Monday, October 16, 2006

Signs of Our Times

Signs are interesting, aren’t they? They come in an array of sizes and shapes, with all kinds of information on them, and though some signs are needed most are a waste of time, energy, and material.

For instance, there’s a sign I saw the other day in someone’s yard that read, “For Sale By Owner.” Who else would be selling this man’s house?! Have you ever seen a sign that said, “For Sale by Neighbor”?

“Yeah, come on in, we’ll sell it to ya. The owners are down at the supermarket. They’ll never know.”

Another sign I don’t understand is a street sign not far from my home which reads, “Dip.” When I first saw that sign I pulled off to the side of the road and spent an hour and a half looking for my brother-in-law.

Or there’s the sign that says, “Slow Children At Play.” Hey, if they’re so slow a warning needs to be posted I figure I can dodge them!

And let’s not forget another ever needed sign posted through out town, “Stop For Pedestrians In Crosswalk.” My first thought when coming upon this sign was, is this a problem here? I mean, stopping for people in crosswalks should’ve been covered in Driver’s Ed. 101. If driver’s in your area need a sign to remind them not to run over pedestrians I say get out of their way!

And speaking of crosswalks, while living in the Ozark Mountains I noticed a sign one day that the city of Branson, Missouri had erected at a crosswalk at the bottom of a very steep hill. It read, “Stop For Children In Crosswalk.” What? Like old people are fair game? “Look, Martha, there’s an old geezer crossing the street with a walker. That’s like, 50 points on the score card, isn’t it?”

Since I mentioned Branson, Missouri, one of the strangest signs I ever saw was for a business in Branson. The sign read, “Locksmiths And Hair Styling.” Heaven knows we’ve needed something like that for a long time now.

Just how did that idea come about? Did some guy walk into the shop one day to have a key made and said to the person at the counter, “You know, you did a heck of a job cutting that key, I think I’ll let you cut my hair?”

I’ll have to admit, though, I did come across an idea for a sign that was a brilliant, and it might even cut down the number of road rage incidents. It was suggested that every licensed driver in the U.S. be given a dart gun with darts (the suction cup type of darts). Each dart would have a little flag attached to it with the word IDIOT on it. Every time someone cuts you off in the lane, runs a red light, drives while shaving or reading a book (I once saw a young lady driving a stick shift, smoking, putting on her makeup, and talking on her cell phone all at the same time), does 35 mph in the passing lane on the interstate, etc., other drivers can shoot his car with an IDIOT dart. When a person has five or more darts hanging on his car the police pull him over and give him a ticket. Said driver would also receive a hefty fine and have to take a Driver’s Ed. course. To me, this would be an excellent usage of signs—though my family tells me that with the way I drive my car would be plastered with darts before I got a mile from home. Now that I think about it maybe that’s not such a great idea.

Well, I could drone on and on concerning this subject, but I think you get the idea and really I’ve belabored the point long enough. I guess there’s just nothing left to do except sign off (ouch!).

Monday, October 09, 2006

A Marriage That Can Survive Back-Seat Driving Can Survive Anything

Show me a marriage that can survive the perils of back-seat driving; I’ll show you a marriage that will last for eternity. Let’s face it, back-seat driving is the biggest threat known to wedded bliss.

There are, of course, the obvious problems which arise between couples when one is being informed by the other on how bad one’s driving is. But there is also a backlash from back-seat driving which can occur. I’m reminded of an incident when I was in the fourth grade.

My dad had been letting us (my mom, my siblings, and me) know, under no uncertain terms, that he had all of the back-seat driving from us that he was going to take. One day, while at the supermarket, Dad decided to back our humongous station wagon into a chosen parking spot. Mom had already gotten out of the car to fetch a shopping cart when she spied Dad backing into a parked car located directly opposite of us. CRUNCH!

As Dad and my younger brother and I observed the damage done to both vehicles, Mom walked up and informed Dad that she saw it (the collision) coming.

