Wednesday, September 29, 2010


It's happened again, the WEEDWHACKER has done it's dastardly deed! Over the years I've lost countless precious plants to it's whirling plastic string.

This weekend it was the line of lilies planted and lovingly cared for along the back fence. Those lilies were the old fashioned kind, they grew to be about 36 inches tall with wild and lovely orange blooms. They were supposed to spread until they cover huge patches of my flower garden along the fence. I'd searched for months before finding that particular lily. Seems like just yesterday I was admiring them!

It couldn't have been yesterday, however, because Sat. they met their maker via the WEEDWHACKER!!!

I'm still grieving over the "pencil gourd" plants that were unmercifully struck down in their prime years ago. That was a case of ordering special seeds, planting and guarding the spindly little plants, waiting, waiting for those very artistic shaped decorative squash to appear.

I remember the day. It was an early Saturday morning when I heard the WEEDWHACKER fire up but I procrastinated a few minutes too long before I ran out to the garden, my nightgown flapping in the breeze. My plan was to physically stand before my tiny plants, arms outstretched shouting, NO, NO, NO at the top of my lungs in order to be heard over the roar of the motor. It was too late! They were gone, the ground was bare. It was as if they'd never existed.

There is something absolutely mesmerizing about electric ANYTHINGS in the hands of the male of our species. I believe it has everything to do with the Va-Room sound. Think about it, there's the chain saw, the electric drill, the router, the hedge trimmer, the power washer, the air thingy, cars of all shapes and models, the WEEDWHACKER and of course the "Binford 2000" (our name for the riding lawn mower that's bigger than our lawn!)

When the motor fires up, the brain molecules shut down. Any and everything in the path of a man with a motor in his hand is at risk.

I truly believe little boys are observed in the hospital nursery with their red little fingers pointing to the sky while testing their new-found voices. In their baby cry, if you listen closely you'll hear "va-room, va-room." Stats prove that this phenomenon is NOT present in baby girls.

What's his defense, when Honeybuns is confronted with plant murder, you ask??

He shrugs his shoulders, looks me straight in the eye and calmly replies, "it'll grow back."

I'm wondering if he would be so calm if I happen to accidentally whack off a couple of his body parts. I could defend myself, "it'll grow back."

Sunday, September 26, 2010


My all time favorite musical is PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! I never tire of it and it never fails to transport me to another place mentally and emotionally. When I saw it on Broadway a few years ago I was drenched in my own perspiration at the final curtain call. I get so involved I am physically affected.

Last night the Tulsa Symphony presented the Phantom's Leading Ladies, the three Broadway stars that played Christine Daae for 19 years! They were fabulous!

The Tulsa Symphony is a treat! Terri Bibb, Karen Culliver, and Mary D'Arcy were off the charts good! They sang several Broadway numbers but nearly brought down the house with their medley of songs from Phantom!

I have seen the play 5 times, the movie twice and own the CD to play that music in my car. Long road trips and icy highways are the perfect time to belt out "Think of Me", or "Music of the Night". When I'm driving alone no one knows that my high g sounds more like the "cat's tail caught under the rocking chair" than Christine Daae's perfect pitch.

Those gals hit every note, every time! How do they do that? The clarity and purity of such fine voices bring tears to my eyes. Good music always does that!

Honeybuns enjoyed the performance also, BUT, his favorite songs these days have something to do with "she thinks my tractor is sexy" and "lookin' too good not to go somewhere." Country Western songs usually deal with spilling beer, final divorce or
some body's dog died. I can't get into that at all.

Just give me a psychopathic killer living in an underground sewer stalking a beauty in an opera house any day.

It's all a matter of taste, I suppose.

But today I'm practicing that high g, and PRETENDING that I hit it every time.

This kind of thing happens when I see the Radio City Music Hall's ROCKETTS too. I point my toes and attempt to kick above my head. My fantasies last until the excitement wears off, Honeybuns complains, or I incur severe injury, whichever comes first.

"Think of Me"

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


I LOVE aprons. They come in lots of styles and colors, ruffles and pleats, some with pockets, some without. Some are just for lookin' pretty and others are strictly utilitarian. (The folks on the food channel like the utilitarian kind!)

It's fashionable today to collect "retro" aprons, the older the better. Flea markets and antique stores decorate with them. And in the past few years the fabric stores have stocked patterns so we can make them ourselves. The fabrics are fabulous and so much fun.

Aprons mean different things to different people.

