Well, I’ve got to introduce myself to a couple of new papers. So the rest of you will have to bear with me for a minute. You know, it’s like when one of your relatives gets to telling someone about themselves, you’re listening and the relative is stretching the truth a little, okay, a lot. So you roll your eyes and glance at your watch or get another carrot off the food tray and try not to be embarrassed.
Shirley and I ranch. We raise commercial cattle and registered Quarter Horses. Hold it! Hold it! See, it’s started already! Shirley ranches, cooks, cleans, raises kids (grandkids), serves in the Legislature, cuts hay in the daytime, bales at night, does the bookwork, and gardens.
I golf. That is not to say I am a golfer, but I do occasionally chase that little white ball around. I fish, but I am not a fisherman. I do not catch anything, but I do buy beer and bait. Just for example, I took one of our grandkids out this weekend. One hundred and two dollars at Rosie’s on miscellaneous. The cheapest fish we bought was $2.89 for 4 oz. of pickled herring, which Gage spit into the lake after one bite. I play pinochle, although not for money because that wouldn’t be legal. I do occasionally make it to happy hour, but do not stay out as late as I used to. I write a column on Monday mornings. Okay, sometimes Monday afternoons. Occasionally, I forget and Shirley has to forward an old column. I check the heifers early in the morning. Shirley checks them at night because I have trouble going back to sleep. I feed the dog most days. I announce an occasional rodeo and give an occasional speech, just so Shirley can live in the luxury that she so richly deserves.
We have two grown children, Carmen and Will. They are married. No, not to each other! What do you think we are? They are married to Matt and Jen. We have four grandchildren. We have been married for 40-some years. Really! Boy, when that priest said forever, I didn’t know forever was this long! No, not really. I have to make these little apologies because Shirley proofs this and hits my fingers with a ruler, like a tough judge or one of those sisters at the Catholic school used to do.
Judge. That reminds me of a little news blip I heard the other day.
It seems this entrepreneur was going to build a bar in this Texas town, and one of the churches near where the bar was to be built, was adamantly opposed to this new bar. They protested loudly at the zoning hearing. They protested at the commissioners meeting. Alas, common sense prevailed and the bar was permitted.
So, the parishioners turned to the power of prayer. They preached sermons. They held prayer vigils. They called upon the Almighty to help them in their struggle. Lo and behold, shortly after the bar was completed, a thunderstorm came by, and bang, zap! Lighting struck the bar and burned it down.
The bar owner was distraught and upset. So, he sued the church. The parties filed their briefs with a local judge, who currently has the case under advisement. What I liked was the judge’s comment, “It would be a tough case to rule on. On one hand he has a bar owner who believes in the power of prayer, and on the other hand, an entire congregation that denies it!”
Gotta go, Shirley should be low on fuel.