Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting:

How much do you weigh?

I weigh 237 pounds.

Wow!

That’s pretty normal for someone my weight.

Driving by the Bruces

I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: I don’t need a parachute to skydive unless I want to do it more than once.

I’ve learned

Mosquitoes let us know that we are never alone.

When you jump in the shower, don’t jump in the shower.

To cultivate humility because I never know when I’m going to need it.

Cafe chronicles

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Or beef dinner or fish dinner or ham dinner.

Their companionship was held together by coffee and gravy.

One man grumbled that no day is so nice that sleep isn’t nicer.

Another admitted that his marriage might be in trouble. His wife just got hearing aids.

A third said that he had protective parents. At his house, they were only allowed to play rock, paper.

He remembered getting his tattoo. His mother loved it. That was because she loved yelling at him.

As I left the eatery, I saw this bumper sticker on a car, “Warsh me.”

The gift of a husband

I live where people live in complete harmony with mosquitoes in January.

I’m tall. I’m not so tall that angry villagers carry pitchforks and torches to my house, but I’m tall.

I’ve read that insects are attracted to tall people. I suspect that is true, but would add that they are attracted to short people, too. As a tall man, I do know that I attract ceiling fans.

I have a ceiling fan in my office. It makes me nervous. I probably obtained it as a gift for my wife. That’s the way husbands get things.

Duane Spooner of Hartland had gotten his wife a birthday present. When Kathy, his wife, asked where the present was, Duane told her that it was outside, parked in front of the garage. Kathy got excited. She was less thrilled when she saw that there, in front of the garage, was a brand-new burn barrel.

Not an amusement park

There was a minivan right on my bumper and a four-wheel drive pickup not far ahead of me. Nothing unusual about that. Rush hour in a large city, right?

Wrong. I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t even a passenger. I was parked at the county fair. I parked where I’d been directed. The minivan parked behind me was no problem. It was where it should be. The problem was the truck. It had parked ahead of me without thought of others. When I finished working at the fair, it was nearly 11 p.m. I was anxious to get home.

Unfortunately, someone parked the truck as if he’d stolen the vehicle, making it impossible for me to escape the parking lot. The driver was like the lunch lady who snarled, “I can dish it out. Can you take it?”

A traveling man

I drove a Dodge Avenger rental car one day and a Subaru Forrester rental car the next. I liked the Subaru best. Driving the Dodge Avenger made me feel like a superhero that shirks his duty at the last moment.

I spoke on a big boat. A bit of stormy weather came up. The boat was in no danger, but I jokingly told the passengers to throw everything unnecessary overboard. That water was cold.

Report from the road

I drove down Highway 13. My wife was riding shotgun. We met eight white vehicles in a row. It wasn’t a funeral procession and the eight white colors might have been linen, arctic, ermine, pure, classic, Wimbledon, winter white, and ivory, but they were white. White is the most popular color for cars in the US. We’ve become a white car nation.