My grandmother wore one everyday! She wasn't dressed until her apron was covering her dress. Her favorite style was the ALL-OVER kind that covered everything but the arms. They were washed, starched and ironed and were very colorful! They NEVER matched the dress she was wearing, they weren't supposed to.

It seems they were always made of a tiny-print-cotton fabric with brightly colored seam tape covering the edges and the long sashes that tied in the back. There were no buttons and velcro wasn't invented yet.

They served SO many purposes....and I remember them all.

Granny wiped her hands on her apron and also used it to wipe my tears. She scooped up apples in that printed cloth and carried them to the house. Her great-grandsons hid behind her apron playing hide-n-seek all the while she was stirring gravy at the stove. She never hesitated wiping a child's nose on the lower edge or pinning a wild flower at the shoulder.

She'd fan herself and us with her apron while we were swinging together on the front porch swing, usually while singing some ancient hymn. An apron could be an emergency tourniquet or a wash cloth if needed out at the water pump. She wore her apron all day long, sunup to sundown.

Oh, yes, and it did protect her from the splatters from the cooking stove.

Today I wear aprons, make them, give them away and hang mine on a hook in my back hallway as decoration. They are colorful and fun. When I tie one on I'm headed to the kitchen for some serious cooking. It's true that if you LOOK the part you perform better!! (I think this works for golfing, snow skiing, and cycling across France, as well.) There is MUCH anticipation that something good is going to happen in the kitchen if I'm dressed for action.

Maybe that's what an apron symbolizes....ANTICIPATION AND PREPARATION for whatever comes my way. If I'm wearing an apron I'm "armed" and ready for anything that should happen. I'm absolutely positive that's what Granny would say, don't you think?

Monday, September 20, 2010


Twelve years ago tonight we got a life-changing phone call. It was about 10:30 p.m. and we were living in Savannah, GA.

Prior to this night I had vowed privately and publicly that I would NOT become one of "those" obnoxious people that were obsessed with grandchildren. THOSE people carry pictures with them ALL the time, whip them out at appropriate AND inappropriate times and BORE everyone with stories of their incredible grandchildren.
Who wants to be known as one of THOSE people?????

That was all before ANDREW HAYS BRANER came into the world. He was born in Springfield, MO and we were hundreds of miles away. We knew he would be born soon and were very excited, but NOTHING prepared me for the moment of that call.

I answered the phone to hear, "Mom, he's here!" I couldn't speak! A very strange sensation started at the top of my head and proceeded to my toes. It was an actual PHYSICAL transformation!! I'd become a "silly goose grandma", and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. HAYS was born! My previous state of being was gone, I was a brand new GRANDMOTHER, complete with a NEW name, BEBE!

We immediately made plans to jump in the car and drive! The GRANDFATHER stated that we would set out the next morning. How could I possibly wait, and why? No one slept that night!

We arrived in MO and went straight to the hospital...and there HE was! Beautiful, wonderful, and fabulous. There were no words to describe our love for him. He became the center of our universe, the subject of every thought and the topic of every conversation with friends that would listen.

Since that day he's proven to be all we ever prayed for or imagined. He's perfect in every way, he can do no wrong, and if he wanted the moon I'd try my very hardest to obtain it for him. He's funny and sweet, adventurous and kind. He's brilliant and analytical. His great-grandfather Pappy described him as one with "strength of purpose." He gives his siblings fits sometimes and challenges his parents whom he adores! We've made some wonderful memories together. He is a delight!

He's TWELVE today and he's growing into a fine, fine young man. We can hardly wait to see what he will tackle next and we continue to look forward to loving him, encouraging him, learning from him and sharing him with the world.

I doubt that he will ever know how much we love him.

Perhaps....... some day in the far distant future he will also get such a phone call and at that moment grasp the definition and transformation of unconditional love.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAYS! We love you to the moon and back! BeBe and Papa

Saturday, September 18, 2010


Talk about sensory overload! Today a nearby neighborhood held its annual "GARAGE SALE". If an item was not out for sale today, it simply isn't needed to function in this world. The streets were lined with cars bumper to bumper. No need for the mailman to drive through there today...impossible! People came from miles around to shop this very popular yearly event. We'd seen it advertised so much we decided to check it out.

This particular sale must be categorized as a "festival" of sorts. Along with miles of "sellers and sellees" haggling over prices, there were kids selling candy and dads grilling turkey legs. Boys pulling ice chests up and down the streets hawked bottled water, lemonade and Mountain Dew. Babies were sharing their stroller seats with all kinds of knick knacks, plastic flowers and almost new toys. People were friendly and they were of all nationalities and ethnic groups. The sights and sounds reminded me of a county fair.

