Years ago, before Tony and Dawn sang about Yellow Ribbons and old oak trees, my oldest sister used to tell us a story about a woman who wore a yellow ribbon around her neck. I recently tried to find the story on-line and discovered that traditionally the ribbon was green, not yellow.
Now I am so old I can't remember if the ribbon in the tale I heard as a youngster was green and I only remember it as yellow because of the song (which has nothing to do with a ribbon around a woman's neck). I could ask my sister, but she would say it was green just to spite me. I don't suppose it matters at this point anyway. Now that I think about it some more, I recall that the ribbon was red anyway.
In case you haven't heard it, the story goes like this.
Once there was a beautiful young girl named Lilly who always wore a red ribbon around her neck. She had a pale, but otherwise perfect, complexion and luxurious long, black hair that she usually wore down so it cascaded across her shoulders. Everyone admitted that the pale complexion and dark hair were complemented by the red ribbon, and created a striking background and frame for a sweet smile and clear blue eyes.
Eventually, Lilly married her high school sweetheart, Jeff. On their honey moon, Jeff reached to untie the scarlet ribbon. Lilly clutched at her neck frantically.
“No, I can never take this off. Please, Jeff, promise me you’ll never touch it again!” she pleaded.
Jeff was willing to promise his new bride anything and quickly assured her that he would never, could never, do anything to distress her. And he kissed her until she grew calm and willingly kissed him back.
In the middle of the night, Jeff woke and looked down at his sleeping beauty and gently kissed her eyelids. He ran his finger across the ribbon and then across the bow. Almost unbidden his fingers tugged at the tie. Lilly stirred, but continued to sleep.
Jeff thought to himself, “It can’t be comfortable sleeping with a tight ribbon around your neck. I’ll just loosen it a little.”
Suddenly the red ribbon fell away from the fragile neck of his love. Then Jeff screamed and screamed and screamed as Lilly’s head rolled from her shoulders, landed on the floor with a thud, and bounced across the floor of the honeymoon suite.
Happy Halloween!
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
This one's for you
This is for the guy who thought there should be more girls at the Eiffel Tower.
Aaron was walking down the highway, kicking cans and rocks and everything else that came into his path. He hadn’t start out walking. He had been driving from here to there because he had lost his job here and his cousin told him about openings at the factory there. Then the car broke down and left him stranded in the middle of Podunk County.
It wasn’t like he had much of a job here anyway. He was always short on money no matter how hard he tried to save. Take that crappy car, for instance. He had bought the cheapest used car he could find that would still run, but it didn’t run very long before he was shelling out more money to get this and that fixed every couple of weeks.
“I’m glad to be out of that town and shut of that stupid car,” he declared to himself, giving a roadside object a particularly vicious kick. Unfortunately, the object was half buried in the ground and Aaron’s kick practically broke his toe. He hopped around on one foot, holding the other in both hands, cursing his fate and the idiot that had put such a dangerous object in his way.
When the pain subsided, Aaron dug at the offensive object with his hands, determined to unearth it and heave it into the next county. “What the heck are you?” he queried, holding it up to the sunlight. Beneath the grime, he could see glimpses of sparkle and shimmer.
“Maybe you’re not so bad after all”, Aaron mused, rubbing at the thing with his shirttail. “Maybe you’re worth something and I can pawn you at the next town and get that stupid car fixed. Maybe you’ll be worth enough to buy a new car!” Yes, Aaron was a bit of a dreamer.
Suddenly, a large pouf of dust or smoke arose from the object, causing Aaron to drop it. Sneezing and coughing, he stood rubbing his eyes and cursing it again. When the dust cleared, Aaron saw a strange looking man standing in front of him. His skin was pale blue and his arms bulged muscles like Aaron had never seen before. He wore tight trousers, a colorfully embroidered vest, and a turban on top of his head. There was a large red jewel in the center of the turban.
Aaron, stepped back, still rubbing his eyes, “What the he…?”
“Do not be afraid, young master. I have been locked in that odious object for twenty years. Thank you for letting me out.”
“What the he…?”
“I am a genie. Yes, a real genie!” the strange one said impatiently as if he knew what question was on the tip of Aaron’s tongue. “You get the three requisite wishes. I’m obliged by union rules to tell you to use this gift wisely, yadda yadda yadda.”
