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Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting

I said to myself, “Bob, you shouldn’t have that third helping of mashed potatoes.”

But your name isn’t Bob. It’s Al.

I know.

Driving by Bruce’s drive

I have a wonderful neighbor named Bruce. Whenever I pass his drive, thoughts occur to me. The traffic was like driving in a box of wire coat hangers on a road that was under construction and had too much traffic. An argument could have been made that it should have been under martial law. But everything was nearly copacetic. I was on my way home.

A new toilet seat rode in the wayback. It was a surprise gift for my wife. It wasn’t even our anniversary. The seat had been on sale—1 for the price of 1. When I carried it into the house, my wife immediately told me to put it down.

Here, there and everywhere

I was in Yuma, Arizona, where I was about as hot as I’ve ever been. The time and the temperature had been the same after 1 p.m. It was a dry heat. I know because many people were kind enough to tell me. I’d have needed to use a meat thermometer to get an accurate reading of the temperature. I didn’t complain to anyone even though I come from a place where the weather is perfect a couple of days each year. I recall being in Meadowlands, Minnesota, when the temp was -33 degrees. I told a couple from Florida that 20 below was nothing at Meadowlands in the winter. They replied in unison, “Oh, it’s something.”

I stayed in the “dead guy’s cabin” in Alaska. It was called that because a guy had died in it. It had a low ceiling. I’m a tall guy and I bumped my head against it often. That might have been what killed the dead guy.

Knock, knock

Who’s there?

Mustache.

Mustache who?

Mustache you to pass the stuffing.

I’ve learned

I read the obituary of Vivian Rindelaub of Alexandria, Minnesota, who knitted 700 stocking caps for various charities, including “Hat not Hate.” Nice work.

Congested traffic makes me sneeze.

Playing Scrabble can lead to words.

When I was in school, we had slide rules in class, but no slide rules in the playground, where there should have been a sign reading, “Caution: kid slide area.”

You can’t prove that a bottomless pit is bottomless.

The nicer the hotel, the less likely it is to provide a complimentary breakfast.

A conspiracy theory teaches us we’re using a search engine, not a truth finder.

Age is not just a number. It’s a word.

Toilet paper is a rip-off.

We must accept the terms and conditions we don’t read.

Bad jokes department

If you feel tired and worried, you might. have contracted adulthood.

Don’t use “beef stew” as a password. It’s not stroganoff.

What’s the difference between a million and a billion? About a billion.

What do you get when you cross a chicken with a fox? A fox.

A customer of a smashing secondhand store in Hope, Minnesota, called Hopefull Treasures, wondered if turkeys say “gobble, gobble,” what do they say when they’re on the computer? “Google, google.”

Nature notes

Exotic means non-indigenous to an area and invasive means tending to spread prolifically and undesirably/harmfully. The Japanese beetle, common buckthorn and garlic mustard are both exotic and invasive. Not all exotic species are considered invasive. Soybeans, cattle, apples and ring-necked pheasants originated in Asia, corn was first cultivated in Mexico, tomatoes came from South America, and tulips are native to Europe.

Why don’t chickadees migrate? Because I need them here with me. Chickadees think only wimpy birds fly south and are non-migratory, year-round residents throughout their range. It takes a lot of energy for a bird to migrate, but they need food to stay home. Chickadees are good at finding food and they work overtime at it. They cache food to eat later. They are opportunistic feeders who eat between meals, have excellent memories and wear jackets (they fluff up their feathers for insulation). Chickadees are meant to be here and figure out how to get what they need. They make do and they get by. They always have.

Meeting adjourned

This exchange took place in a “Pickles” comic strip done well by Brian Crane. A grandfather says to his grandson: “When I was your age all my heroes were cowboys. Hopalong Cassidy, Red Ryder, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger, Gene Autry…now they’re all gone.”

The boy asks, “Who are your heroes now?”

Grandpa replies, “Anyone who shows kindness and compassion.”