We strolled by the usual tables stacked with pre-land fill items and started noticing the big ticket articles. I've never seen a Corvette parked at a garage sale before! It was all shined up with a sticker on the windshield. Young men gathered around drooling!

There were boats, wave runners, washer and driers, 4-wheelers, golf carts, furniture of all shapes and sizes, outdoor grills and cookers, libraries of books, and stacks of tires of all sizes! There were blow-up swimming pools, snow skiis, skateboards and skates. Who knew?

We've decided that it's a sign of the times. There were even a few houses in that area with front yard grass grown up mid-calf and "For Sale by Owner" signs pounded into the dry soil.

Evidently people are trying to make a little cash by getting rid of everything but the necessities of life.

Maybe some are shedding things that they've now discovered they couldn't afford in the first place.

Maybe the "fun money" is now spent having fun at the grocery store instead of putting gas in a boat or 4-wheeler or Corvette.

Maybe folks are discovering that the more stuff the more time/money/effort it takes to care for it. And who wants to spend their life like that?

Maybe the definition of contentment has changed and the purchases needed for "status" have lost their lustre.

Recycling, that's what it is!!

I'm pretty sure that "garage sales" are uniquely American. Good old Yankee ingenuity.

And a really good excuse for a free street party!

Maybe we'll go back over there tonight for the live entertainment!

Some things just make you want to stand up, put your hand over your heart and sing the Star Spangled Banner.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Learning a foreign language is a task NOT intended for those with a short attention span or anyone over the age of 2. I'm thinking my brain is too old for such a task.

When Honeybuns decided to go to work with for a foreign company I had every intention of learning Japanese. How hard could it be? After all, we would have many opportunities to interact with those folks and travel to that wonderful and mysterious country. It would be VERY helpful to be able to understand their language.

The Rosetta Stone box arrived in the mail and I KNEW it wouldn't be long before I'd be fluent. The promises of success were ringing in my ears. After all, this program was the same one used by the CIA, University Students all over the land and those brave souls that enter into the mission field in far flung places.

I opened it, installed in on my computer and started my education! Oh, my.....what a rude awakening.

The concept sounded perfect! However, unlike my preconceived ideas, translating one word to another is NOT the plan. The student MUST become an infant all over again, looking at pictures and sounding out the strange words, forgetting what that picture actually means in our native tongue, English. It must be one of those right-brain vs. left-brain battles. It is very difficult and requires hours of repetition.

After a few words are mastered the next LEVEL of study is presented. More words, more sounds, more words, more sounds.

THEN...a pronunciation test is given. I had to speak INTO my computer screen and Rosetta Stone presented a ragged graft of my ACCENT! ACCENT? I don't have an accent.
Evidently I do, I failed THAT test! No explanation is given but it became obvious that I would not proceed. Yep, I was shut down! That accent thing must be conquered or the whole dream of speaking Japanese is history.

The only word I mastered was NEKO. There is rarely an opportunity for me to work the Japanese word for CAT into a conversation. The end.

The Rosetta Stone is back in the box and gathering dust on the bookshelf.

Next plan? Befriend a Japanese person and learn via osmosis!

My friend is lovely, and she's struggling with English. She carries a small computer in her purse that helps her communicate with me. We have a good time, laughing, shopping, eating out. We smile and bow alot and shake our heads when we realize that the other one has NO clue as to what has been said. We've traveled together, attended many functions together, been introduced together at business meetings and hosted company events successfully. Understanding each other's language is highly overrated!

I'm learning NO Japanese from her. BUT...I'm teaching her slang! So far she's fluent in several phrases. "Money down a rat-hole" and "trophy-wife" are her favorites. Her accent gives a whole new dimension to English slang. Accents! They're SO colorful!

We're still working on Y'ALL.....singular and "ALL Y'ALL"...plural.

Sunday, September 12, 2010


A few days ago I parked my big red Ford Expedition in front of the fabric store. I only needed a small item to complete my latest sewing project, it would be a quick trip, in and out.

Minutes later I emerged with tiny package in hand, clicked the thingy on my key chain but the locks on my car door did NOT click upward. After several attempts and several minutes later I decided that the thingy was busted. I inserted the key in the door went in, turned, but still the locks stayed DOWN. Again, I made several attempts. What in the world????