Aaron, the dreamer, didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly what his first wish would be. “I want a shiny red convertible full of gorgeous girls.” “Cheerleader types!” he added enthusiastically.
“Uhh, that’s two wishes.” the genie warned. “I told you to use them carefully, but it’s too late now.”
Poof! In front of Aaron appeared a big red convertible filled with gorgeous bikini-clad girls.
“Do you like the bathing suits?” the genie asked. (He had been in that lamp for twenty years and he’d been doing some dreaming of his own.)
Aaron just nodded his head. He was too busy gawking to speak or even say thank you. There were skinny girls, big busted girls, red heads, brunettes, blondes in three different shades, short girls, tall girls, girls from around the globe. A dozen girls in all. All squealing and giggling and fawning over Aaron.
“Ok, Ok,” Genie said. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl before? What about the third wish? Do you know what you want yet?
“Do I have to use it right now? Can it wait till later? I want to think about it awhile?”
“You have three days to use it or lose it,” Genie advised. “All you have to do is say ‘I wish’ and then tell me what you wish for. But be carefully this time. You only get one more wish.” Then he disappeared in another pouf of smoke.
Aaron clambered into the driver’s seat. There were gorgeous girls everywhere he looked. He set the rearview mirrors so all he could see were girls and more girls. They drove about fifteen miles and came to the interstate. Aaron turned southwest and headed for the ocean, about 5 states away.
He and his bevy of gorgeous girls tooled happily down the highway. Truckers honked at them. High school boys gawked. When their wives weren’t looking, married men gave him the thumbs up sign.
After a while, one of the blondes whined, “I’m bored, sweetie. Can I turn on the radio?”
“Sure thing, baby,” Aaron replied. “Turn on some music. Something with a beat so you girls can dance.”
“Oh, Aaron! You’re so funny! Dancing in the car!” the red head squealed as bleach-blondie twiddled with the radio dials.
“Here we go,” she giggled. “I can dance to that. Everybody sing along and shake your things.”
Aaron giggled a little himself and began to sing along to the radio, “Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener………”
Aaron was walking down the highway, kicking cans and rocks and everything else that came into his path. He hadn’t start out walking. He had been driving from here to there because he had lost his job here and his cousin told him about openings at the factory there. Then the car broke down and left him stranded in the middle of Podunk County.
It wasn’t like he had much of a job here anyway. He was always short on money no matter how hard he tried to save. Take that crappy car, for instance. He had bought the cheapest used car he could find that would still run, but it didn’t run very long before he was shelling out more money to get this and that fixed every couple of weeks.
“I’m glad to be out of that town and shut of that stupid car,” he declared to himself, giving a roadside object a particularly vicious kick. Unfortunately, the object was half buried in the ground and Aaron’s kick practically broke his toe. He hopped around on one foot, holding the other in both hands, cursing his fate and the idiot that had put such a dangerous object in his way.
When the pain subsided, Aaron dug at the offensive object with his hands, determined to unearth it and heave it into the next county. “What the heck are you?” he queried, holding it up to the sunlight. Beneath the grime, he could see glimpses of sparkle and shimmer.
“Maybe you’re not so bad after all”, Aaron mused, rubbing at the thing with his shirttail. “Maybe you’re worth something and I can pawn you at the next town and get that stupid car fixed. Maybe you’ll be worth enough to buy a new car!” Yes, Aaron was a bit of a dreamer.
Suddenly, a large pouf of dust or smoke arose from the object, causing Aaron to drop it. Sneezing and coughing, he stood rubbing his eyes and cursing it again. When the dust cleared, Aaron saw a strange looking man standing in front of him. His skin was pale blue and his arms bulged muscles like Aaron had never seen before. He wore tight trousers, a colorfully embroidered vest, and a turban on top of his head. There was a large red jewel in the center of the turban.
Aaron, stepped back, still rubbing his eyes, “What the he…?”
“Do not be afraid, young master. I have been locked in that odious object for twenty years. Thank you for letting me out.”
“What the he…?”
“I am a genie. Yes, a real genie!” the strange one said impatiently as if he knew what question was on the tip of Aaron’s tongue. “You get the three requisite wishes. I’m obliged by union rules to tell you to use this gift wisely, yadda yadda yadda.”
Aaron, the dreamer, didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly what his first wish would be. “I want a shiny red convertible full of gorgeous girls.” “Cheerleader types!” he added enthusiastically.
