The Dog Did What??

About a year ago, this headline appeared in our local paper in the wedding section: “Dog Decorates Groom’s Cake”

Now, if you’ve ever had a dog, especially a male, you know that they gladly ‘decorate’ anything they come across — a tree, a piano, even a small child.  So, of course, this is the first thing that went through my mind when I read the headline.  On closer inspection, however, I learned that a likeness of the dog was featured on the groom’s cake.  I think it was a Rottweiler or Pit Bull named Killer, or Kujo, or Diesel or something.  Oh yeah, they named the dog in the article.  We actually cut this out and mailed it to Jay Leno for his ‘Headlines’ feature, but we never caught it on his show.

But upon further reflection, I have to ask these two questions…

1.  Why would this guy have his dog on the groom’s cake??   Well, that answer would be pretty obvious if you lived in the redneck cultural center of the universe, like I do.  The groom’s cake is kind of that last statement of manhood before having to be bossed around by a woman, I guess.  Last one I saw featured a Caterpillar tractor (the groom’s employer).

But here’s the next question…

2.  Why would the newspaper feature this as the headline for the wedding announcement??   Do we no longer have a ‘Society Editor’  who ordains the proper etiquette for wedding announcements?  I guess not. What happened to ‘Smith and Jones Wed in Garden Ceremony?’   Only if the dogs can be the ring-bearers.

Oh well.  I should be thankful they’re actually getting married.  Meanwhile, maybe I’ll send my Chihuahua to school to become a pastry chef…

Copyright 2010 Mary E. Egidio.  Permission is granted to share this work with attribution, but not for commercial purposes.  (You can share this, but tell folks who wrote it, where you found it, and don’t sell it)

The House of Stuff

We’ve been cleaning out our spare room this week, trying to create a ‘grandbaby-friendly’ space.  It’s been twelve years since we moved here, and we’ve collected too much stuff in that time.  Since our daughter moved out of the room, it’s been too easy to use the closet and the rest of the room as a storage place.  So I’ve pulled everything out of the closet and made the rule that something has to justify its existence before it’s allowed back in.  When my son came home from work, he looked around and sheepishly asked what was going on.  I told him we were moving.  I think he almost believed me.

My husband, who requires a little more warning, knew what I was planning to do.  In fact, much of the stuff-sorting required his attention.  But the thought of making room for a grandbaby gave him the motivation he needed to actually throw away those boxes of 3 ½ inch floppy disks.  As a result of these efforts, we had a larger-than-normal-sized garbage pile for trash pick-up this morning.  And before the trash men came to retrieve it, several of the items were gone! Other stuff-collectors had made the neighborhood rounds.  I noticed this as I was leaving to spend the day shopping with my daughter.

Wait, shopping?  Does this make sense?  I already have a house with too much stuff in it.  Yet, as we drifted through thrift shops all day, looking over stuff that other people had gotten rid of from their homes, I managed to find more stuff that I felt compelled to bring home and put in my house of stuff.

Right now, it looks like my house threw up.  Between my usual decorations, pictures and knickknacks, and the stuff that’s been pulled out to be voted up or down, and the stuff I brought home, I don’t think there’s a surface in my house that doesn’t have stuff on it.  I’ve always considered myself a person to whom worldly possessions were not important, yet, I still seem to collect lots of stuff.  It’s embarrassing, really.

Several years ago, when we moved our stuff across the country for my husband to go to seminary, my father-in-law found a very unusual mover for us.  He showed up in an old parcel delivery truck, painted checkerboard orange and white.  The unusual part was that this truck was not only his business, but also his home.  This young man and his wife strapped their bicycles to the back of the truck, threw their backpacks behind the seats, and moved people across the country.  They camped out in a national park for part of the year, and then put an ad in a newspaper, offering their moving services.  They worked their way around the country this way, staying in campgrounds or with family members.  He told me his philosophy was that people had a tendency to fill up whatever space they had, so he preferred to keep his space small.  Small space equals less stuff.

Does anyone know where I can find a checkerboard truck?  I’m sure we can still create a space inside for the grandbaby to visit.

Copyright 2010 Mary E. Egidio.  Permission is granted to share this work with attribution, but not for commercial purposes.  (You can share this, but tell folks who wrote it, where you found it, and don’t sell it)

A Failure to Communicate..

We were flying to Pittsburgh for Christmas with our two adult children, and had driven our son’s Jeep, since it had the most room for luggage. We parked in a lot that was a few blocks away from the airport. The only thing was, the Jeep had to be started using a screwdriver along with the key (long story). My husband made the arrangements at the reception desk and when they asked for the key to the vehicle, we realized, ooops! So my son carefully instructed the lot attendant how to start the Jeep using the screw driver.

Just one problem… when we got back a few days later, that guy wasn’t on duty, and he hadn’t bothered to instruct anyone else on the fine points of the key and screwdriver trick! No one could start it to bring it to us! So, of course, Bubba had to accompany the attendant back into the lot and start it himself.

Seemed appropriate. It was one final laugh for a trip that was full of them.