After digging through my purse, unfolding my wallet to find the little business card with the factory "code" I pressed all the numbers right there at the drivers side window but still no entry! Calling a locksmith was the next option.

While fishing for my phone, in the bottom of my purse, I happen to glance through the window of that stubborn car only to realize the interior was beige, not gray like mine at all.


Sure enough, three parking spaces down, my lights were flashing and the door locks were doing the rumba.

Looking around to see if ANYONE had witnessed this illegal event, I breathed a sigh of relief and jumped into my car. WHEW! The owner of the other big red truck was still shopping.

SHOPPING? Where was my tiny little important package??

I got out of my truck and began to search the parking lot. Yep...there it was...UNDER the other vehicle. Now I sincerely prayed that the owner still had much to consider, that she was still touching each bolt of fabric in that store and had rows upon rows yet to investigate.

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled under HER truck and retrieved my plastic bag.

Rushing back to my car, I never looked back. By now I'm hoping that no security camera caught all that on video tape. How could I ever explain my actions???

I had visions of being led to a police station with my sweater pulled over my head so no one could see it was me. And Sunday afternoon visits with the grandchildren at the "big house". What was it like to be sent "up the river" for grand theft?

Good if life isn't hard enough. Really! What ARE the odds of two red Ford Expeditions being parked at the same store at the same time on any given day?

Do these kinds of things happen to other people????

Saturday, September 11, 2010


I was home alone, working in the kitchen, with only 1 ear tuned toward the TV. UNTIL mid-morning.....and the first plane hit the first tower. Surely it was some kind of horrible accident. The fire extinguishers and New York's finest would have the fire put out quickly. Helicopters would soon be air-lifting people off the roof and hopefully the death toll would be minimal.

The smoke billowed and flames were huge. I called Philip immediately. He was asleep in his duplex on Northwest Highway in Dallas. He lived there with 3 other guys. The phone woke him up and I told him to turn on the TV NOW.

The summer before that particular Sept. 11th he'd had the wonderful opportunity to serve as an intern for KPMG at the World Trade Center in New York. It was a great experience. It was a massive steel and glass world, buzzing with energy and excitement. I'd visited him there, eaten at the cafe, took pictures of the fountain, and rode the subway underneath those gleaming steel towers. At that time the World Trade Center seemed to be just that...the center of the WORLD. We shared some wonderful memories of that place. We were both very aware that those buildings held 50,000 people on any given day....more people that most small towns scattered across America. Where were those folks today?

Andy called from Missouri...Philip beeped in. I couldn't get close enough to my children. I wanted them in MY house, in MY arms as if to protect them from whatever was coming next.

I wanted Philip AWAY from downtown Dallas. I wanted to be sure Nancy was safe.

Honeybuns called..."have you heard anything from Mark?" Mark is my nephew whose office was across the plaza of Tower 1. No news yet.
"Dallas is on a hit list, have you talked to the boys?" Yes, we're joined by MaBell.
He was involved in securing Love Field, the airport in downtown Dallas. There was discussion of private planes being targeted and used for more destruction.

The 2nd plane hit it's target and reporters declared that a 3rd was headed for the White House or the Capital Building. I stood alone and watched the towers implode and collapse into the ground. The sky rained down with debris and people choosing to jump to their deaths rather than feel the pain of being burned alive. It was a terrible unbelievable sight.

There were other fiery scenes from the Pentagon and reported phone calls from
a plane on a flight path toward D.C. A heroic group of passengers was going to make sure that it did NOT reach it's intended destination.

That plane went down in a field near Pittsburgh.

It was a horrific day. Rumors flew fast and confusion was rampant. The sky was empty of all planes, the quiet horizon was deafening. I kept calling everyone I knew to be sure they were o.k.

Every life was put on pause, every ear strained to hear Mayor Rudy tell us what to do, what to think, how to feel.

I tracked down my nephew. He was at his Illinois house, having returned with his family so his teenage girls could start school back in the Midwest. They'd left their New York apartment only days before and the office at Tower 1 in the hands of his 7 employees. Those 7 friends were among the masses that ran for their lives and so they lived.

Philip and Andy called again and again. We spent time just connected via technology, saying nothing, crying some.

Someone from our church called...there would be a prayer meeting at 7 p.m. I mumbled something.

Honeybuns finally came home. There were no words to speak, we watched every minute of the coverage in total disbelief!

Andy called again with the news that he'd made up his mind, he was going to join the Navy Seals THAT DAY! I said o.k. He needed to DO something! We were all helpless.

