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All’s well that ends well

Sheila was in a blue funk. Her office recently had the lighting updated—the chief result being her radio no longer could pull in our local hog-rastlin’ music station.

What to do?

“Why don’t you take your satellite radio into work? You know I never listen to it at home during the day and you can bring it back home at night,” suggested hubby, Jack, always ready with a practical solution.

“Well, it will need another antenna installed because the metal roof at the office will kill its reception,” countered Sheila, ever one to envision potential problems.

From eternity with love

Submitted by Pastor Sean Ward Apostolic Way

Recently, I became third party to a conversation that took place with regards to whether or not the Bible account is true.

I would like to present the following six miracle proofs in response!

1. Miracle of Antiquity

The Bible took more than 1,500 years to complete. While some Old Testament manuscripts date back earlier than 300 BC, the Old Testament mostly was completed by 300 BC—with some setting the date possibly at 500 BC.

Dem sore bones

“Dem bones, dem bones, dem sore bones” is the seniors’ lament after covering a couple thousand kilometres behind the wheel, particularly when heading north into the snow and cold.

Nothing makes you appreciate a warm climate by not being in one.

After two days on the road, my wife, the Pearl of the Orient, and I were creaking and groaning like a couple of pieces of rusty old equipment that had not experienced the relief of a grease gun for a couple of decades.

Running low on coin

Bit coin?

Having a bit of coin is something I used to understand.

Big Pie, up in Rat Portage, explained it as having enough cash to make a down payment on another piece of equipment without sending his wife, Sweet Charlotte, into a frenzy about pending financial ruin.

Hollerin’ Harold in Emu (home of some really strange birds) considered it another drum of toonies he could bury. For Pickle, it means an order of toast and peanut; for the Runt, it’s toast, peanut butter, and jam.

As for me, I think it’s being able to fully fund my coffee break for another week.

It’s only chemistry

“It’s simply chemistry. No challenge,” explained one young wit in response to his mother’s inquiry as to why he never bothered to include anything from that genre in his gastronomic delights.

“That may explain some of my failures,” concluded Diane during the discussion on delightful desserts.

“I was banned from the chem lab for blowing up too many experiments” she recalled, pointing to a couple of minor scars and explaining the nervous breakdown one of her teachers had suffered.

Fashion or just good sense?

That new gigantic purse your spouse has just acquired looks like a real fashion statement.

But is it really?

The added capacity could be for anything from bringing along a supply of Depends for hubby to harvesting snacks at the buffet for tomorrow’s dinner or for the dog (or, in fact, to carry the dog itself).

Amongst seniors, the vicious little mutts are getting smaller and smaller—and ever more popular.

And clothes! The poofy shirt can disguise an expanding waistline or perhaps a bulging hernia you just haven’t gotten around to getting fixed.

Getting ready for the invasion

Here at “The Beach,” we are preparing for the invasion of the Spring Breakers.

The first to arrive will be those hearty souls from Canada that get their “reading week” in mid-February. A mid-term break to allow the brain to expand and condition itself for the heavy load ahead on the way to final exams.

Why this entails the killing of so many brain cells seems a bit of a contradiction, but it is one readily embraced by the participants.

Lots of excitement down here

The Stupor Bowl—that pretty well wraps it up.

There were some entertaining commercials, enthusiastic fans, and even a decent half-time show—sans a costume malfunction. The colour commentary, as usual, was pretty inane.

Too bad there wasn’t a football game to go with it all.

Like most, I was mystified at the absence of Denver in the whole process. Shell-shocked was the best description on those red-coated players’ faces.

What happened? Then it struck me.

Shooting the bull

Down here on The Beach, our daily routine over coffee covers much the same territory as it does everywhere else old toots congregate.

Just the accents are different.

“How y’all doin’ this mawnin’, J.D.,” I asked a native ’Baman (Alabama), lapsing into a drawl he could understand.

“Well, sir, let me tell y’all I’m outta bed, outta debt, and outta jail,” replied J.D. in an accent thicker’n cane molasses in January.

“Ah hear it’s cold up north, whoooeeee,” he continued, wrapping his tongue around words in a way that was marvelous.

A fine kettle of fish (tales)

Down here on the Redneck Riviera, we like to have a good ol’ fish fry every winter.

The local fried grouper is pretty good though it’s just not up to a mess of northern walleye.

With that in mind, Norm and I manage to bring along a passel of fillets each winter and get to lord it over the poor souls who don’t live on walleye waters.

With Norm on skillet detail and me relegated to battering, we all sat down to a massive platter full of golden brown ambrosia and exchanged tall tales over the bounty.