“Uhh, that’s two wishes.” the genie warned. “I told you to use them carefully, but it’s too late now.”
Poof! In front of Aaron appeared a big red convertible filled with gorgeous bikini-clad girls.
“Do you like the bathing suits?” the genie asked. (He had been in that lamp for twenty years and he’d been doing some dreaming of his own.)
Aaron just nodded his head. He was too busy gawking to speak or even say thank you. There were skinny girls, big busted girls, red heads, brunettes, blondes in three different shades, short girls, tall girls, girls from around the globe. A dozen girls in all. All squealing and giggling and fawning over Aaron.
“Ok, Ok,” Genie said. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl before? What about the third wish? Do you know what you want yet?
“Do I have to use it right now? Can it wait till later? I want to think about it awhile?”
“You have three days to use it or lose it,” Genie advised. “All you have to do is say ‘I wish’ and then tell me what you wish for. But be carefully this time. You only get one more wish.” Then he disappeared in another pouf of smoke.
Aaron clambered into the driver’s seat. There were gorgeous girls everywhere he looked. He set the rearview mirrors so all he could see were girls and more girls. They drove about fifteen miles and came to the interstate. Aaron turned southwest and headed for the ocean, about 5 states away.
He and his bevy of gorgeous girls tooled happily down the highway. Truckers honked at them. High school boys gawked. When their wives weren’t looking, married men gave him the thumbs up sign.
After a while, one of the blondes whined, “I’m bored, sweetie. Can I turn on the radio?”
“Sure thing, baby,” Aaron replied. “Turn on some music. Something with a beat so you girls can dance.”
“Oh, Aaron! You’re so funny! Dancing in the car!” the red head squealed as bleach-blondie twiddled with the radio dials.
“Here we go,” she giggled. “I can dance to that. Everybody sing along and shake your things.”
Aaron giggled a little himself and began to sing along to the radio, “Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener………”
Saturday, October 22, 2005
The Eiffel Tower
Someone asked me the other day if I had come to my senses about Brad. If I had faced the fact that he wasn’t dead and that Julie couldn’t be a murderer. I feel I have to tell you the truth to get you to understand my side of the story.
I lied when I said I didn’t know who Brad was.
I met Brad a long time ago. In Paris. Paris, France, not Paris, Illinois. I was on one of those whirl wind if-this-is-Tuesday-this-must-be-Paris tours that are popular with the unadventurous. I grew tired of seeing the museums and tourists spots with the old fogies on my tour bus. Nice enough people, but most of the group were Medicare age and the few younger people were shy and reserved, all incapable of stimulating conversation. Like me, I suppose.
During a rare free hour one afternoon, I abandoned the group and went on a window-shopping spree. I sniffed heady perfumes and glorious chocolates, I tried on French designs that I couldn’t possibly afford, and I gawked at Parisians like the tourist that I was. Just like in the movies, I stopped at a sidewalk café along the River Seine. I tried to order tea and pastries from an impossibly impatient French waiter, but my command of the French language was limited to “Bonjour”. Frustrated to the point of crying in lieu of socking him in the eye, I was just about to give up when Brad came to my rescue.
“Ah, a fellow American,” he said in a fake French accent, bowing to me deeply. “May I be of service, mademoiselle?”
Blinking back the tears, I laughed at the silly theatrics and begged, “Please!”
“May I join you?” he asked, than hastily assured me, “I’ll order for you either way. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but it would be nice to talk to someone in English again.”
Maybe it was Paris, maybe it was just him, but I threw caution to the wind, and pointing to the chair nearest me, again replied, "Please!"
We talked and laughed for hours. He made me feel beautiful. I became witty and flirtatious. I forgot about the tour and its strict adherence to timelines.
Finally, the waiter interrupted us and whispered something to Brad. I couldn’t understand it, but, from the tone and his sideways glance at me, I gathered it was rude, and possibly crude. Brad explained, “He wants us to leave. We are monopolizing the table and infringing on his profit margin.”
Suddenly aware of the time, I peered at my watch, “Oh, shoot. I’ve missed the trip to the Eiffel Tower. The tour left an hour ago and I really wanted to see the Tower.” Then, I smiled at him, with my eyes open wide, took a deep breath, and brazenly said, “But it was worth it. I wouldn’t have missed you for the world.”