I had flashbacks of my grandmother as she used to relate to me that pain of sending 3sons and 1 son-in-law to war. After this day, war was inevitable! And I wondered if my generation had the courage it would take to support it or the nerve to send our sons to a foreign land.

We all knew that life would never be the same again. The unimaginable had occurred!
From now on anything was possible.

The sun DID come up the next morning but normal life did not return. Friends and family members of friends were stuck in airports and far from home cities with no hope of returning soon. Runways were closed, car rentals were few and far between. Our daughter-in-law Jamie was in a rental car somewhere between Phoenix and Branson, trying to get home to her husband and children. I wanted her home!

Some people's planes had been grounded in Iceland, Canada, Greenland, and Europe.
Families would not be reunited for days. Some would never see their loved ones on this earth again. The death toll kept climbing. The nation groaned with grief.

Everywhere I went there were US flags displayed. Cars, businesses, homes, school, churches sported the red, white and blue. Signs went up in store fronts begging all who could read to PRAY! There was not one word, not one column or editorial page crying out for separation of church and state. Everyone knew that our only hope was to run to the God of our Fathers for help.

The empty spaces in the New York skyline matched the empty heart of America.

I will never forget.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010


Whenever I declare to Honeybuns that I need a maid, his reply is the standard, "You have it made" and that's the end of the discussion. So...occasionally I DO clean, starting at one end of the house and furiously working until I get to the other end or collapse from exhaustion whichever comes first. The goal is to get it all done in one day so I can sit back and enjoy ONE day of clean. That's all the longer that lasts. It's a never-ending ordeal!

Most "cleaning days" are pretty boring, even with frequent breaks to call a friend or two, a quick bike ride around the block or a five minute break to catch up with the news or weather report of the day. My attention span on cleaning day is not great.

Then there was the day the frog appeared. Yep, everything was spic n span, even the mop was back in the garage. I made a final trek through the kitchen admiring the shine on everything in sight when something caught my eye. There in the middle of the kitchen floor was the biggest ugliest wartiest looking frog I'd ever seen. Well, maybe not the biggest, but he was running a close second! I will NEVER understand where he came from or how he got into the house!

He was just sitting there grinning as if he was on a lily pad on a pond. We stared at each other for an eternity before I snapped into action. How do you get a big brown frog out of the kitchen??? Perhaps containing him was a better plan than moving him!

I grabbed a Tupperware bowl and plopped it right on top of him while screaming like an Oklahoma Indian on the warpath, as if screaming were going to help the situation. I had visions of him jumping up ON ME as I attempted to cover him with the plastic bowl. He didn't move. I think I scared him more than he scared me if that was possible. He was no doubt in SHOCK.

I put a 2 qt. bottle of Dr. Pepper on top of the bowl to hold him in before he realized that one giant hop upward would guarantee his freedom.

Because I had an appointment and needed to get on the road, I quickly wrote a note and attached it to the bottle. FROG BELOW!! with an arrow pointing downward.
Honeybuns would get home before I returned and surely take care of this intruder.

Sure enough, I arrived home late. Upon entering the kitchen I was disappointed to see that the bowl with the Dr. Pepper bottle on top of it was still in position.
WHAT? Honeybuns was quietly reading the newspaper in his chair.


He replied, "look at the note"

He'd written.....FROG-#### BELOW!

I was not ABOUT to look under there! The whole bowl/bottle/note stayed there all night. It was gone the next morning before I got out of bed. The floor was clean as if nothing disgusting had happened there.

I think my "maid" took care of that for me! I DO appreciate him!

Monday, September 6, 2010


Another birthday!
How can it be?
The gray haired man is 63!
Not really! (He's only 59, but that didn't rhyme!)

We have a family tradition! The EXACT number of candles must be placed on the birthday person's cake, to be blown out while party-goers sing the song. None of that lazy "let's just put 2 big numbers on there" for us. The more candles the better. The smoke gets thicker each year and the wax on the icing is the expected flavor now.

This year we celebrated Honeybuns birthday a little early, over Labor Day Weekend, here at home with Philip, Nancy, Thompson, Mollie and Gracie. They drove up from Dallas for a couple of days. Last year we were in Colorado with Andy, Jamie and the Fab 4 at that time, now it's the Fab 5! Having grandchildren assisting with the blowing is an extra-special birthday treat.

Being 59 was never even a possibility when we were young! 30 seemed old to us at one time. Funny how THAT changes as time marches on. The closer we get to 80 the younger THAT sounds.

