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| HUMOR FROM THE PUMPKIN PATCH By Marti Lawrence Articles published in The Examiner Newspaper When it rains it pours Doing battle with the dread roof gremlins And of course at my home, that means literally. Since the house is older than any of my living relatives, the windstorm earlier this week was not kind to the roof. Some of the shingles started talking to one another, (they are terrible gossips) and decided to visit Canada, so they dislodged themselves and headed north on the jet stream. |
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| Then it began to rain. And rain. I was sitting on the couch, oblivious (as always), with my leg outstretched in the proper elevated-for-minimal-pain position, when the first drop struck my head. Then another, then dozens of drops of water seeped through the ceiling. Of course they sought me out. "Pssst, over here! She moves r-e-a-l slow because of that broken leg, so let's see how many of us can land on her!" By the time I hobbled across the room and gazed upward to search for the source, there was a slowing of the drippage. Disappointed at being unable to douse me, they apparently decided the game was no longer amusing, and they would prefer to roll harmlessly off the roof to the ground. Perhaps it was because Husband arrived home and frightened them. Or the roof gremlins are in cahoots with the mechanical gremlins, and were wise to the "don't-act-up-in-front-of-him" rule. But for whatever reason, I am suddenly trying to explain a leaking roof, which is no longer leaking, despite the horrendous thunderstorm occurring outside. He is used to this by now of course, and gives me the same smile and head nod, which means,"I know you're crazy but I love you anyway, so I'll play along". He promised to take a look at it, which is the best I could hope for. The next day we have a doctor's appointment, which naturally means it is still raining. Dear Daughter thinks the office only schedules us after checking the forecast, as every visit has been during a deluge. We arrived early, and soggy. We had plenty of time to dry out during the wait though, as it took longer than Daughter's birth. The toddlers in the waiting room were amusing to watch for the first several hours, but they grew tired and collapsed in their mothers’ weary arms. We read all of the magazines. Twice. We watched the raindrops splattering against the window. We perked up each time the hallway door opened, anxiously hoping our name would be called next. Of course it wasn't, and we would slump back into our chairs. We discussed hundreds of topics, until we became hoarse. Then the magical moment came when we were summoned into the exam room. The nurse was kind and apologetic, and performed her duties with grace and speed. Then she left. We talked some more (by now our throats had time to heal), stared out a different window, stared at each other, stared at my cane. Hmmm... What if we...? "Let's play,"Balance The Cane!" I said brightly. Daughter gave me the skeptical look only teenagers can deliver with such perfection. Her eyebrows scrunched together and she peered at me over her eyeglasses. I knew I must once again lead by example. I held the cane out in front of me, sitting it on its single rubber tip, and attempted to let go. It fell over. We kept trying, taking turns, and after only a few more hours, we mastered it. We amused ourselves perfecting the technique, then boredom set in again, so we started playing "blow the can down". Huffing and puffing while singing to the tune of,"Blow, blow, blow the man down," we attempted to unbalance the cane with bursts of our breath, in between peals of laughter at the absurdity of the invented game. At last the physician entered the room, slightly befuddled, (rarely do they interrupt serious guffawing), to inform us that the test results were back, and there were no indications of serious problems, but more tests were required. She finally succumbed to curiosity and asked us why we'd been laughing out loud. It lost a little in the re-telling (perhaps one of those, "you-had-to-be-there" moments), but she smiled politely, and explained the additional procedures that would be ordered. We headed home, and made bets with one another on the possibility of roof leakage, since I wasn’t present for the kamikaze drops to attack. And we're guessing the doctor made copious notes about the Mother's mental condition on Daughter's chart, upon our departure. |