Brad assumed his French accent again and to my delight replied, “But, mademoiselle, you must not miss ze Eiffel Tower. Please, allow me to show it to you in ze moon light.”
Of course, I said yes. What the hell, you’re only young once.
"There she is," Brad exclaimed with one arm around my shoulders, needlessly pointing at the grand tower in front of us.
"It's beautiful!" I whispered softly. "It looks just like it did in every movie of Paris I've ever seen. Why do I feel like dancing?"
Brad looked down at me and gave my shoulders a little hug, "You are so funny."
I didn't have time to decide if he was being sincere or condescending. The arm around my shoulder became two arms around my waist and he kissed me. Softly at first and when I didn't resist, more boldly, more demanding. I was losing myself in that embrace when I felt his tongue exploring mine. "I’m French kissing in Paris!" I said blissfully to myself. "Moonlight, the Eiffel Tower, a handsome guy, and French kissing."
That's when I got the giggles.
To be continued.
Photo courtesy of Free Large Photos, Copyright 2005 FreeLargePhotos.com
Thursday, October 20, 2005
The Power of Suggestion
One time, on the Tonight Show, Johnny Carson told a joke about an expected toilet paper shortage in the United States. By noon the next day, people who heard the joke had rushed out and emptied store shelves. Other people heard the rumor, saw the empty shelves, and panic buying ensued, causing a toilet paper shortage that lasted 3 weeks.
Aren't people funny?
Aren't people funny?
Sunday, October 16, 2005
When You Gotta Go ...
I grew up in southern Indiana, the most picturesque part of Indiana. It was a rural area dotted with small farms, rolling hills, and bucolic scenes. Telephone wires didn't reach many areas of the county until well into the 1960's. Neither did indoor plumbing.
Although we had a bathroom inside the house, we also had an outhouse as did many of our neighbors and relatives so I'm well acquainted with their form and function. Simple outhouses had one hole, but others had more. This might just be two regular size holes, but often there was a large hole for adults and a smaller one for children. Some privies had three or even four seats. (When you have a large family with lots of kids, you need more than one seat.) If you hear an old-timer (like me) ask if a public restroom is a "two holer", the question refers to the number of stalls, but it is derived from a two-holed outhouse.
My friend, Rita, lived on a farm with her parents, three siblings, and one or two grandparents. They did not have indoor plumbing, except for the sink in the kitchen. They did have a multi-holer out back. Rita told me the following secret when we were in eighth grade together. I haven't seen her since we graduated from Memphis Elemenatry and I'm trusting she never learns that I have repeated it to you.
One day Rita had to go really badly, the dance around on one leg, am-I-going-to make-it-in-time panic, badly. She ran to the outhouse, pulled down her pants, and, with a sigh of relief, plopped down on the first seat she could find. Then she heard her father, from the other hole, ask, "In a hurry?"
Although we had a bathroom inside the house, we also had an outhouse as did many of our neighbors and relatives so I'm well acquainted with their form and function. Simple outhouses had one hole, but others had more. This might just be two regular size holes, but often there was a large hole for adults and a smaller one for children. Some privies had three or even four seats. (When you have a large family with lots of kids, you need more than one seat.) If you hear an old-timer (like me) ask if a public restroom is a "two holer", the question refers to the number of stalls, but it is derived from a two-holed outhouse.
My friend, Rita, lived on a farm with her parents, three siblings, and one or two grandparents. They did not have indoor plumbing, except for the sink in the kitchen. They did have a multi-holer out back. Rita told me the following secret when we were in eighth grade together. I haven't seen her since we graduated from Memphis Elemenatry and I'm trusting she never learns that I have repeated it to you.
One day Rita had to go really badly, the dance around on one leg, am-I-going-to make-it-in-time panic, badly. She ran to the outhouse, pulled down her pants, and, with a sigh of relief, plopped down on the first seat she could find. Then she heard her father, from the other hole, ask, "In a hurry?"
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Farewell
Friday is Holly's last day to work in my department. The best thing about Holly's job performance (apart from the organizational talent, the ambition to learn new things, the drive to do things just right the first time, the determination to be the best at whatever task is at hand) is her attitude. She does her job cheerfully with a minimum of complaining.
I am a whiner by choice. If I'm suffering, I want everybody around me to suffer.