And to quote Honeybuns, "Today I only feel 10 years older than I did when I was 58!"
Oh, could be down hill from now on. Next year will be the big SIX O! I don't know how we'll face that one!

But, I've heard that 60 is the new we shall see. Being 40 was a good experience!

We've shared so many birthdays and anniversaries and holidays and sick days and well days and joyous days and sad days, the list goes on. We've had many high adventures that have thrilled our socks right off and a few pain filled days to balance out the joy.

We are best friends and soul mates. We live the same values and our hearts beat in sync. And life together is so much better than life apart could ever be. Isn't it great when it works out like that?

We are incredibly blessed.

Even aging together it o.k. We're practicing at being old together so that when we get there we'll know what to do!

It's times like these when I reflect upon the words of that great theologian, Winnie the Poo, who stated, "If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.."

Friday, September 3, 2010


Only the male cricket chirps! There is a large vein running along the bottom of each wing with "teeth" much like a comb. The sound is created by running the top of one wing along the teeth at the bottom of the other wing. The LOUD chirping is a calling song that attracts females and repels other males. When a female comes hear the song softens to a quiet ballad.

There is evidence that the rate of chirping has a connection with the temperature. Cricket experts add the number 40 to the number of chirps produced in 14 seconds to calculate the temperature.

Crickets have "ears" below the middle joint of their front legs so they can hear another cricket's song!

There are over 900 species of crickets.

They are nocturnal. Well, NO KIDDING!

"Jiminy" started his love song outside my bedroom door last night at exactly 11:35p.m.. I know the time because this human female did not appreciate the serenade and my bedside clock is accurate. I'd only been asleep 35 minutes. The "rock band" continued until 6:55 a.m. this morning. The ONLY solution to gain any sleep at all was a heavy pillow over my head/ears with just my nose sticking out for oxygen. Honeybuns gave up at 11:45 p.m. and ended up in the guest room bed at the other end of the house. (His chirping tolerance is extremely low.)

It happens every fall. As the temperature drops and evenings become pleasant some adolescent cricket takes up residence right outside my bedroom door that leads to the patio. Why that particular spot is chosen is beyond my comprehension. Evidently it's the red-light district of cricketland. That young lonely bachelor sang all night long, hoping a beautiful young thing would happen by!

Today I'm not sure if I need to get a gun or a sweet little female cricket. How do you tell a male cricket from a female cricket? Do the guys at the bait shop know the difference? Dare I ask? Another problem!!

I'm planning to be grouchy ALL day today! And I'll be armed with SOMETHING that crickets FEAR by nightfall.

As Jiminy would say, "let your conscious be your guide." I WILL! I will have no regret!

Wednesday, September 1, 2010


It is EVERY woman's nightmare, probably every man's too but they would NEVER admit it. The situation NEVER happens, but it's in the back of every mind when it's time to wash the car. There is a deep-seated fear of not being able to steer the left front wheel of the car into that little track as you enter the magic fingers car wash. You can't see it, you're just supposed to KNOW it's there. My heart pounds every time I approach it!

The unbelievable has happened. I had a wreck IN the carwash!! After slowly guiding my big red SUV in the right direction somehow my wheel got stuck SIDEWAYS in that track thing and I could not go forward or backward. The tire went flat as I jerked the steering wheel in frustration and the rim itself was bent.

The kindest elderly gentleman that was lined up behind me in his car waiting his turn saw my predicament. He jumped out of his car and came up to my window. After we both assessed the situation he patiently guided my steering and somehow we got that truck out of there. It was a mess!!!!

My truck limped around to the back of the carwash, I knew I should go no farther. I had to call Honeybuns for help.

I sat in the sun for about 20 minutes as he negotiated traffic to come rescue me.
He just looked at it and shook his head. You know sometimes it's better to just yell and get it out. We both nearly choked on the silence.

He changed the tire and we proceeded to the house. We had to order a NEW RIM and tire. ($$$$) The tire man never asked what happened and I never offered an explanation. How do you explain a carwash wreck? It's unheard NEVER happens, right? And surely it would never happen twice in one lifetime!

I'm taking no chances.

Now I only go to the place that has a permanent attendant. We've become friends. I pull up, jump out of my car and HE drives my wheel into that track thing. He smiles, I smile and proceed through the spraying, soaping and swishing.
I think HE'S very brave...and I don't WANT to know what he thinks or says to his friends. Surely I remind him of his grandmother!

And I'm looking for one that hires Dumbo.