Since we moved to the country in 1991, we have collected a lot of Mayberry stories.  One happened today.  The phone rang, and I checked the caller ID.  It read, "Melvin Nesbitt."  Thought I, "I don't know any Melvin Nesbitt, and I have kids here and am crazy busy, so I will just let the answering maching get it."  But just at the last second it hit me, Melvin, our mailman from our first day here until about a year ago when he retired...I do know him.  So I grabbed up the phone to find that Tollie had already answered it and was bringing me the other extension.

"Laurie", said Mel, "I am delivering packages for (I didn't catch the name) to help them out today." (Aside: Mel just can't hardly stay retired.)  "I am at Hattie's driveway with a package for her, but the gate is locked.  I could leave a note in her mailbox for her to pick it up at the Post Office, but I thought I would check with you first to see if you know the code."

I just learned the code last week (not because they didn't want us to know it, but because they hadn't gotten that part of the gate working until last week), but it had been sent to Kent's phone, not mine.  With a little hard thought, I pulled the number out of my head and told it to Mel.  He delivered the package, and all were happy.  Well, Hattie was a little surprised to see someone coming up her driveway, but she didn't hold it against me, so all is well in Mayberry tonight.

Turkey Stories

This morning Kent and I headed out to pick up our car that had been worked on yesterday.  As we were tooling down the road, just enjoying the fresh air blowing through the windows, we got behind a large tractor.  I think it was a tractor with a hayrake.  When we got to the stop sign at the junction, I gasped and said, "No one is driving that tractor!"  I could see the seat, but there wasn't any head sticking up out over it.  The only thing I could think of was that a VERY short person, like a 5 year old, was driving it.  

Kent looked at me in disbelief and replied, "Laurie, that tractor is on a trailer."  And, well it was!  It was on a trailer and being pulled by a black truck."  

So we giggled a bit.

Then, Kent looked at me again and said, "You know those plants in a little rectangular pot that are on Ashley's back porch?"  (Ashley owns Loma Linda, which is where Kent is a maintenance/grounds keeper).  "You mean those succulents?" I asked.  "Yep," he replied, "Ashley called me over to look at them yesterday." Then it hit me, Kent was probably watering them 3 to 4 times a week, and they only need it once a week at most.  I gasped again.

But, it gets worse....  "You have been watering them too much," I said.  "Yep, way too much.  They are artificial plants!"

Ashley was wondering why the pot was rusting out.  Now she knows.

Now we weren't giggling, we were roaring, and gasping again, but this time for air.

Kent and I clean two houses every other week.  I take my feather duster, because I love feather dusting things.  At Miss Joy's home, I climb on her big poofy sofa (after removing my shoes) and dust the window, curtains, and behind the couch.  Not long after we first started cleaning there, my feather duster lost a part of one of the feathers behind her couch.  The next time her great-grandkids were over they saw that feather and thought it was a snake.  She and I have giggled over that several times over the last couple of years.

(As an aside, and not really part of the story I am really telling, one day I left my feather duster outside her front door.  I put it there when I was finished with it so that I could grab it on my way out.  It was tucked in the corner between a potted plant and her outside wall.  I forgot to grab it, and she saw it the next day and thought a chicken had gotten stuck in there!  We really have giggled over that one.)

But today, I had an opposite experience from Joy's grandchildren.  I was vacuuming at Nikki's house, while she and her mother Kathy, and her son Brooks were sitting in the living room waiting for us to finish so they could pack up and leave for a barrell race down south somewhere.  As I was vacuuming in the corner by the door, I thought I saw an escaped feather.  It kept "blowing" and wouldn't be vacuumed up.  So I bent over to look at it, and said, "Oh, I think it's a worm."  Then Brooks ran over and looked.  He said, "It's a snake."  And, shore 'nuff, it was a little black snake.  Nikki and her mom didn't even get off the couch.  They were cool and clam as a lamb about it.  So, I grabbed a paper towel from the sink, wrapped it around the snake, kind of pinched it, and threw it away.  I hope it doesn't come out and crawl into one of their beds while they are out of town!  I wish I had just moved it outside into the yard, but I was a bit thrown off by the whole experience and didn't think of that until later.