Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting

It’s just like riding a bicycle. You never forget how.

How to what?

I don’t know. I can’t remember.

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’d just returned a pair of size 14 shoes. They weren’t quite 14 enough. I needed larger clodhoppers. I’d just returned to the road when my cellphone made the sound of a text received. I checked it later. I don’t text while driving. I type so slowly on my cellphone that people reply to my texts before I even send them. I could talk to my phone and it would change my words into text messages. The problem with that process is that it changes my words into something that I can’t understand.

Doorway effect

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it leaves me bewildered. I walk into a room and can’t remember why I walked into the room. I’d nearly reached my goal when I suddenly forgot my purpose.

Walking while thinking. I should give up multitasking. Some of this could be blamed on distraction.

A friend says his problem is that whenever he opens an Internet browser on his computer, he forgets why.

I don’t worry much about such things. I’ve spent most of my life being either confused or wrong. When I have my eyes tested, the eye doctor, as I sit in the eye chair, gets my vision down to two choices on the eye thingee that I’m looking through. The eye doctor slides the choices back and forth right in front of my eyes.

“Is this better? Or is this better?” he repeats several times.

I’m baffled. I can’t tell.

“This? Or this?” he reduces his repeated question to a shorthand version.

I finally pick one, but only because I’m forced to. I could live with either.

I needed to have my eyeglasses adjusted recently. They sat at an odd angle. They looked almost natural. It wasn’t because I’m lop-eared or my head is lopsided, even though both are true. It was because I was given a larruping good lick across the mug by a tree branch. It was an unwarranted attack. I’d done nothing to the tree. I expressed polite indignation. I don’t kick myself for such miscues. I don’t get good distance.

My wife accused me of being lame-brained. I took that as a compliment.

My garage door is terrible at long jumping

A granddaughter took first place in the conference long jump championship. Her jump was 16-04.75. I don’t know much about track, but I know that’s over 16 feet. I think the best I could do would be to fall face first. That might get me 6-05. I need a better cheer to use while she does track things. “Don’t trip” and “Peel out” are supportive, but lame.

Our garage door opener has a part-time job. It doesn’t work when it’s too cold. It refuses to do its job when it’s too sunny. It’s not that old. I remember the opener it replaced. It probably wanted to be a bicycle when it grew up, but now is too tired. Its reluctance to do what it’s supposed to isn’t all bad. We get exercise by having to get out of the car to open the door. My wife has a watch that tracks her steps. A slothful garage door opener helps her achieve her goals. Early in our married life, we not only didn’t have a garage door opener, we didn’t have a garage.

I encourage the garage door by saying “Up” and “Down.” That might work for a supportive cheer at a track meet.

Ask Al

“M wfe thnks w shld rnw r wddng vwls. Wht’s yr pnn?” I agree with her. You should renew your wedding vowels.

“How did you grow so tall?” During my formative years, I lived on a farm that raised cattle, pigs, chickens, ducks and geese. I spent a lot of time standing in high quality livestock manure that was good fertilizer.

Nature notes

“How can I keep barn swallows from building nests in unwanted locations?” Rub a bar of soap over the wall or cover it with plastic cling wrap that makes it difficult for a nest to adhere.

Meeting adjourned

Amelia Earhart said, “A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves.”