peace to the anxious, or healing to the sick.  Let us pray together.

James 5:17b The prayer of a righteous man availeth much. 

Matthew 18:20  For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.

Bye Bye Blackbirds

© Jeanne E Webster

Wintertime is an excellent season to get to know your neighbors, the birds.  Buy a couple of feeders, a big bag of seed and prepare to be “up close and personal” with some flighty feathered friends.  I’ve been feeding birds for many years and it’s thoroughly enjoyable.  Takes the drab wintry blues out of the picture and gives you bragging rights at the Tuesday night bingo game. 

To give you a little heads up, here are the names of some birds that visit feeders.  There are the:

sophisticated cardinals, brazen blue jays, bubbly chickadees, sprightly goldfinches, unassuming Carolina wrens, drabby house sparrows, lively titmouse, hot-pink purple house finches, guarded nuthatches, red-chested grosbeaks, vigilant red-bellied woodpeckers, fickle downy woodpeckers, nervous hairy woodpeckers, and the dowdy strutting mourning doves.  Fill your feeders and sit back to enjoy nature’s finest.

…er, what’s that out there?  Those darn starlings and blackbirds are back!  Aargg! 

It is most frustrating to purchase feeders and seed only to peer out your kitchen window and see a flock of these nuisance birds!  They hog the seed, scare away the good birds, don’t get the hint that they’re not welcome, and they don’t take no for an answer!  I’ve tried different feeders, thinking that would at least prevent the “hogs” from gobbling up the seed.  No, they didn’t work.  I’ve yanked open the kitchen door and shooed them away…they’re back before I’m resettled in my chair.  My husband says he’ll shoot them for me…I don’t think so!  (That must be a guy thing) 

Today I tried a different strategy.  I bought some scratch feed containing flecks of corn and all the trash seeds and poured a huge pile of it way, way out back, figuring they would be so busy eating that stuff, they’d leave the more expensive seed alone.  My little “guys” would get to eat in peace.  Nope.  The black birds put out the word that there was more seed than usual and invited more of their kin.   They are presently making short work of ALL the seed.  I’d tie my two spaniels out there if that would scare the birds off, but the dogs are so spoiled their feet would freeze and I’d look out and see them rolled over on their backs like dead cockroaches. 

You know, I think those black birds are smart.  They have it all figured out.  They fly from yard to yard, checking out the neighborhood.  Then they leave a lone sentinel posted in a tree to check for any new additions to the bird feeders.  I refused to refill my feeders this morning and watched in horror and guilt  as my favorites sat in the bushes in subzero temps waiting for me to feed them.  I peeked out several times to check for blackbirds and finally after no sightings for a few hours, I relented and refilled the seed.  I hadn’t completely thawed myself out from that exertion before I noted the brats were back.  I was steamed!  Not on my watch!  Not in my neighborhood!  Yeah, right. 

Right here and now the good Lord blessed me with an attitude adjustment.  “Remember my parable of the wheat and the tares?”  (Matt. 13:24-30) 

Sure, Lord, what does that have to do with blackbirds? 

“Pray on it a little and you’ll see.”

After a short review, my memory revealed the facts.  This parable is about a man who worked hard all day sowing wheat in his field, and while he slept that night, his enemy came and sowed weeds among his wheat.  His servants discovered them while cultivating the wheat and told their master their discovery.  They were determined to yank out the weeds but the master told them not to do that.  He explained that if they were to pull up the weeds, the wheat would be uprooted also.  “Let them both grow together and when it is harvest time, then we’ll gather the weeds first and burn them.  The wheat will then be gathered into the barn.” 

I followed instructions and prayed about the situation a little.  The revelation came quickly:  leave the blackbirds alone and in due time, they will be taken care of by the Lord.  In the meantime, enjoy the good birds.   

Got it, Lord!

Don’t Hassle the Voters

It was Primary Day at the polls, February 2, 2010, and also Groundhog Day.  I had done my homework. From researching records and writing up an Excel file, I was prepared to cast my ballot…or so I thought. I rolled out of bed at 6 a.m., ate breakfast and did chores. Next came what I call putting on my face: a dab or two of makeup, style my hair, and try to appear fairly lucid for early morning. I must tell you, I’m not usually an early morning riser. My husband, the dogs and birds, even the window blinds know to keep it down until late morning.

It was time to head to town at last.  My husband and I arrived at the elementary school to do our civic duty, my list of choices wadded up in my jean’s pocket. The polling place seemed almost lonesome.  We entered the inner sanctum and paused, noting three separate voting areas and only one person voting. The first table had a sign that read District 1. We must have looked confused because the closest election judge hollered over from her table, “South side of the tracks or north side?”

We had voted here before and knew where to sign in, but to indulge the little lady, I asked, “What tracks?” You see, we live outside of town, way out in the boonies where the corn grows tall, the beans climb high, and the coal cars rumble by on a regular schedule.

In a manner that told me she wasn’t sure if WE knew where we lived, the lady inquired again. “Where do you live?” I rattled off our street address, and she brushed us off towards District 3.

The election judges were chuckling as we obediently appeared at their table. “What party are you voting for?” one of the them asked matter-of-factly. This invasion-of-privacy rule has been a bone of contention in my craw ever since it came into effect, so politely I told them I really didn’t think I should say. One judge reminded me that the machines were programmed with designated party sections for Primary Day; therefore I had to let them know what party I was voting for.

So, leaning forward, I softly whispered that it was Republican.

“What was that?” she asked.

I replied a little louder, “It starts with a “Grrr… R!”.

“Ok,” she grimaced, “I wasn’t sure if I had heard you correctly.”

Corroborating my name and address with the voting rolls, she then handed me a ballot. A few brief instructions later, I walked over to the machine and slid the voting card into the designated slot. Bingo! The lights came on and the contraption acted like it was happy it had something to do. The voting slate was listed on the page in nice bold print. To vote for my choice, I merely had to touch the screen and my vote was taken.

After reading the list of candidates over and over again before casting my vote, I couldn’t find the name of one particular candidate. The election judge noted my consternation and asked if I needed help.

I replied, “Yes, I don’t find the name of my candidate anywhere.”

She came to my aid and quietly advised that if the name was not on the ballot, I could use the write-in privilege.

“Ok. Thank you.” I mumbled and began writing.

Halfway into it, I drew a blank. Again the judge asked if I needed assistance.

“Yes, I do.” I responded, smiling grimly.

She approached me again and asked what the problem was.

“I have forgotten how to spell Punxsutawney Phil.”

Flushing profusely, she turned and walked back to her table. I swear I heard her mutter, “Grrr!”