“Well, why didn’t you say something?” was Dad’s reply.

“Because,” Mom laughed, “you said not to tell you how to drive anymore.”

As a result, my dad's been a little more open to suggestions when behind the wheel of a vehicle, and my parents have been married now for over 50 years.

My grandparent’s marriage also survived the perils of back-seat driving. No matter where they’d go on a trip, they usually wound up not speaking to each other (mainly due to Gramps taking one of his infamous short cuts) by the time they reached their destination.

One time my family and my grandparents went on a trip to San Francisco, California back in the late 1960s. We took our car while Grandma and Grandpa drove their camper and toted a trailer behind them.

Not long before we entered the city limits of San Francisco, we noticed the camper was no longer following our car. In fact, my grandparents were nowhere in sight. Dad pulled the car into a gas station and we waited for my grandparents. We waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. Finally, just about the time Mom and Dad had decided to file a missing persons report, here came the camper scampering down road. Gramps was behind the wheel, driving, but Grandma no longer sitting beside him—she was in the camper, lying on the upper bed, peering out of the window. From the expression on their faces, we knew what had happened; Gramps had, true to form, taken one of his short cuts, and they had gotten lost. Both had a look on their faces that would have made Adolf Hitler shiver with fear, yet, when Gramps departed this life they’d been married over 60 years.

Perhaps back-seat driving was the ruin of my marriage. The former Mrs. Bagley was so paranoid about my driving that I had to threaten to tape her eyelids shut when I was behind the wheel.

You don’t suppose it had something to do with the fact that every single piece of damage inflicted upon our vehicles happened when I was the driver? Hey, none of them were my fault including that darn light pole that jumped in front of the truck as I pulled forward out of my parking spot at the shopping center.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

Throughout one’s life, misunderstandings are inevitable. That’s just the way life is. Sometimes these misunderstandings can be amusing, like the time I caused my parents immense embarrassment from a misunderstanding when I was just four years old.

My dad was working long hours so my parents had to make good use of what little free time they had to discuss family matters, plan things, etc. So, it was not unusual, while dad was taking his evening shower, for mom to slip into the bathroom, take up a seat on the counter, and chat with dad.

One particular evening, while mom was chatting with dad as he showered, the phone rang. Unfortunately for my parents, I answered it.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi there, is your daddy home?” a man asked.

“Yes, but he’s in the shower.”

“Well, is your mother home?”

“Yes.” I answered.

“Can I speak to her?”

“She’s in the shower with my daddy.” To my young mind, two people, a bathroom, and running water added up to a two-person shower.

Now this, of course, was rather embarrassing for my folks (you have to realize this took place during a period in time when talking of such things as a man and woman showering together was a social taboo), but what made it even more humiliating was that the caller was our local clergy.

I just couldn’t understand why my parents were red in the face the next Sunday when they shook hands with him at church, nor could I understand why our clergy had such a big grin on his face as my parents sheepishly said hello to him.

Then there was the time when I gave my first grade teacher cause for deep concern about my upbringing. It was during a time in my life my when my grandfather, whom I idolized, had taken a partial retirement from his job, with plans for a full retirement in the near future.

Well, the whole family was excited for gramps. Now he’d have more leisure time to do more of the things he loved to do: camping, fishing, hunting, puttering around the house, just to name a few.

Caught up in all of the excitement, I just had to share with my classmates what was going on in the life of my hero. So, one morning, during show and tell, I stood in front of the class and proudly announced that my grandfather was partially retarded and things were going to be even better for him because soon he’d be fully retarded.

My children, I fear, have followed in their father’s footsteps. You see, a few years back, when my sons were little I was discussing the subject of life and death with them. Youngest son asked me to explain to him what a baby’s umbiblical cord was and middle son asked a question about the Grand Raper who comes to get you when you die.

You don’t suppose it’s an inherited thing do you?