My Mom is a Biker-Chick…

Maude on her Hog
Maude on her Hog
Photo copyright either My Brother the Trespasser or My Sister Tootie
(Maude can’t remember who was standing behind the camera…)

I drove down to Teeny-Tiny Town today, having had no sleep since… well, I’m not certain when, but I’ve been writing – really writing – for real writing, so No Sleep Disease isn’t exactly a bad thing. This time.

On the way down, I saw a small plane tipped over on the four-lane median strip, surrounded by a single fire truck and a couple of cop cars. I thought I might be hallucinating at first, but then remembered that if that was the case, my imagination would have turned it into an airliner. I ought maybe check the news to be certain (I assume a plane landing on the highway might be considered news around here, anyway), but I think it’s safe to say I actually saw what I think I saw.

I think.

Lemme check…

….

….

Yup. It’s good to know I’m not completely nuts. Ahem…*

When I got to Teeny-Tiny Town, though, and saw that photo of my mother in leathers on a motorcycle… well…. that was something I was pretty certain was all in my own mind.

Until she started to laugh, and told me the story…

Seems My Brother the Trespasser (or maybe it was a nephew – I’ve had no sleep, and my mom can’t remember…) bought himself a new ride this past spring, and went down to show it off to my mom and my sister, who were both suitably impressed. Mom was so impressed, in fact, that she told one of the aides in the Nursing Home that it was her hog.

I don’t know why, but the aide didn’t believe her!

Mom said she would prove it, and got the Trespasser/Nephew/Whoever to fit her up, put her on the bike to pose, and then had [somebody] get a couple of copies of this pic printed up. The aide displays her copy on her fridge at home. I stole the other copy, to show you all how cool my mom is…

Look real close now… she’s not pointing at you. She’s giving you the finger (yeah, yeah, she’s flipping the bird backwards – give the ol’ lady a break – she’s 85).

Dad-gravestone-before-mom-diedWe had a visit to the graveyard (my dad’s monument is finally in place – his boat, sailing off into the sunset lasered into it somehow – he would have been right impressed, I think – and it’s an odd kind of comfort to see that boat on there, sailing away…), and went out for lunch before I sneaked off back home, pilfered photo safely tucked away.

On the way back, I saw an upside down tractor-trailer in the ditch, which my brain turned into a crash-landed Borg ship for a minute. The lack of armed militia tipped me back into the real world soon enough, but not before a whole ‘nother story clicked into place, waiting for me to start writing when the current project is put to bed.

Which is where I’ll be going… once I’ve pecked out a few more scenes.

Random Song-for-the-Day: “Graceland” – Paul Simon

The Accidental Fisherman

Muddy-Fish
Muddy by the Water

I have this buddy who is an incredible cook and a hot-shit photographer. My kid is very partial to him, because he spoils her with pickles. She calls him “Muddy”, and I think he’s rather partial to her, as well, because whenever we walk into his restaurant, he has a bowlful of pickles up on the chute before we even get to the table.

As it happens, Muddy’s restaurant is one of Ruby’s favourites, and that’s where she took us out for dinner the other night (Ruby is very partial to my kid, too – I only got to tag along because I have the wheels).

Once we had our bellies crammed full of comfort food (and pickles), I noticed Muddy had snuck out the back, so I followed him out to smoke cigarettes and talk (Photo)shop…

He had just come back from a fishing trip, although he doesn’t fish. At all. Has no interest in fishing whatsoever. When his pals go off a-fishin’, Muddy tags along with his camera…

This particular trip, nobody was having any luck. The fish weren’t biting. At all. The Muddy-Buddies were disgusted. So much so, that they decided to all wander off on a hike, trusting Muddy to watch the gear. Muddy figured he could handle this, although he only knows the business end of a fishing rod because it’s generally the one pointing at the water.

Muddy wanted duck pictures, anyway, so he was happy to “watch” the gear…

The ducks weren’t cooperating any more than the fish that day. They kept swimming so that the fishing rods, propped up against the rocks on the shore, lines still in the water, were between themselves and Muddy’s camera.

