Tuesday, December 15, 2015

I'm Pretty Sure It's Against The Law To Slice Him Open, Though

Did you ever read Illusions, by Richard Bach? If so, you might remember a quote: “You are never given a dream without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.”

Allow me to paraphrase Bach. “Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is never given a problem without Even Steven providing a solution. She may not like it, though.”

The Pony has been practicing his driving in T-Hoe. He is a ball of nerves, sitting with his chin over the steering wheel, shoulders tense, his hands with a grip like an eagle’s talons on a fat groundhog. He commented after his second day of chauffeuring me home from Newmentia that there seemed to be something wrong with the steering wheel. There was a rough crumbly substance on it, he said.

The next morning, I, too, noticed a dark powder on the wheel. And on the armrest amongst the myriad of window, mirror, and door lock controls. Huh. Maybe something blew into the air ducts. But more than likely, The Pony had ground down the leather like a 12-year-old nag had ground down his horse teeth. He HAD mentioned that there was a rough spot on the left side, at about the 10 o’clock position.

“I know. It’s been there for years. Like a scratch. With three cat claws. I think your dad did it with his wedding ring. Or he just picked at it. Like he used to do with the edge of the table next to the La-Z-Boy.”

Let the record show that the rough spot has been on T-Hoe’s steering wheel for at least five years. It’s annoying. Unpleasant for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom’s soft-as-a-baby’s-butt hands.

Flash forward to Sunday, when Mrs. HM got into T-Hoe for a trip to town to gather a 44 oz Diet Coke, and supplies for Chex makin’ from Save A Lot.


Short of a miraculous healing of long-dead leather, Mrs. HM could only come up with one solution. The dietary habits of Farmer H.

We made a stop on the way to visit the #1 son in College Town on Saturday. At that stop, in order to use the facilities, Mrs. HM bought some lottery tickets and water, and Farmer H bought a Diet Mountain Dew and a Slim Jim. Let the record show that Mrs. HM paid for it all. And that it was a double Slim Jim, and Farmer H shared it. Which meant he unwrapped his own portion, and peeled back the plastic.

Farmer H inadvertently repared the previous damage he had inflicted on T-Hoe by slathering the steering wheel with Slim Jim grease.

I’m sure there’s a Common Fixes for Everyday Problems book somewhere inside Farmer H. And he doesn’t even know it’s trying to get out.


Sioux said...

I think you're onto a great idea. When you two retire, you can sit at your computer, tap-tap-tapping away, while Farmer H rattles off his DIY solutions that involve duct tape and spit and beef jerky grease and the broth droplets from a tower of soup.

You will HAVE to type, because Farmer H cannot be bothered with typing them up. His brilliance should not be slowed down...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Farmer H has made comments to the effect that he is considering building me A WRITING RETREAT! At last, a shack of my own! Of course he will put it right in the front yard where the 5th wheel camper used to sit. And he won't do it until the summer after he retires. But it's progress! Perhaps he got wind of your idea for me to write his book...