Obedience school
Violates my canine rights—
Dog walks away free
Car attempts to park
Seven times without success—
Miffed student driver
Social media post
Only three likes arrive from—
Me, myself, and I
Elizabeth is flying in coach seating on her way to Minnesota. She occupies the window seat, and a quiet gentleman has been sleeping in the aisle seat.
The flight attendant offers her refreshment and a snack. She selects a diet Coke and a bag of peanuts. The attendant graciously leaves her the entire can.
As the plane nears its destination, Elizabeth begins to clean up her tray table. There is a little bit of Coke left in the can, and she pushes her empty peanut bag inside of it.
WARNING!
KIDS DON’T TRY THIS WITHOUT ADULT SUPERVISION!
Inside of the can, a surprise chemical reaction is taking place as the salt in the peanut bag mixes with the Coke.
Without warning, Elizabeth experiences Mount Vesuvius at 30,000 feet. Her little napkin is all she has to snuff out the volcano before disaster covers her lap.
What will she do?
Glancing to her right, she spies a blanket covering the sleeping gentleman.
This sweet poem was originally published in April, 2019, and it remains one of Big Sky Buckeye’s most viewed and liked posts. While I now refrain from enjoying doughnuts (because I need to watch my sugars and carbs), there was a day when I could never turn down a delicious treat. Enjoy!
Simple, yet decadent pleasures they are
Being quite easy to locate from your car
Driving down the road each day
Now you wonder what it is, I say
The coffee’s on and ready to go
Include a doughnut for the road
Missing doughnuts for so many weeks
Passing them up is never for the meek
Call them “donuts”, many Americans say
For me, I prefer “doughnuts” to this day
My doctor instructs me, “No sugar for you!”
Now my doughnut days are sadly through
However, doughnut temptation sings a song
If I reach for one, there is a deafening gong!
Sorry mister, there will never be doughnuts for you
So I continue down the road, singin’ the sad blues
Who made the doughnut hole in the middle?
Now that has always been quite the riddle
Waking up in the middle of a lonesome night
Dreaming of doughnuts makes a sugary sight
While some folks are addicted to Krispy Kreme
My doughnut tastes envision a different theme
Boston Cream, Long John, and Jelly
All sound delicious to my hungry belly
Old-fashioned, Sour Cream, and Glazed
Why can’t I enjoy a simple one today?
Now in my car and hungrily driving at midnight
The Jolly Pirate Donut shop stays open all night
I pull into the empty parking lot with sad surprise
The sign reads, “Closed tonight”— alas no prize!
This poem could continue on and on and on for sure
Does anyone have a doughnut to share with this sir?
Here’s a final footnote:
In the classic film “It Happened One Night”
Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert are a fright
Gable, the newspaper man, enlightens
Colbert, the heiress, never frightens
As they travel the back roads and stop
For a cup of hot coffee at a tiny shop
. . . with doughnuts for dunkin’
When we last checked in with Sgt. Joe Friday, his sharp detective skills were at work in setting up an undercover operation to solve the disappearance of Gladys Jefferson’s tasty strawberry-rhubarb pie. If you missed the first part of the story, here is a link back to “Sweet Caper.”
The opening episode of the story ended with:
Early the next morning, the seasoned detective hides across the street from the Jefferson’s house. The large lilac bushes provide a perfect lookout to view the kitchen window on the side of the house.
Right on cue, Mrs. Jefferson sets her freshly baked strawberry-rhubarb pie on the kitchen window sill to cool. Friday waits patiently to see if his stake-out will lead him to discover some answers.
Waiting from his hidden observation post, Joe Friday can almost smell the cooling pie across the street. Having skipped breakfast, he can’t help but feel a sweet craving for a piece of Mrs. Jefferson’s pie. He quickly shrugs off his hunger, and his well-seasoned eyes look out and wait.
A young boy, about the age of seven, walks down the sidewalk. He is pulling a small wagon with a tattered cardboard box sitting inside. The faded letters “Billy’s Bake Shop” can still be plainly seen.
The boy parks his wagon off to the side by the neighbor’s house, and he quickly and quietly slips up to the Jefferson’s kitchen window. In a flash, he gathers the pie and carefully walks back to his wagon. He hastily places the pie inside the cardboard box.
“Hmm, let’s see where this wagon travels to now,” ponders the sergeant. As the boy begins walking his wagon back down the sidewalk away from the Jefferson’s house, Friday carefully begins to follow at a safe distance.
It appears the boy is heading toward the small downtown area. He walks at a steady, unhurried pace as he pulls the wagon loaded with the stolen pie. It looks like Billy’s Bake Shop is open for business.
The young pie thief stops at an alley, and he scans the area for anyone watching him. Feeling alone and safe, he turns right and heads down the alley. Along the alley are back entrances to a collection of small offices and retail shops.