For example, if I have to copy a half dozen pages of text on one of the area's less-than-trustworthy copiers, I complain that I had to walk too far to the copy room, somebody didn't fill the paper tray again, the &^%$ copier jammed again, and I didn't make enough copies so now I have to go back and do it again.
Holly, on the other hand, will cheerfully stand at the copier while forcefeeding it a couple trillion pages and come back to the unit still smiling. She is the only person that I have ever seen do that.
Now that she's leaving, I can tell her: Holly, that's just plain annoying.
Holly, I'll miss you. The copiers will miss you. We'll all miss your smile.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Outhouses
You may have read my earlier posts about an outhouse collection and the joke about Sears' catalogue?
I have quite a repertoire of stories about outhouses and bathrooms, but I don't tell them much any more so I have decided to do a series of postings about them. Maybe enough to compile a short book for use in the bathroom, (the outhouse, the john, the head, the privy, the loo, the lavatory, the little girls' room, the office, the necessary, the ladies, the gents, the water closet, the library, the washroom, the restroom, the convenience, the comfort station, the duty station) while sitting on the toilet, (the stool, the pot, the throne, the crapper, the commode, the can).
I didn't set out in life to develop a set of toilet tales. I didn't even realize I told so many (too many?) until fellow workers at St. V's gave me an unusual gift - a portable roll of toilet paper. Apparently, when I returned from a tour abroad, I had more stories about European bathrooms than museums.
I can't help it if humorous things happen in outhouses and bathrooms. It's part of life and life is funny when you see it from my side of the door. And as Mike would say, "It's my duty to share my observations with the rest of the world."
I have quite a repertoire of stories about outhouses and bathrooms, but I don't tell them much any more so I have decided to do a series of postings about them. Maybe enough to compile a short book for use in the bathroom, (the outhouse, the john, the head, the privy, the loo, the lavatory, the little girls' room, the office, the necessary, the ladies, the gents, the water closet, the library, the washroom, the restroom, the convenience, the comfort station, the duty station) while sitting on the toilet, (the stool, the pot, the throne, the crapper, the commode, the can).
I didn't set out in life to develop a set of toilet tales. I didn't even realize I told so many (too many?) until fellow workers at St. V's gave me an unusual gift - a portable roll of toilet paper. Apparently, when I returned from a tour abroad, I had more stories about European bathrooms than museums.
I can't help it if humorous things happen in outhouses and bathrooms. It's part of life and life is funny when you see it from my side of the door. And as Mike would say, "It's my duty to share my observations with the rest of the world."
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Tomorrow
Tomorrow is my birthday.
That means I can eat chocolate cake with icing and ice cream. I can buy books and a new outfit and new shoes and another new outfit and a couple more books. And if anybody says anything, I can smile sweetly and say, "But it's my birthday."
To be truthful, at my age and state of independence, it's usually only the little voice inside my head that has the nerve to ask, "Don't you think you are going overboard?" And I probably won't smile sweetly or say anything, I'll just ignore it.
Sometimes it's best just to pretend that little voice doesn't exist. Sometimes the little voice is really annoying.
That means I can eat chocolate cake with icing and ice cream. I can buy books and a new outfit and new shoes and another new outfit and a couple more books. And if anybody says anything, I can smile sweetly and say, "But it's my birthday."
To be truthful, at my age and state of independence, it's usually only the little voice inside my head that has the nerve to ask, "Don't you think you are going overboard?" And I probably won't smile sweetly or say anything, I'll just ignore it.
Sometimes it's best just to pretend that little voice doesn't exist. Sometimes the little voice is really annoying.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Autumn
It's October and, therefore, autumn in Indiana. One of my favorite times of the year. It's probably what I missed most about Indiana when I lived in the south where they had two seasons, tourist and off.
I probably wouldn't feel the same way about autumn if I had to rake leaves, but I now live in an apartment and someone does that for me. One of the perks of growing old.
The last time I remember raking leaves was when I lived in Florida. It must have been autumn, or probably winter because the "snow birds" had arrived next door. These particular snow birds were a very nice couple from somewhere up north who rented a house next to my parents' home every winter.
I no longer remember their names, but I remember the mister liked to work in their little yard to keep busy. He especially seemed to enjoy raking leaves. So I'd rake the leaves from my parents' yard into his just to give him something to do.
