When Irish “Lies” Are Smiling? That can’t be right can it?

I say this tongue in cheek and of course with a sense of humor and love for the people of Ireland. They are good, courteous, warm people and the country is very beautiful. Toni and I learned, however, that they will tell you a lie in a heartbeat, a very specific lie. We know of no other lies told to us during our trip, but this very specific lie is apparently a nationally adopted lie as we were told from coast to coast the very same lie, over and over again.Irish Eyes Are Smiling

What is the lie? “Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a brisk twenty minute walk, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant!”

That was the words we heard over and over again. From Dublin to Kilkenney, from Cork to Killarney, from Sleigh Head to Nag’s Head , on to Ennis, and from Galway to Tara, the hill of the Kings, on back to Dublin, every person we asked “Where is the best local coffee shop or restaurant?” The answer was almost the same every time.

I have developed a pretty solid Irish accent for when I tell the story in person. Since that won’t translate here, just try to imagine a leprechaun with a southern accent, that should give you a good idea of how it sounds.

Day 1: Land in Dublin. Ask taxi driver where food was. “Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a brisk twenty minute walk, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant! Tis ov’r by the Guiness factory. Easy walk, no problem , no problem.” 50 minutes later, we find that the hotel restaurant is the best bet.

Day 2: Drive to Kilkenny. Check in at Bed and Breakfast (B&B), find out the lady that owns it was a Delaney. “Lovely people. Just lovely.” She says. We ask where the food is. She says ““Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a brisk twenty minute walk, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant!” “Walk toward downtown, you will be there in no time. No problem, no problem.”

45 minutes later, Toni is looking over her shoulder at me like I am a dork for listening to another Delaney. We find the café and she gets hooked on coffee with brown sugar made from sugar beets.

Day 3: Still in Kilkenny.   Ask the same lady for a pub with good food. Same response. “No problem, no problem, 20 minutes brisk walk. Lovely and brilliant.”

40 minutes later, still walking. Toni curses under her breath and asks what Guiness is, then decides she wants two of them.

Day 4: Leaving for Killarney and it is getting cold. Find, along the way, Delaney’s Pub out in the country. Drink coffee and get directions from Mr. Delaney, ““Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a twenty minute drive, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant!”

5 hours later, after being lost in the mountains in central Ireland and having seen no leprechans or fairies, we finally find a café to eat not far from Killarney. After eating we asked the waitress how far to Killarney, you guessed it. “No problem, maybe a 20 minute drive. It’s lovely, just lovely.”

2 hours later we call the B&B and limp into the parking lot.   It was just before dark and he states “You have to get up to the top of the hill over there before sundown to see the most beautiful place in Ireland, just off the Ring of Kerry.” How far is it?”  I asked, exhausted from the drive and white knuckle roads (on the left side no less).   “Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a brisk twenty minute walk, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant!”

I swear that is what he said. Ask Toni if you don’t believe me.

45 minutes later, we reach the top of the hill. It was breathtaking, no doubt. But here is the problem… I don’t care how pretty it is up there. If Toni is tired, achy, and hungry, there better be a coffee shop up there in one of those trees or someone is getting smacked. Since I was the only one with her, I kept my distance. Once we made the hike back down the hill, she was considering adding a Guiness to her diet. I tended to agree that it would be a good idea. Oh, by the way, we did eat at 8:00 pm, and yes, it was only a brisk 20 minute walk that only took us an hour. We decided to call a cab. Best idea of the trip.

Day 5. Drove to west coast. Amazing scenery. Toni attempts to push me over the cliffs of Moher because they have no coffee. Irish man playing music on the street said the café was only 20 minutes away if you walk briskly. I don’t remember if we ate or not. She slapped me into three days from then.

Day 6: Arrive at B&B in Ennis. Hear a great story from the Innkeeper and his wife on Irish history and the revolution. Asked them both where the oldest café/pub was to feed Toni Guiness AND coffee. His answer, no kidding, “Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a brisk twenty minute walk, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant!”

Toni nearly pushed me into the river at minute 40 and stated that if she didn’t’ get coffee and chunky chips soon she would drown me herself. I learned to walk faster but still 45 minutes to eat.   Did hear wonderful music from local students and ate like little Irish oinkers.

Day 7: Drove all day in amazement of the West Coast. Arrived in Galway Bay. Knowing what the answer would be, we asked the Innkeeper anyway, “Where is the closest restaurant, and DON”T tell us it is a 20 minute brisk walk! We know better.” He replies, “Oh, well, truly, it is only a 20 minute brisk walk down the boardwalk.” We thought, “LIES!!!” lol.

We sat out walking and it was twenty minutes or so down to the water’s edge, yes, but we had to turn left and walk from there. Ten minutes into that walk we met a man of around 90 years of age walking with his 60 year old daughter. He was on a cane. Ten minutes after that, he caught us walking back the same way. He strikes up a conversation with us, tells us of how he is retired and now drinks Guiness and chases women, to which his daughter agreed.  Fifteen minutes later we came to the end of that sidewalk. I asked him, “Can you tell us how far it is to the downtown area and the café’s?” Knowing full well what his answer was likely to be. He looked at us with an Irish smile and confidently exclaimed, ““Oh yes, no problem whatsoever, it is only a brisk twenty minute walk, no problem, no problem. Lovely, lovely. Brilliant, brilliant!”

Day 8 and 9: Much of the same, great food, great people and great long walks, all over twenty minutes, but after a while, we realized that we were just slow walkers.

