The Permanent Sonly Record
The Gram With a Thousand Rules: “This is the story of how a talkative mama and a generous daddy inadvertently caused a 4-year-old to experience the spookiest Halloween scare of his life.
“Our kids had picked out an enormous pumpkin — that bugger was nearly 2 feet in diameter — and their daddy had carved it a most ferocious face. They were the envy of the neighborhood kids, and, fearing for its safety, they kept it inside the house on a table facing the front door.
“The day before Halloween, my sister and I were chatting on the phone. The second that I hung up the phone, it rang again — and calling from the television station where he worked, a rather impatient husband said: ‘FINALLY! I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past half-hour! I sent Jerry out to pick up the Jack O’Lantern; we need it for a prop on the noon show. He should be there any minute, and he will be in a BIG hurry, so watch for him!’
“Before I could even hang up the phone, the doorbell rang and my little boy ran to the door just as Jerry nodded a hello to me, grabbed the pumpkin in his arms and ran down the front steps. My horrified son yowled: ‘MAMA! That bad man just STOLE our pumpkin!’
“It took some fast talking to calm him down and reassure him that the ‘Halloween Goblin of All Time’ hadn’t invaded our happy home. He was somewhat mollified to see his pumpkin on TV a few minutes later, but he was one restless little guy until his dad brought it back home, safe and sound.”
Our pets, our birds, ourselves
Al B of Hartland: “I watched our cat, Purl, perform her daily ablutions.
“The old saying is: ‘If a cat washes her face over her ear, it’s a sign the weather will be fine and clear.’
“With that as a guide, I headed outside. [Bulletin Board notes: The man is a poet!]
“A flock of pelicans passed between the sun and me. About 50 pounds of pelican shadows went by just out of my reach.
“My yard showed me its first dark-eyed junco and white-throated sparrow on October 2. There were still many butterbutts (yellow-rumped warblers) about. Raucous blue jays, noisy robins and flickers (our only brown-backed woodpecker) filled the rest of the yard. The robins were busy eating the fruits of the hawthorn and mountain ash trees.
“Purl was right.”
Our flora, ourselves
Raindancer of North Oaks: “Subject: Bring on the flowers!
“I’m always glad to see other BBers’ pictures of flowers, because no matter what depressing headlines there may be in the newspaper, flowers always change the subject — if momentarily.
“For me, aside from the human form, if there’s any subject that’s easier or more fun to photograph than a rose, I haven’t found it.”
Gregory J. of Dayton’s Bluff: “This could be how I obtained these photos:
“While trekking through one of Minnesota’s vast forests primeval in the far reaches of the state with no civilization in sight, I came across these vines growing on some ancient old-growth pines. Despite having to fight off a variety of wild animals and gigantic mosquitoes, I managed to take these pictures. It was brutal for a city boy.
“Or possibly this alternate scenario may be true: These trees are located in Dayton’s Bluff at the Municipal Forest adjacent to Indian Mounds Regional Park near the intersection of Burns Avenue and Highway 61. I drove almost a mile to Obb’s Sports Bar & Grill at the ungodly hour of 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning. And then, before eating breakfast, I had to go outside and take these photos from across the street with the sun shining down on me and the temperature hovering near 60. It was brutal for a city boy.
“Pick the story of your choice, but riddle me this: Does anyone know what type of vines these are?”
BULLETIN BOARD SAYS: We believe that they are poison ivy — but will gladly accept corrective insights (if necessary!).
Oopp’s! Oopp’s! Oopp’s! Oopp’s! Oopp’s! Oopp’s! (responsorial)
DebK of Rosemount: “This morning’s BB post includes a submission by The Stitcher which focuses my attention on a dilemma created by a recent gift from a longtime friend with a penchant for bestowing chicken-themed items on us.
“This particular piece — a large rooster-shaped sign fashioned decades ago from an already-aged scrap of barn wood — urges eggs on the hungry at the bargain-basement price of 30 cents a dozen.
“My hesitation to display the sign has nothing to do with its frailty, though it is indeed in an advanced state of ricketiness. Nor has my reluctance to do with the sign’s false advertising. Truth to tell, a dozen St. Isidore Farm eggs costs 10 times the price painted (still) boldly on the rooster’s breast.
“No, my inability to share this decidedly charming work of art with the public is directly attributable to my unwillingness to be associated with the signmaker’s having advertised ‘EGG’S for SALE.'”
The Verbing of America
Nyuk Nyuk Division
The REF in White Bear Lake: “Sitting home, listening to ESPN Radio’s coverage of the NLCS Game 4 in Chicago. Heard play-by-play man Dan Shulman drop a first-inning verbing I’d never heard before.
“(I’m paraphrasing, because I had to write really fast!)
“Talking about a gesture by the Cubs’ manager, accompanying his statement about keeping things in view: ‘Joe Maddon points at his eyes, almost as if he’s going to Three Stooge himself.'”
Not exactly what she had in mind
Kathy S. of St. Paul: “Subject: It’s always something.
“When I got a new 2012 car, I didn’t know it has a small battery. I had to get the car jumped twice before I understood this. Both times, I had drained the battery by listening to a book on CD for a little while with the car turned off.
“This month, I was warned to change the battery — and I did so, after checking to see if I could put a larger battery in. The answer was basically no. I would have had to modify brackets, etc., which I didn’t do because the car is still under an extended warranty.
“Mechanics told me that that this smaller battery is in my car to improve gas mileage and reduce the weight of the car. I can’t help wondering how long it would last in a blizzard — especially if I were stranded out in the country somewhere.
“Maybe auto makers need to make a Minnesota version of their cars — with full-sized batteries?”
Color your world!
Tim Torkildson writes: “If emotion is a color, I’m feeling red today.”
What’s in a word?
Sleepless from St. Paul (in Minneapolis): “Occasionally I enjoy browsing my Concise Roget’s Thesaurus just for fun. Unlike a dictionary, it doesn’t bother with ‘correct pronunciation’ or ‘word origin.’ It goes straight to the good stuff.
“A couple of weeks ago, I had a birthday that either qualifies me as old or, at best, gives me five more years (maximum) until I qualify. Here are some of the nouns for OLD PERSON I found in the thesaurus: old man, elder, senior citizen, geriatric, patron, old chap, old party. old gentleman, old gent, old codger, geezer and old geezer, gramps, gaffer, old duffer, old dog and old timer, dotard . . . etc. For the women, old dame and hen, old bag and bat and battle-ax and witch. Now, that was fun.
“There is the occasional surprise. The other day, I had opened the thesaurus, and in bold letters were the nouns *ssh*le, pr*ck, son of a b*tch, jerk, horse’s *ss, sh*t . . . and other less-than-polite ways to describe a ne’er-do-well. To think that this book has been sharing shelf space with my Boy Scout Handbook and my confirmation Bible.
“This reminds me of a 15 Nanoseconds of Fame story that borders on not suitable for publication. But I will save that for another time. This has more than enough coarseness, crudeness, and crassness for one submission. (Thank you, Roget’s Thesaurus.)”
Band Name of the Day: The Old Duffers
Website of the Day: Peter Mark Roget