Friday continues to keep the boy in his sight, being careful to disappear just as the young entrepreneur checks the scene for any spies. He watches from the corner of the alley, hidden by a trash dumpster.
The boy continues walking and pulling his portable bake shop down the alley before stopping at an office door. He knocks on the door and waits. Before Friday can even think back to former capers he has solved over the years, the backdoor of the office opens. The boy returns to his wagon and removes the pie from the dilapidated cardboard box.
“Wow! I never saw this coming,” thinks the detective. The boy is handing off the pie to Mr. Jefferson.
As soon as the transaction is finished, Billy’s Bake Shop heads on his way, and Mr. Jefferson slips back into his office. The ever-curious detective wants to gather just a bit more information before he jumps Mr. Jefferson. His mind is working quickly, and he wonders what the real motive is behind the mystery of the strawberry-rhubarb pie’s disappearance.
Friday walks quickly from the alley around to the front of Mr. Jefferson’s office. He crosses the street to have a perfect vantage point of everything.
In a few minutes, a quartet of men, who seem quite friendly with each other, enter the office door. The sergeant checks his watch . . . the time is mid-morning, exactly when many people enjoy a coffee break.
Realizing it’s time to crash the gathering, the ever-alert detective crosses the street and heads directly to the office door. Upon entering, he finds the foursome of men sitting with Mr. Jefferson for coffee and fresh-baked strawberry-rhubarb pie.
Surprised by Friday’s appearance, the men stop eating and talking. They know their scheme has unraveled, for sure!
The eager and hungry sergeant listens as the quintet of pie lovers explain their side of the story. The bakery down the street has been closed for months, and the men have grown impatient with enjoying a sweet treat with their morning coffee break. What can be better than tasting one of Gladys Jefferson’s blue-ribbon pies?
Mr. Jefferson pipes up, “How about sitting down with us for some coffee and pie?”
Gladys Jefferson lives in a small Americana town, with its single traffic light and the usual safe and comfy feel. While her husband serves as the town’s unofficial mayor, she has made a name for herself with her renowned and delicious strawberry-rhubarb pie.
On this particular morning, Gladys (rather Mrs. Jefferson) stands on the steps of the unofficial town hall at the Wooden Nickel Café. She appears very distraught as she tells her husband and others about someone or something.
Sgt. Joe Friday (yes, you have heard of him before), has been visiting his family over the past few days. He just happens to be walking down the sidewalk when he runs into the big scene filled with people standing around Mrs. Jefferson. With his curiosity and stellar detective skills always are alert, he decides to listen in.
“Early this morning, someone or something stole my freshly baked strawberry-rhubarb pie right off of my kitchen window ledge,” Mrs. Jefferson cries out.
Growing more frustrated with each word, she continues on, “I always leave a pie near the window so that it will cool more quickly.”
In a town with a little or no crime, the disappearance of one of Mrs. Jefferson’s famous pies is big news!
Sgt. Friday waits for the crowd to disperse, and he then approaches Mrs. Jefferson to ask her some questions.
Unnoticed, Mr. Jefferson skedaddles away quietly and heads back to his office. He seems a bit perturbed with his wife’s emotional outburst on the main street of their quiet town.
After introducing himself, Friday begins to ask questions as he records some notes on his always-ready notepad. “Ma’am, please give me the facts about what happened. Perhaps I can help,” the detective states in his usual calm, professional manner.
As composed as possible, Mrs. Jefferson restates the facts of the theft to Sgt. Friday. When she becomes a little emotional, he hands her his handkerchief and reminds her, “Just the facts, ma’am.”
Eventually, the detective and Mrs. Jefferson are finished with the interview.
She reminds Friday, “I only left the pie there for five minutes. My goodness, what can happen in five minutes?”
With Mrs. Jefferson’s permission, the knowledgeable detective works out an undercover operation which just might catch the thief in the act again.
Sgt. Friday has a hunch about this caper, and he thinks there must be someone, with insider information, aiding and abetting in this crime. He plans to relax and enjoy a good night’s sleep before laying his trap.
Early the next morning, the seasoned detective hides across the street from the Jefferson’s house. The large lilac bushes provide a perfect lookout to view the kitchen window on the side of the house.
Right on cue, Mrs. Jefferson sets her freshly baked strawberry-rhubarb pie on the kitchen window sill to cool. Friday waits patiently to see if his stake-out will lead him to discover some answers.
How are you doing in solving this case? Do you have a list of suspects? Stay tuned for the conclusion of this story as Sgt. Joe Friday attempts to solve this “Sweet Caper.”
The gymnasium thunders with cheers as the Bears steal a pass and score to lead by a single point.
The game clock counts down the final seconds. Whistle blows!
One of the Bears’ starters falls with an injury. A little-used sub enters the contest, appearing anxious to enter the big game.
