2015-09-24 / Editorial Page

Hodge Podge

Dear Hearts and Gentle People
By MICKIE MCGEE

I’m assuming most of you know I was born a city girl and married a country boy. I’m used to continu­ous traffic, a grocery store just up the street, and people in and out of my house all the time.

Country life is not at all like that. There is the occasional bird sing­ing, frogs croaking, coyotes bay­ing, and cows mooing.

“I would love all that!” said my friend who is now living in Panama City Beach, Florida.

“Au contraire,” I told her. “You’d be miserable.” For instance, I’m not fond at all of the smell of chick­en poop and recently it has covered our farm like the morning dew.

Let me say this before I go any further. I’m going to ramble around a bit in this column, not only be­cause I can, but because I’m afraid senility is gaining on me at an in­credible rate. My attention span is just not what it used to be.

Oh, yeah, chicken poop. I ran to Augusta today to exchange a blouse. I knew right away some­thing was amiss when I got in the car. I glanced at my shoes and see­ing nothing right away I cranked up my new car and headed south.

The smell, however, stayed in the car all the way to Augusta. Some weird new car smell, I thought. I hopped out of the car and walked into the store. I did notice people were crossing the aisle in front of me to get to the other side but I didn’t think anything of it.

It wasn’t until I got in the dress­ing room and took off my new Sketchers with the waffle soles that I learned why I was being treated like a piranha. Embedded all through the left shoe was, you guessed it, chicken poop.

Now there’s some good and some bad in this story. The bad is that I got some pretty odd looks as I shopped. The good news is, a long line of customers were nice enough to sort of push me to the front of the line at the checkout.

Now, about football. Red Dev­ils have sprung up everywhere and it looks as though we’re going to enjoy a winning season once more. Thank God for Wengrows or the town would be virtually naked this time of year. To add a little more interest this year for me is that my great-nephew is playing, following in his dad’s footsteps and joining a long line of Red Devils in our fam­ily since my daddy was a Lincoln­ton Wild Cat.

Don’t see many cars outside of churches on Sunday anymore and that disturbs me. Obviously, chil­dren aren’t taken to church as of­ten as I was taken….every time the door was open, in other words. And my mother used to tell me that when I was old enough to sit up I sat on the pew like an adult. If I act­ed up (I can’t imagine what I could have done) my daddy grabbed me up, took me outside, broke off a tiny tree limb and, as they used to say, “nettled my little legs.”

Strange as it was, he walked me right back into church and sat me on the pew in front of God and ev­erybody.

I really think that had something to do with all the psychiatrists I have seen over the years. Not that I disagree with their discipline. We are far too lenient with children these days. If you don’t believe me, visit your local school one day. You’ll be shocked and dismayed at the lack of respect of elders.

It’s 3:37 a.m. and I’m foraging around in the kitchen looking for something to eat. Boy, I’ll be glad to get that sleep study done so maybe they can figure out why I’m ravenous in the wee hours of the morning and writing a newspaper column to boot.

Still trying to make up my mind on a candidate for the next Presi­dential election. I wish some of those Republicans would drop out so one of them would actually stand a chance of winning. My husband says if Hillary wins we are moving to Canada. Right now I’m riding Ted Cruz’s bandwagon.

Can’t wait to see the completion of the new bank. Can you believe how huge it is? My little piddling of money will get lost in there for sure. I hobbled from the temporary lobby on the ground floor the other day intending to add something to our safety deposit box, which, by the way, still remains on the top floor. Sweet Rhonda helped me manage the stairs but I was astounded the new bank doesn’t include an eleva­tor. Never too late, Guill!

Jenna Aycock is doing a great job helping her grandparents out at Jericho Florist. If you haven’t been in there in a while, stop in. It’s a treat.

Keep those cards and letters com­ing in. I’ve read the two of them several times now.

I realize this column probably registers pretty high on the bore- a-meter and I apologize. I do have an excuse. I haven’t slept a whole night in two weeks. I think I’ll stop now and have another go at it. Wish me luck and ‘til next time, you re­main my Dear Hearts.

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