Muddy was determined to get his shot, however, and he finally decided to get rid of the rods….

Of course, this was not a matter of just picking up a rod and moving it. No… Muddy had to figure out how to unlock the reel and wind the line in first – which he managed – he’s fairly bright. Easy-peasy.

What he didn’t expect, while reeling in the line, was to nearly have the rod yanked out of his hands. Yup. The non-fishing photographer/cook caught himself a fish. Illegally, too, considering he didn’t have a fishing license.

He got around that one, though, by throwing it back – after yelling at one of his buddies to come back and take a picture first. I’m not sure how he convinced the guy to take the shot and not just throw the camera in the water; he was that mad that Muddy had caught a fish by accident when the rest of them couldn’t pull it off for trying…

I was rather impressed, though, and talked him into letting me have the picture… and posting it… and telling the story. Thankfully, he agreed to it all, ‘cuz I was tapped, story-wise.

I might actually have to go back to writing my own, if this keeps up.

Random Song-for-the-Day: “Trumpets” – Flipsyde

Chicken Collisions

Sorry.

No Pic.

I Don’t Have a Chicken

in my Portfolio…

Just a bit of fun I had, taking the advice of a friend who told me that when I’m stuck in a “non-writing” phase (I refuse to call this “blocked”, anymore – sounds too damned permanent), I should rewrite other people’s stories.

I didn’t like that idea.

Then, while cleaning out the laptop, I found a link to a news story that I somehow saved for reasons unknown about how to avoid wildlife collisions on Northern Ontario highways. Why I saved the link, I haven’t a clue, but when I re-read the story, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” kept popping into my head.

So, I re-wrote the news story, and I’m still laughing. Yeah. Doesn’t take much to amuse me, does it?

Chicken collisions – reduce your risks!



ANYTOWN, ON –
Anytown OPP is cautioning motorists on the increased incidents of chicken collisions on area highways.

Collisions with chickens can result in serious vehicle damage, personal injury or even death.

In 2008, Anytown OPP detachments cluster responded to 222 motor vehicle collisions involving chickens and to date in 2009, a total of 101.

Chickens are unpredictable at all times.

However, there are two peak times when the risk of a collision is highest: May and June when chickens seek road salt in ditches and try to escape biting insects and during the fall mating and migration seasons.

Watch

– Scan the road ahead from shoulder to shoulder. When you see chickens beside the road, slow down and pass carefully as they may suddenly bolt onto the road.

– Watch for the yellow chicken warning signs that indicate an area of increased risk. Slow down when traveling through these areas.

– Use high beams at night where possible and watch for glowing eyes of chickens.

Steer

– Stay in control. Watch your speed and take extra precautions when driving at night as chicken visibility is greatly reduced. Slowing down will give you that extra second to respond.

– Never swerve suddenly. This could cause your vehicle to go out of control or head into oncoming chickens.

Brake

– Brake firmly if a chicken is standing on, or crossing, the road. Never assume the chicken will move out of your way.

Stop

– Stop as safely as possible if a chicken is crossing the road. Remember, if one chicken crosses the road, others may follow.

If possible, avoid driving during dusk or dawn when most chicken collisions occur.

Swerving to avoid hitting a chicken may result in a more serious collision.

If hitting a chicken is unavoidable, remember to stay in control.

Watch, steer, brake and stop.

* * *

…and yes, folks, I am aware that Michael Jackson is no longer with us. I’m less upset over the fact that he’s dead than that he’s hogging all the limelight when Farrah Fawcett died on the same day. I was more a fan of hers than his.

With apologies to his family, his friends and his fans, I thought the man/boy was a freak.

* * *

Oh, and THIS?! You MUST click it. Read it. Die laughing. It’s SOOOOOO much more funny than chicken collisions.

Random Song-for-the-Day: “Let Me Go” – Cake