We are just a few days away from returning to Shaker Woods.
How is it August? We have gone through July at a full run. It seems like a week ago, we were breaking ice out of water troughs. Just the other day, the school bus dropped everyone off for the summer. By the next time I write this blog, the big yellow machines will be back on the road. We have been hearing the crickets at night, which is a sure sign summer is winding down. The Mrs. and I have also agreed to ignore and not discuss the sound. Somehow, that will slow down the time a bit. I am having a bit of a hard time wrapping my head around we are starting an election cycle. How did four years pass so fast? It is because locust, the plague of all crops and happiness, has the decency to appear every seven years. The universal sign of a crappy year is kind enough not to show up for seven years. It makes me think that some personal reflection might be in order if your manners are less than bugs.
I have picked up a new hobby this month. Before I sleep, I will open Wikipedia and randomly read a fact on their starting page. Some nights, I will find a post on BookFace that seems made up and Google it. Those are always flip a coin. In the process, I saw a post about a fellow looking for advice on cats to warn you of intruders. Everyone had to share about their relative's cat chasing off a band of burglars. The world needs more honesty. That guy is looking for a dog. Specifically, a small dog that can figure out a toilet so he doesn't have to go outside. He wants to keep the outside out and not join the outside unless it is on his terms. He wants a pig. How in the world the Pet Pig Association dropped the marketing ball on this escapes me. The perfect pet. Self-sufficient like a cat. Territorial like a dog. What bad guy wouldn't get away from a squealing pork chop? House pigs need to be brought out to the mainstream. After the novelty wears off, watch for falling pork prices. We might feel bad briefly if it wasn't for the love of bacon. Pair those tiny house pigs with the countertop garden and bread machine, and you are self-sufficient on BLTs
While we are discussing things that need to be invented, the breakup cup needs to be invented. Some fast-food restaurant with a functioning ice cream machine needs to offer the breakup cup. Inspire a family tradition. The first time your little one comes home upset because their special someone suddenly is not making them feel so special, load them up and take them for a milkshake. The catch is the cup has a form to write the legal name, starting date, ending date of a former special someone, and the flavor of ice cream. This could be such a long-standing family tradition from preschool until college. When she is away at college, she likes a guy for a week and finds out he is a turd. Dad finds out she needs a breakup cup and has it delivered via Window Wiggle. These damn cups will replace flowers! What better way to say your divorce is final without saying your divorce is final than the breakup cup? I know only one joint with twisted enough marketing would do it. They would undoubtedly be Kings of the Burger world pushing that into place. It may put some salt in Ronald's ice cream machine wound.
With Jordan's 16th birthday less than six months away, I have decided that any young man mentioned in any way by the daughter will be referred to as Stanly. I stole a page from my dad's playbook on parenting. My sister dated a young man for a bit in high school. He had been to the house on multiple occasions. He was always courteous, polite, and well-mannered. However, my dad never learned the young man's name after a year. After numerous attempts to correct my dad, the poor kid gave up and just went with it. Nothing clarifies that you may be great, but you can be great somewhere else. I apologize, but not really to all future Stanleys. But if I learn your name, you might feel relaxed and comfortable. I can't have that.
We are in single digits on our countdown to Shaker Woods. It is a fantastic three-weekend show we are entering our third year attending. We look forward to it every year. But there is always that one part that you hate and love simultaneously. For me, it is staying in a hotel. We have some great friends covering us at the farm while we are gone. There is not a single worry about that. The fact is I enjoy it here. I can't say that I would trade all of paradise for all the more here I can stick to my boots. But the part of not being here and being in a hotel is listening to my housemates complain about living in a hotel and eating out all the time. Fun fact. For years, I spent more time in hotels than I care to mention, and I much less remember. However, the housemate with the most seniority always told me about the greatness I was experiencing by watching whatever I wanted on TV, eating out every meal, and having someone else wash my towels. There has rarely been a time in my life when the thought of Hamburger Helper made my mouth water. But when Hamburger Helper was the first food that wasn't takeout I'd seen in weeks, I fell in love. That bowl got licked clean, and I was thankful for seconds. Last year, upper management made it two nights before she realized that staying in a hotel for work was not all she dreamed it would be. Even when mentioning meals, TV, and towels, she said it was because "You two goons are impossible."
The fact that I blog once a month versus Big Cheese's five-day-a-week schedule accurately reflects how it is here. I have less than 1/20th to say in comparison to her. I have to save every random idea into notes on my phone because I have very few and don't want to forget them. Much of the reason I am a bit rambling. I don't want to miss the highlights of my month. Locusts are better-mannered than politicians. Burger King needs a breakup cup. Micropigs are the perfect pet for growing your own BLTs. Life in a hotel seems great when it isn't your life. Next Month, I will share all of a middle-aged hayseed's troubles with social media. I have taken screenshots. Just a heads up, three skulls as a comment means laughing so hard you are dying. I Googled it. The struggle is real. Until next month, stay safe and wash on.
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