Tuesday, March 11, 2014

The time I drown me a skunk

First off I must say that this is, unfortunately, not my tale. Of all the funny, crazy, odd, interesting things that have happened to me over the years, I have never encountered this beast face to face, nor do I intend to. However, as I was recently sitting among some good friends at the dinner table, an elder lady began to tell us this riveting story, so great, so hysterical coming from her mouth that I instantly knew I had to repeat it! And so, with no further ado, I give you the time "Elvira" drowned a skunk. (The names have been changed to protect the innocent.....if your too young to get that phrase it's from an old police show called Dragnet.)
The table was set as if the preacher had come to have supper with a family from the congregation. Southern hospitality was at it's best. The china was out and the glass goblets were full of water and sweet tea. Yellow napkins were rolled with care and placed in cute spring napkin holders. There were even 2 forks at each place setting! (Which means, "we take our dessert seriously") The meal smelled amazing and the chocolate meringue pie was a picture of perfection. Best of all was the company. A vibrant red head gleeful chatted throughout the night sitting beside her fashion sensible and highly sarcastic husband. At the head of the table was a grey haired fisherman who sat and listed intently to his wife adding in needed information when necessary. His wife, sitting beside him, was an excellent cook, a sweet southern lady. (Think Paula Dean meets Olivia Walton and stir in a little Aunt Bee and there you have her)  Next to her, I sat listening to the conversation with much interest. When suddenly I hear these words, "I drowned a skunk once...."
Excuse me? What did you just say? It was not the spunky red head who spoke, neither was it the sarcastic husband or the old fisherman. No, those words had escaped out of the mouth of the sweet old southern lady! Next thing I knew she was explaining the whole incident as bouts of laughter filled the room. The entire time I sat there flabbergasted that this sweet little lady could be so cruel. No matter how sweet she was you could see there was no admiration for this filthy animal. In fact, it sounded as though she detested them. Who could blame her? We are talking about a skunk people! And at times like these I can't help but think, "Man, Noah's wife must have been amazing! To live for an entire year without stomping out of existence one annoying insect or tossing out the window one disgusting animal. Either she was a super woman, or Noah kept her locked up on the third floor."

"What kills a skunk is the publicity it gives itself." -Abraham Lincoln

Anyways, back to the matter at hand. Elvira knew something about varmints. I mean that is how she got in this mess in the first place. She had set a trap for her neighbor trying to catch those elusive chipmunks. What she didn't expect was her neighbor to come by the next morning and say, "Elvira, we have a problem." Of course by "problem" he meant a "nice sized skunk smashed into a little chipmunk trap under his house." Pretty sure if I were her I my eyes would have been huge at this point and schemes of how to get rid of that skunk would be pulsating through my brain. My first thought would be, "Hunter, Caleb, Garrett, GRAB YOUR GUN!" but you know, not everyone has 3 brothers to turn to in her hour of need. Thankfully, Elvira had another plan.
As she stood in front of that menacing assailant smashed into her trap she said, "Well, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna drown him." Even though we had heard her say it once before, it didn't take the shock or the laughter from leaving our faces as we listened to her riveting tale come to fruition. "So, I got myself a rope and tied it onto the top of the cage and took him down to Milly's dock that was on the lake." She said, adding that Milly wasn't home so she would never know. "And I dropped into the water and waited a few minutes." Poor Michael, the sarcastic husband, for some reason he has trouble with the thought of any animal dying. (I really don't know why he's not a vegetarian.) I pretty sure his face went pale at this point and probably paler as she said, "I lifted it back up and that thing wasn't dead! So I dropped him back in and waited a little longer. I lifted it up again and that sucker still wasn't dead!" By this time Michael had to interject on behalf of all skunks everywhere and stated that he was going to put scuba gear under that dock for the poor things so that Elvira couldn't hurt any more. After dunking the poor thing about 3 or 4 times and getting sprayed at one point when she brought him out of the water, the varmint died. Which is when the question, "What did you do with him?" came into play. Let's just say the little fella had a "sea burial."
What's even funnier is that Milly came home a while later and called Elvira's neighbor to come help her bury a rodent that had washed up on her shore. Low and behold it was the skunk! So, now I know what to do with next time I am faced with an unwanted skunk. Just one question for Elvira,


"Have you perfected the amount of time needed to drown a skunk?"



