H. Neal Glanville
H. Neal Glanville's column appears in the Craig Daily Press
Spring this, spring that, rake the yard, clean out the shed …
Yeah, right. If I go anywhere near that shed, it’ll be to talk to my two-person flotation thing about fishing and which body of water we will be on first this year.
OK, it’s not really a two-person flotation thing, it just says so on the side where somebody rubbed the camo-pattern stuff off the warning label.
According to the label, it will hold two of me and a five-gallon bucket half full of water.
I mention the warning label because Jane, who will read this column before clicking the mouse on the do-dah thing next to the format icon and sending it on its way, will have one less thing to worry about.
If one were to gaze upon my 6 foot, 6 inch chunk of camo-patterned molded-plastic, they, too, would wonder about label location and if the years I spent in therapy finally were wearing off.
Speaking of therapy: since Roy’s passing I’ve been somewhat overwhelmed with the stories I’ve heard of our adventures into some of this and that.
The most recent being the time we spent wing shooting our hats. I know, why would anybody take their hat off, throw it in the air and shoot it? I have no idea. What began as a boredom breaker for two “boys” soon became a serious contest of marksmanship within a small group of overgrown boobs.
Not only did we throw our hats in the air and shoot them, we started calling where the hat would be hit.
You’re laughing, but imagine trying to hit a hat thrown in the air by your competitor with a small caliber rifle, and then add the challenge of hitting the hat where you said you would.
It ain’t easy.
The winning hat (yes, there was a winner, though I doubt it was me because in my misspent but joyful youth I couldn’t hit a bathroom door if I was lying in the tub) has been hanging in Roy’s house all these many years.
A bullet hole perfectly placed in the front center of the crown. So, to all the nonbelievers of that particular story, there is proof.
Now for something completely different
Have you ever noticed the times when you are speaking to the opposite sex and can be within a whisper from their ear they still look at you and ask you what you said as if you were using sign language?
But you can be across the room and mumble something under your breath you thought barely audible and get the look of death from previous said gender.
And by not even making eye contact, you know they heard you by the burning and piercing sensation that is boring a hole in the back of your hat holder.
So, sometimes before you speak, you should not only look around to see who is close enough to hear or not hear, and just take the opportunity to be quiet.
There’s a lesson learned there.
On behalf of my stepson, Jaceson, and me, our apologies to the staff and patrons of the Golden Cavvy Restaurant for our uproarious laughter and nonstop giggling on the first day of spring.
The food was great as was the giggling.
If I see one more person hugging a seed display proclaiming spring is here, I shall ask them where their snow shovels are and how many times they’ll be used before the end of May.
Hey, you be careful out there.