I probably wouldn't feel the same way about autumn if I had to rake leaves, but I now live in an apartment and someone does that for me. One of the perks of growing old.
The last time I remember raking leaves was when I lived in Florida. It must have been autumn, or probably winter because the "snow birds" had arrived next door. These particular snow birds were a very nice couple from somewhere up north who rented a house next to my parents' home every winter.
I no longer remember their names, but I remember the mister liked to work in their little yard to keep busy. He especially seemed to enjoy raking leaves. So I'd rake the leaves from my parents' yard into his just to give him something to do.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Only in Indiana
Looking for something to do this month?
I've never been there, but this place comes highly recommended - the Tel-Hy Nature Preserve in Huntington County.
ACRES describes it as "high bluffs giving a splendid view of the winding Wabash River, ... alive with wildflowers and large, old trees. Ravines ...beech and hard maple ... hillsides display patches of wild ginger, celandine poppy, Virginia blue bell, and rue anemone."
At this time of year, there may not be many blooming wildflowers, but the ravines should be awash in enough autumn color for everyone to say, "Ooohhh".
Not to mention, that while you’re there you can tour Hy Goldenberg’s outhouse collection. Yep, the old outhouse collection.
Go to http://www.acres-land-trust.org/preserve-Tel-Hy.htm to see pictures of the privies as well as the wildflowers.
What more could you ask for a weekend road trip?
I've never been there, but this place comes highly recommended - the Tel-Hy Nature Preserve in Huntington County.
ACRES describes it as "high bluffs giving a splendid view of the winding Wabash River, ... alive with wildflowers and large, old trees. Ravines ...beech and hard maple ... hillsides display patches of wild ginger, celandine poppy, Virginia blue bell, and rue anemone."
At this time of year, there may not be many blooming wildflowers, but the ravines should be awash in enough autumn color for everyone to say, "Ooohhh".
Not to mention, that while you’re there you can tour Hy Goldenberg’s outhouse collection. Yep, the old outhouse collection.
Go to http://www.acres-land-trust.org/preserve-Tel-Hy.htm to see pictures of the privies as well as the wildflowers.
What more could you ask for a weekend road trip?
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Halloween Stories 1
This is the first week of October so I'm going to start with a little family story about Halloween.
My grandfather was a good story telling. He would often take events that had happened to other people and tell them about himself. So would my dad. Sometimes I get confused as to who did what, but I'm fairly certain this story was about things Grandpa actually did.
When Grandpa was a young man, a teenager, he and his friends would go out on Halloween and pull one prank after another. After one such evening, the boys, quite pleased with their adventures and rather full of themselves, gathered in a corn field to brag about their feats of daring-do. One of the guys had a camera with him and offered to take a group picure to commemorate the fun.
He arranged them sitting on top of a fence rail. They posed self-consciously, trying hard not to grin, doing their best to look like tough, manly, men of the world. The photographer fussily focused the camera and pushed the button to take the picture. Water shot out of the camera, startling the group and they fell backwards off the fence. The photographer was also on the ground - rolling with laughter. It was a trick camera and they had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
Fifty years after it had happen, my grandfather was still chuckling everytime he told this story. It's good to have friends and fond memories you can carry with you into old age. It gives you stories to amuse your grandchildren as well as yourself.
My grandfather was a good story telling. He would often take events that had happened to other people and tell them about himself. So would my dad. Sometimes I get confused as to who did what, but I'm fairly certain this story was about things Grandpa actually did.
When Grandpa was a young man, a teenager, he and his friends would go out on Halloween and pull one prank after another. After one such evening, the boys, quite pleased with their adventures and rather full of themselves, gathered in a corn field to brag about their feats of daring-do. One of the guys had a camera with him and offered to take a group picure to commemorate the fun.
He arranged them sitting on top of a fence rail. They posed self-consciously, trying hard not to grin, doing their best to look like tough, manly, men of the world. The photographer fussily focused the camera and pushed the button to take the picture. Water shot out of the camera, startling the group and they fell backwards off the fence. The photographer was also on the ground - rolling with laughter. It was a trick camera and they had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
Fifty years after it had happen, my grandfather was still chuckling everytime he told this story. It's good to have friends and fond memories you can carry with you into old age. It gives you stories to amuse your grandchildren as well as yourself.
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