A Friendly Reminder

It’s been a busy day.  Trip to the doctor for my regular monthly B-12 shot.  After, that off to get my tousled, salt-and-pepper mane trimmed.  Then, to the vet’s office to renew the dog’s medicine.  The vet’s office was closed–on vacation till April 2nd.  By that time it was mid-afternoon.

Time for afternoon coffee and cookies.  I’m finished running errands, and it’s raining.  At least, I made it home before the deluge.  A reminder to faithful readers, I will be on jury duty for the next two weeks.  Feel free to drop by in my absence.  I will be here evenings to check things out.

Someone Named Bob

Talk to “Old Bob” when he first got to work, and a folding chair could be tossed in your direction.  “Old Bob” talked, when his hangover-fogged mind was good and ready.  “Old Bob” was a hard core construction worker and one of my trainers.

Another Bob lives across the street, in my daughter’s new neighborhood.  Whether that’s the crabby neighbor’s name, is not important.  He fits the “Bob” profile.  For clarity, he will be referred to, as “New Bob.”

New Bob has a nice RV, kept cleaned and polished.  New Bob Jr. has a shiny Mustang–he loves the sound of its powerful engine.  New Bob introduced himself by complaining about barking dogs.

Every neighborhood has Bobs.  Bobs make your business their business.    They’re neighborhood crabapples–the get off my lawn people.

Too many Bobs lead to bored pets and pet owners.  Bobs expect to be indulged after late night partying.  No courtesies are ever reciprocated.

New residents find out who their Bobs are in due course–faster, if they have children and pets.  Potential residents would be well-advised to ask the question, “Who are the neighborhood Bobs?” “Are they manageable?”

Old Bobs, New Bobs, Bob “wannabees”–This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful to have all my Bobs in a row.

 

 

Farmer Waves

Simple raised palms

Arms out pickup windows

Two fingers raised from

Truck steering wheels

Subtle, friendly gestures

One farmer to another

Techniques not important

Tanned arms hung out

Driver’s side windows

Hands, with palms down

Lowered to approaching

Farmers–meant short

Friendly conversations

Patience requested

They’d stop, talk awhile

Then, move on

Desolation Roads

Small town values

Houses with

Plastic covered

Drafty windows

Temporary fixes

To quell winter’s cold

Strange-named burbs

Far away from fake tans

Full of people

With weathered

Wrinkled skin

Happy for a while

Till the pendulum swung

Nothing better came along

They either moved on or stayed

A story already told

Along desolation roads