Posted 11/27/13 (Wed)
When I’m on the way to the pasture, or doing some feeding, I sometimes listen to the radio. Not often, but sometimes. One ad I kind of enjoy reminds you of ‘dinners in the field, stacking hay in the sun, and other nostalgic stuff.’ It ends with a phrase about ‘memories.’
Which kind of set me off to thinking. Which, I’ve told you before, Shirley often warns me against.
Well, I got to thinking about my Grandparents. Unlike my grandkids, who call me “Baboo,” and Shirley “Grams,” I remember them as Grandpa and Grandma.
They lived in a little brick house in town catty corner from the school. They always had a cup on the kitchen sink with a little change in it. And that cup was my ticket to friendships. After school, or at noon, I could grab a couple friends, run over to Grandpa and Grandma’s, rob a quarter or a couple dimes out of that cup, and treat my friends to a nickel candy bar.
But, the bad part of thinking, and remembering is sometimes I try to reenact those ‘memories.’
They had a pipe railing on their step. And invariably, someone would dare you to put your tongue on that pipe in the winter. And I wasn’t the brightest kid in Berthold, although I was pretty brave. Every winter I would stick my tongue on that pipe because of an “I dare you to!” And they would laugh and head off to school, and I would have to give that tongue a good jerk and leave a little skin on that cold pipe. Then for the next several days, drinking and eating was pure torture.
Well, the other day, I got to thinking about that pipe. And I wondered if today’s pipes were any different. And I got to thinking, maybe if you left your tongue on that pipe long enough, it would warm the pipe, and that tongue would come off. Without Grandma having to come out and pour warm water on it.
There is a pipe hitching rail in the barn. It’s used to tie horses up while you are brushing or saddling up. And that damn pipe rail looked like Grandpa and Grandma’s step railing. So, in a moment of nostalgic weakness, I stuck my tongue on that pipe! It was below zero. Do you know how long it takes to warm up a piece of two and seven-eights pipe with your tongue! I think it would take until spring!
So there I stand, bent over the hitching rail, while visions of laughing boys danced through my head. “He did it again! He did it again!”
I wonder if any other 64-year-old men have had to dig out their cell phones and call their wife to bring warm water to the barn to get their tongue off the hitching rail.
The conversation went something like this.
“Loooo, om to aarrnnn! Uckkk on ipe! Ing ater! Elp! Elp!”
“Where in the Hell are you?”
“Arn! Arn! Owwwww!”
“You better not have your tongue stuck on that pipe in the barn again! I could have married better!”