TIM ON THE BEACH WITH HIS NEPHEWS

UNBRIDLED PASSION

The story begins the day I saw her. I knew I had to have her. And it's true what they say, love knocked me off my feet and left me breathless, but so did a swift kick to the gut from one of her well placed hooves. As I lay there, hurt and helpless, I knew I had to get right back up, because there were still chores that had to be done, she's not going to feed herself or clean her own stall.

WHO SAID ALL THE GOOD ONES ARE TAKEN?

Friends tell you not to settle, that if you wait long enough, Mr. Right will come along. But what if he doesn't? Feeling a little desperate, you give online dating a try. After all, the Internet should be able to fix you up with someone who shares the same interests as you, (or at least claims to for the sole purpose of getting laid.) Meanwhile, you have hit it off with one guy in particular and have even spoken over the phone. By now, you're picturing the perfect date, so you decide to meet in person. Instead of meeting you halfway, he asks you to drive across the state because his car is in the shop. At this point, you would drive across the country if you had to. Full of wonderful expectations, you arrive at the restaurant where he is waiting for you. Judging by the expression on his face, he is rather pleased with your appearance. You, on the other hand, are a little put off because his online photo must have been taken several years back, when he still had all of his teeth, (a deal breaker for sure.) You order the cheapest thing on the menu so as not to feel obligated. Suddenly, the two of you find yourselves at a loss for words, (hard to believe since you never ran out of topics in your e-mails back and forth to one another.) When it's time to go, he walks you to your car. You try to put as much distance between him as you can by jumping in your car and closing the door. You do, however, make the mistake of rolling your window down. This gives him  the opportunity he's looking for. He bends over and leans into you for the "goodnight kiss." You back away and begin coughing and continue coughing when he asks you if he can call you again. You tell him no and then explain to him why you can't give him a ride home either.  

A PRIVATE MATTER

One of my female friends from high school and her husband were in the woods cutting firewood when Sandy, (not her real name) had to relieve herself. After alertly surveying the area around her, she chose what she thought to be the perfect spot. Feeling completely at ease, she pulled down her pants and squatted down like a wormy dog dragging its butt. It was at that moment when she realized she wasn't alone. A man in a deer stand peered down from above her. "I have never been so embarassed in my entire life," Sandy later told me, "but then, the man let one rip. When the ensuing noise made it over to where my husband was, he thought it was me, so he belted out, "She's a lady. Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, she's a lady, and the lady is mine!" "At which point, I pulled up my pants and told my husband we were leaving. I've never been back to those woods since."  

THE ONE FINGER SALUTE

Hey you, the guy in the car blasting along at eighty miles an hour in a drug induced stupor with your muffler dragging behind, why are you giving me the finger? If only you knew about the large array of rules and regulations a truck driver must strickly adhere to, maybe then you wouldn't be so rude. Our license now cost $300.00 or more by the time we pay for a physical, fingerprints, drug test, and all the special endorsements required to be a professional driver. The amount of hours we work, or the hours we can work are regulated by the federal government. Our blood acohol content level is so low that I fear antibacterial soap will send it over the limit. The latest rules now fine the driver both monetarily and with points on our license for minor infractions involving the conditions of our equipment. Companies who run junk are no longer held responsible for their own equipment, sounds fair, doesn't it? So, the next time you see me on the road, go ahead and wave...but please...use all five of your fingers.

 

BLOGGED DOWN

This blog thing is akin to sitting atop a wild bronc, in that, my pageviews have seen their fair share of ups and downs. When I first started blogging I tended to be a little longwinded. Okay, so this is my first rodeo, but I didn't want anyone to think I was lazy. From now on, I'll keep it short and sweet.   Figuratively speaking, however, it should take you at least eight seconds to read it.

MATRIARCH

Every herd has a boss mare, even a herd of two. My wife, Diana, is the boss of our household. That's why the other day when our neighbor asked me if he could have some ash trees off of our property, I told him, "You'll have to ask Diana, she's the boss." The woman sitting next to me said, "That's the way it should be." And I suppose it is. Things just seem to run smoother when there's only one boss.

MORE BANG FOR YOUR BUCK

Ah yeah, there's nothing like that adrenalin feeling I experience in the spring. It's a sensation of flying, like a rag doll, through the air. The turbulence before take off. The picth of trajectory before gravity pulls me back in. The rough landing when I hit my head. And then...the audible moan upon impact, "Ouch, I hate riding these horses after they haven't been ridden all winter!"

TIME TO TWEET

Really, is this how people are talking now? Seems like a foreign language to me, a cross between Tweety Bird and Trick or Treat. Even so, next week, I'll be on twitter.

LOVE LETTERS

Do men still send love letters through the mail, or are all the Don Juan's behind bars these days? You know the guys I'm talking about, the ones who have all the time in the world to write the kind of gushy stuff that every woman wants to hear. Yep, they sure don't seem to have any problem getting in touch with their feelings. But, I do. I have never written a love letter in my entire life. I'm not sure my wife, Diana, would know what to do if I did. But still, she understands how I feel about her. I don't have to express it in writing. I show her every time I go to work and put in a twelve hour day, or when I spend my weekends building fences and fetching water for her horses. She knows. Why else would she put up with me for thirty-three years?

FORBIDDEN

For my 10th birthday, I got a BB gun. Before I even had a chance to shoot it off, I was told by my mother that shooting animals was forbidden. All the while, I envisioned waving the rifle around and hitting moving targets. I couldn't wait to get outside and try it out. I lined up beer cans and plastic army men, and fired away at them one-by-one. The neighbor's tire swing made a nice target, as well as a couple of ornaments that adorned his backyard. But, as the days wore on, I became bored. I suppose it was instinct more than anything else that made me grip the rifle and hold it straight up when a robin flew over my head. I didn't think I would ever hit something moving so quickly. Still, I closed one eye, aimed, pulled the trigger and nailed it. The bird fell right in front of the kitchen window and proceeded to flop around wildly. To my horror, my mother was at the kitchen sink doing dishes. I had to decide whether to get the bird out of her view or run in the opposite direction. I dropped down on my hands and knees, crept along the side of the house, reached and snatched it up pronto. The incident went unreported. But, from that day forward, I decided to travel a little further from the house before bagging anymore birds.



My nephew refused to smile and the pony laid her ears back, so I muttered, "Just take the picture!"