To seal victory, the Bears only need to pass the ball inbounds. Beneath the opponent’s basket, stands a wide-open player—the sub!
He cleanly catches the pass, faces the basket, and shoots.
Score!
Oh my!
Game over!
The eager sub just scored the winning basket for the other team.
While this story is pure fiction, I have witnessed a couple players scoring at the wrong basket during my many years of coaching basketball and serving as an athletic director back in Montana. Even one of my brothers did it during a junior high game. Thankfully, none of these wrong basket scores decided a game.
Pete lines up his tee shot on the first hole. Will his golf game be up to par?
He takes his stance, and his graceful and controlled swing looks perfect. Well it should; after all, it was just his warm-up swing.
Swinging for real, Pete’s tee shot flies away and looks to be splitting the fairway right down the middle. Suddenly, the golf ball changes direction as its speed shatters the sound barrier . . . hooking and hooking, left and more left!
Through the fairway.
Into the backyard of a home, sitting along the fairway’s left rough.
This tee shot looks hungry to score.
Through the kitchen window.
Right into Fred’s morning “Cup of Joe.”
Filled with a swagger and some pumped up jazz, Pete wanders up to the kitchen window and peers inside.
He confidently asks Fred, “Do you mind if I play through?”
Puzzled, Fred looks down at the golf ball swimming in his cup of fresh brewed coffee. Without saying a word, he seems to be singing the blues!
Running a quick errand for mother
Feeling twenty-five cents in my hand
Heading to the nearby little store
Milk, bread—let’s see what candy looks grand
Years ago, two bits meant feeling rich
A few coins equal twenty-five cents
Today, this sweet tooth will be in luck
Let this candy shopping now commence
Below the front counter, treasures wait
Friendly woman cashier stands and smiles
A few pennies for Sweet Tarts and more
Licorice, Smarties add to the pile
Looking to spend one final nickel
Picking through endless, tempting choices
Spying at last, a sweet Hershey bar
Overcome by sugar-filled voices
Arriving back home without delay
Pockets filled with sweetest treasure
Mother asks about the milk and bread
Two bucks unspent, plus her displeasure
Growing up in my childhood neighborhood, there was a little store just a few blocks away. My brothers and I made many a journey to the store for milk, bread, and other quick-to-find essentials for our mother. I cannot recall forgetting the milk and bread, but having a few coins in my pocket was treasure waiting to be spent on the candy found there.
The poem lists a few of the types of candy found back in the 1960s. Do you have a favorite candy from your childhood?
Good morning neighbor! I’ve been struggling with this rapidly changing world of ours. So, I hope you are doing better than me.
I have been deeply pondering the way words keep changing in meaning. If it is hard for me to understand, just imagine how Merriam and Webster are doing.
ZOOM used to refer to a camera lens moving in for a close-up. Now . . . it refers to some type of online meeting. Since I don’t have one of them fancy phones, I guess no will invite me to attend.
HOARDERS used to refer to people who collected everything under the sun as they filled up their basements, garages, and sheds with memories and junk. Now . . . it refers to anyone who creates a home warehouse for toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and disinfectants. Now I know why Bobby always has his garage door closed.
CASH used to refer to a time when we paid for things with currency, you know, the green stuff. Now . . . who can even remember the image on a $10 bill or a $20 bill?
FACE MASK used to refer to a part of an American football player’s helmet. Now . . . it refers to a way to protect yourself and show love to your neighbor at the same time. Hmm, are you on the same page with me? How do I look?
WHOPPER used to refer to one of the biggest and grandest of the burger world (and you could have it your way). Now . . . it refers to a “meatless” burger. Can you hear Clara Peller (from a competitor’s old TV commercial) shouting, “Where’s the beef?”
SOCIAL DISTANCING used to refer to the proper distance between a boy and a girl at a middle school dance. Now . . . it refers to a way to stay healthy and safe. I guess I’m all in with this new logic. How about you?
CURBSIDE PICKUP used to refer to a trash truck picking up some oversized items in the neighborhood. Now . . . it refers to a new way to buy groceries, without ever entering the store. Hmm, I hope the store’s gopher didn’t squeeze the Charmin (God Bless Mr. Whipple).
Now before I go, will you help me understand one more new word, VIRTUAL? We never witnessed this word much in the 20th Century, but now it is mentioned with everything . . . online classrooms, work from home, political campaigns, and even vacations.
These changing times are almost too much for a man of my age to fully understand. Well, I guess I can always rely on my grandchildren for some help. They don’t think I’m “over the hill” quite yet.
In all seriousness, I encourage all of us to be safe and stay as healthy as possible. Remember to wash your hands, wear a mask, and practice social distancing.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Personally, I think a healthy sense of humor is determined by at least three abilities:
From Proverbs 15:13: “A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken.”
Big Sky Buckeye 