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Jersey Lilly's church story

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Bob M

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Jersey Lilly: Your story reminded me of a church experience that we had many years ago. My daughter, Sandra, was two or three. She took her slightly soiled, unkempt rubber doll, with a robust squawk when you pinched it, everywhere and, of course, it went to church with us that Sunday morning in the mid 1950s. Everythiing was normal until the young minister was ready to have the collection plates passed. We didn't have regular ushers. This particular morning he asked a couple older gentlemen cowboys to do the honors. In those days ladies wore hats, men wore suit jackets. Uncle Joy and Lester both happened to be wearing new sports coats, loud in color and identical. As they went up to get the plates both slightly limping and their bald heads shining people started nudging and smiling.

The plates were passed. We all stood and sang the "Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow" song as the ushers limped up to the altar with the money. People were still amused about them being in uniform to tne point that it wouldn't take much to set them off. When we sat down I sat on Sanda's doll. It made more noise, by far, than any whoopie cushion ever thought of making. That did it! Uncontrollable laughter lasted a few minutes before the congregation got themselves under control. Sandra was the only one that didn't see any humor. She was terribly displeased that I sat on her doll and by her actions showed her displeasure.

BobM
 

the_jersey_lilly_2000

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That is too funny. These are the kind of stories that should be written down and tucked away in the "Family History Book" for future generations to read.
Thank you for Sharin BobM
 

Soapweed

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The ol' Kosmopolitan Kid kinda got me in trouble one day.

For starters, I am addicted to a little fifteen minute siesta after dinner. If I get it, I go good all afternoon. Without the little nap, I am apt to drag a bit. I'd be a pretty sorry trucker because of this.

One summer day many years ago, when the Kid was about four, we had a hard morning in the hayfield. A moonlighting mechanic had come out the evening before to work on a tractor. I hate mechanic-type work with a passion, and usually try to avoid it at all cost, but that evening I had gone to the shop to keep the guy company. It was after 1 a.m. when he completed the task and went home and I was finally able to hit the sack. The next morning in the hayfield lasted entirely too long, and I could hardly wait for dinner time--not because of hunger, but because I needed my noon nap.

A particular feed salesman always made a point of coming right at noon, for two reasons. One, he could catch me at home, and two, he would never turn down a free meal. It got to be kind of a joke, because the ol' boy was pretty tight and the free food was always to his liking. This happened so often, I nick-named him (behind his back, of course) ol' High Noon (and his last name could be made to rhyme with noon).

On this particular day, I ate fast and was just ready to go stretch out on the davenport. Then what to my wondering eyes should appear, but ol' High Noon, driving in high gear. Oh great, I groused, just what I need. I was pretty burnt up about my misfortune, but when he knocked at the door, I put on a smiley face and welcomed him to our humble home and what was left of dinner. I shook hands with him, and he made over the kids, shaking hands with each of the two oldest and making small talk. Then he held out his hand to the Kosmo Kid. Ol' Kosmo straight-forwardly blatantly blurted, "You made my dad mad." High Noon was somewhat taken aback, and said, "Oh really, how so." Before the Kid could say anymore, I had to red-facedly tell my side of the story. :oops: :oops: Anyway, the outcome was favorable. High Noon politely stated his business, then backed quickly away, and nobody got hurt. We still parted friends. :wink: :)
 

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