Sunday, March 9, 2014

The man behind the pulpit

I think by now it has been proven that I view the world differently than "normal." This little idiocrasies causes visiting churches to be very amusing at times, or maybe it was just the church.... Either way, it was an interesting Sunday morning.

We were late walking into the tiny church in the mountains of Tennessee. If it is a big church sometimes arriving late is to your advantage. I mean you can sneak into the back pew after everyone has greeted each other so your not awkwardly shaking people's hands. But when you enter a tiny church, it is NOT to your advantage to arrive late! Besides we didn't arrive late enough to miss the shaking everyone's hands. Let me back up for a moment.

Jamie and I stepped out of the car and headed towards the front door of a beautiful little church. As we walked across the small parking lot, an older gentleman (he had a goatee and gray hair, he kinda looked like Colonel Sanders from KFC) was hopping off of a motorcycle (even stranger!) who wished us a good morning. I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open. It squeaked like crazy! Good thing there was another pair of doors in between us and the congregation. It was so silent, it looked like they might be praying. We began to enter the next pair of doors into utter silence. Not something you enjoy as a visitor arriving late. We tried to conspicuously take a seat in the last pew unnoticed. (We didn't succeed. EVERYONE noticed and the men up front had no problem pointing us out throughout the service as the "Two young ladies visiting." It was about as embarrassing as your parents showing off baby pictures to your boyfriend! Which is why I don't have a boyfriend.) Little did we know we had just entered the 1900's.


"To be a preacher requires two apparently contradictory qualities: confidence and humility."-Timothy Radcliffe



We apparently entered just in time for the prayer time. The piano began to play and several old men went to the altar and they all began to pray... at the same time... out loud. Let's just say the small headache I had at the time grew as my head began to spin. A skinny soft spoken man walked back up to the pulpit as the prayers died down. Strangely enough he asked if anyone had a song they would like to sing. I thought they would shout out a hymn number and everyone would sing but that is not what he meant. The pianist said she had a song and before she began to play and sing the man asked us to pray for her as she sang. By this time I wasn't sure what to expect anymore, as voices lifted up throughout the song shouting, "Praise Jesus" and "God bless her!" There was one strong voice in particular that carried throughout the entire church. Of course that really wasn't a surprise considering there was 20 people sitting in the pews, then again they all had gray hair and didn't look like they had that much voice inside them. For the life of me I could not figure out who was shouting their "Amens." The song came to a close and yet once again the man up front asked if someone else wanted to sing. A gentleman rose and came forward. Again, we were asked to pray for him, and again throughout the song that one strange voice bellowed out his "God bless his heart!" Honestly, I couldn't take it seriously. Everything in me had to work to not burst out laughing! I know, I know it sounds horrible but when not 1 but 2 camp preachers have said that "bless his heart" is the southern phrase for "he's an idiot" it becomes amusing to hear in church.

By this time I have deduced that the sound is coming from behind the pulpit. It wasn't the man who sat there and came up to give announcements. His voice was different. Plus, his mouth wasn't moving! I figured there was someone else sitting beside him but he was invisible from my seat. It honestly was like the Wizard from Oz. A big booming voice burst from behind the pulpit. No one knew who he really was but he was there and he was a strong presence. Ok, so my imaginative mind got a little carried away but didn't I warn you in the beginning that I didn't view things as "normal" as everyone else?

It didn't take long for the metaphorical curtain to rise and give way to the mysterious man, up stood Colonel Sanders. His booming voice was not just for hollering out blessings and prayers but also to deliver a fierce and thought provoking message. I can't describe the way he preached except for saying that it sounded a lot like I had gone back in time and been dropped down in the middle of a tent revival with a circuit rider preaching. He had a thick southern accent that projected throughout the auditorium as he quoted scripture and then gave it a hearty "AMEN!" At one point he said he needed to give himself an "amen" so he walked all the way to the back of the church and gave shouted "Amen preacher!" and then walked back to the pulpit.  Our adventure into a 1900's revival service ended with a traditional invitation and sneaky cell phone photo. Minutes later we were shaking hands and smiling as people urged us to come back and we walked out the two wooden doors.

So was the tale of the man behind the pulpit...