Category: Humor - trish hermanson

Signs of the Times?

4/20/2018

This sign behind a supermarket loading dock cracked me up: “Pickup Location.” Is this a dating service?
Other signs that have made me chuckle:
On a Texas interstate, a sign for an upcoming “Safety Rest Area,” then neon yellow signs warning “Watch for Rattlesnakes.”
Outside the entrance to a memory care unit: “Future Resident Parking.” You think I’ll park there?
In a women’s restroom: “I childproofed my house, but they still get in.”
A Colorado sign warning “Post No Signs. Underground Irrigation.” They broke the rule to announce the rule.
A sign for those who don’t want to hurt their dogs’ feelings that they are “owned”: “Dog ‘Guardians’ - Dogs Must Be Leashed…”
     In Washington, “The Northwest Man” store with a “Sale” sign. I can buy a Northwest man on sale?
An Alabama church for those offended by other congregations: “Perfect Alternative Baptist Church.”
Motivation to stop at a South Dakota drugstore: “Coffee 5 Cents.”
  Upon entering Louisiana: “Welcome. If You’re Here to Commit a Crime, Turn Around.”
Two Mississippi stores adjacent to each other: “Guns and Ammunition” and “Sewing Circle.”
A sign in a New Mexico canyon: “Rocks Falling.” Should I duck?
A rest stop sign extolling Wyoming’s “vast seas of grass,” while the turf next to it was artificial. What happened to the real stuff?
     And a sign at the drop-off area at an elementary school: “Hug & Go Zone.” We could all use a zone like that before we leave the house in the morning.

Genius or Dimwit?

2/9/2018

A full-page advertisement one page over from the newspaper comics caught my attention: pay $55 and learn if I carry the seeds of genius. Find out whether I can join the ranks of Mozart and Rembrandt and Jefferson and Einstein and Newton. All I need to do is pay $55.
Hmm. I’ve fallen for promises before. For instant wealth. Quick cures for health. And helpful hints to happiness. I know how well they worked. And now it’s genius?
I may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but I could picture a lot of dollars flying out of a lot of pockets for this one. If I pay $55 to learn whether I’m a genius, I must be a dimwit because there aren’t any short cuts in life. It’s a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.
I turned back to the comics. More enlightenment there.

When Rodents of Unusual Size Attacked Me

1/26/2018

Image: Clipart Panda

   I hadn’t prepared to be attacked by Rodents of Unusual Size.
     All I knew was that Duane and I needed a good night’s sleep to have the energy to babysit Third Daughter’s young girls the next day while Third daughter had oral surgery.
     But before we turned off the lights, First Daughter texted that her infant son still hadn’t recovered from bronchitis, and they’d seen the doctor again. And Second Daughter, fourteen hundred miles away, texted she’d gone into labor with her first child.
     Sleep? Inconceivable!
     So I took two tiny homeopathic pills to quiet my brain. In the past they’d given me weird dreams, but I was desperate.
     I tried to settle in, but my mind whirled from the emotional punch of too much at one time. Suddenly, my mother, who has been deceased for three decades, appeared by my side with a twinkle in her eyes as if to say, “It’s life. So live it!”
     Before me lay a wall I had to scale. I ran toward it, but Rodents of Unusual Size nipped at my heels, trying to stop me. I scrambled up the wall. At the top, another R.O.U.S. attacked me. When I kicked it away, I lost my balance and toppled to the ground. SMACK!
      “What’s wrong,” Duane called from our bed.
     I woke up, flat on our wood floor, my hip throbbing. “Rodents of Unusual Size attacked.”
     Duane yawned. “You tell anyone that, and they’ll say you’re crazy.”
     Doesn’t he know these varmints thrive in the Fire Swamps of my most anxious times?
     I crawled back into bed, prayed for rest, and dozed off.
     The next day, First Daughter reported that her son was responding to breathing treatments. Second Daughter gave birth to a beautiful boy. And Third Daughter returned to her home after oral surgery, where I tucked her into bed. Duane and I hugged and cried happy tears of gratitude to God.
     I’m weary. My hip aches from falling out of bed. But I’m thankful my mother came alongside me in my unconscious mind.
     Because sometimes even a grown-up mother needs a mommy.

We drove the fourteen hundred miles to meet our new grandson in Alabama, where we saw a real R.O.U.S, called a nutria!

When Gotta Do's Gotta Go

11/10/2017

I blow my nose and lift the Kleenex away. It’s red - a bloody nose.
What’s this? A sign of “the thing” that’s going to take me out eventually? I hope not.
I have to get the bloody thing stopped, so I stuff a Kleenex up my nostril, lay on my back on the bed, and hang my head over the edge. That should dam the flow, but an acrid taste trickles down my throat.
Hanging my head is an exercise I’m supposed to do every day anyway, to keep my neck from jutting forward. It’s to overcome my hunching over the computer. Jutting-neck-something-or-other-itis, it’s called.
While suspended over the edge of the bed, I take slow, deep breaths, a routine I should do every day to increase lung capacity to overcome shallow-breath-itis. And I flex my feet forward and back to take any impediment out of my peds. This way, I’m multitasking through my list of daily supposed-to-do’s.
However, in this position I don’t dare lift my hand weights. I might drop them and crack my nose, which would only make my nosebleed worse.

HEALTH AND MORTALITY

I know these routines are supposed to help me keep this carcass moving while extending my life. But really, if I did every one I’m supposed to do every day (plus follow the schedule for checking smoke alarm batteries and the carbon monoxide monitor and the garage door electric eye), I wouldn’t have time for something that can easily get squeezed out - LIFE.
Somehow, in this modern maze, I’ve got to fight for time to kick back. Time to belly laugh. I don’t want to spend my days trying to stay alive at the expense of living. That’d be enough to give me a nosebleed all over.
Do "gotta do’s" get in the way of your living?

6 Rays of Sunshine in Our Storm

9/20/2017

When a rainstorm along Highway 85 brought Duane and me to a halt, we found ourselves behind this Silver Subaru Forester, its rear plastered with bumper stickers. Duane chuckled and read, “To be or not to be. Check the box.”
I pulled out my notepad. “Can you read more?”
He craned his head over the steering wheel and peered between the slap of windshield wipers. “Guns don’t kill people. People with mustaches kill people.
“Think. It’s not illegal yet.
“Always give 100% unless you’re donating blood.
“Rock is dead. Long live paper and scissors.”
Traffic picked up. The Subaru turned right, and our entertainment disappeared down the road after one final read: “I wish Morgan Freeman narrated my life.”
A bit of sunshine in our storm, I thought, something I hope we always find. And I wished Morgan Freeman narrated each of our lives.

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