Day 10: Arrive in Atlanta airport and then in Memphis. We out-walked everyone on every concourse. I think we were even faster than the train! No problem, no problem. Brilliant and lovely! Toni looks everywhere for a brown sugar coffee and a Guiness. Her limit is 14 at this point but at least she misses me more when she slaps at my head.

So, the Irish lies were wonderful and so were the smiles. I recommend a trip there anytime!

Thank you to all that made the trip possible. It was a blessing from God  and our wonderful girls, Tiffoni, Micala, and Monique, and we loved every single minute of it and will never forget it.   Lovely and brilliant!

Ken Dulaney

September, 2015

Time is short.  Do you hear that calling in your heart?  Jesus is calling.  Please hear Him.  He loves you and will never let you down, ever.  He can help with any problem you might have, no problem, no problem.  And He is always brilliant and lovely.  Just call on Him and be amazed.

Advertisements

Some Kind of Stupid

I can’t blame this one on Ambien but Ms. Toni tells me the result is the same. Please don’t judge me… well, okay, you can judge me a little.

Having raised three daughters I am very protective. I have preached (unlicensed) for years to theHitchhiker picm and Toni not to trust strangers and for goodness sake, don’t be so dense as to pick up hitch hikers. It is just too dangerous.

A few weeks ago I was headed home from Jackson on a Friday afternoon. It was one of those unseasonably warm days and as I left town on I-55, I noticed a man walking north on the side of the road. He had on a long sleeved blue shirt, newer looking jeans and fairly new shoes. I noticed him because he was walking very fast but had nothing in his hands at all, no backpack, nothing. I was in the passing lane so I couldn’t stop. I went on up the road thinking, “I hope he wasn’t having problems.”

I pulled over in Canton, Miss. to get gas which took about ten minutes, got back on I-55 north and headed out. About five miles down the road I see the same guy, still “bookin” it. Again, I thought to at least stop and ask him if he was okay but I was in the passing lane again and was blocked by traffic and couldn’t have gotten over safely. I thought, “That is peculiar. He has made amazing time.” I said a short prayer for him and felt bad that I didn’t stop. I didn’t know why I felt bad, but something was nagging at me.

I travelled for a while and decided to stop near Kosciusko for a soft drink. When I got back out onto the highway, almost at the onramp, I saw the same guy again! “This is too weird,” I thought. I almost pulled over but for whatever reason, I chickened out. I prayed again, “God, I don’t know if you are trying to teach me something or not, but this is freaking me out a little. I am past the guy now and in a hurry but if I see him again, I will stop and ask if I can help.” With that, and a sizable dose of guilt, I jetted onward to Greenwood for my appointment.

Two hours later, I pass by the Grenada exit. Who do you think I see?  Yes, you guessed it, the same guy. So I pulled over.

The gentleman approached my car and I asked, “Where you headed?”  “Chicago” he says. “Do you have any weapons on you?” I ask. “No sir!” he states as he empties his pockets as if I were an officer of the law.

“I never do this, but come on in, I can get you as far as Batesville,” I said. He eagerly hopped into the car and I handed him a bottle of water. “Man it is too warm to be out here walking. Drink this water.” I said. He gladly took it. That was the last calm thought I had for thirty five miles.

“I have been living under a bridge for years down in Louisiana,” he volunteered. “Been hiding out from the CIA and the FBI!”. “Now I am headed up to Chicago to catch a submarine under my old high school. They are taking me to an underwater island in the Atlantic where all the past Miss America’s are. That’s where I am going to be working for them from now on. Did you know that when they take them to that island, they stay young forever? I can’t wait to see them all.”

Pause… Yep. That’s what I thought too. No joke. That is exactly what he said.

I was speechless. It was too late to pass him again because he is in my car now. I thought to myself, “Holy smokes what have I gotten myself into?” Then thought, “Maybe I can just jump out and run… I can replace the car!” But I decided the best thing to do was to make sure I don’t say anything to set him off and get him to Batesville as fast as possible.

I spent the next thirty minutes or so trying to get caught by the highway patrol. I was running around 85 intentionally, but wouldn’t you know it, none were sight. Other than that I just tried to agree with him and tell him how awesome he must be. I did slip in a little word or so about God protecting him but to be honest, it must have been pretty insignificant.

When I let him out at Batesville I pulled over and said “Man I hate it, but here is my turn.” “You be safe.”

He got out and thanked me for the ride. “I have to get to the bottom of the stairwell at my school. The principal is going to meet me there to take me down to the sub. Maybe I will make it there by the weekend.” With that he closed the door. I headed for home on highway 6, breathing a sigh of relief that I had not provoked a serious problem.

I called my wife to confess my mistake. As you can imagine, she was furious. “Of all the hair-brained, stupid, goofy, idiotic antics that you have graced this planet with, Ken, this one takes the cake!” I agreed and still do. In my defense, I had to do what I said I would do. I made a promise to God, but I am still unsure of the lesson I was to learn but I do know this…

I don’t care how fast you are walking, I am not picking anyone else up unless an angel is sitting on my hood telling me to do so. (Don’t you dare say it… If he shows up, I ain’t admitting it.) Besides, I would rather take a beating than have to see Ms. Toni that upset with me again.

I promise, this is exactly what happened. “You can’t make up this kind of stupid, Ken!” Direct quote from Toni. I hope you get a laugh and a lesson of some kind out of this story. Let me know when you figure out what the lesson is, please.

Thought:  There is no way you can surprise God

Ken Dulaney

May, 2014

P.S.  If you think you can’t bring the silly things you have done in your life to Jesus and be forgiven, then consider how much goofy stuff He has heard from guys like me.  He will forgive anything if you bring it to Him in honest repentance.  He promises in His word.  He loves you.  No problem is too big for Him.  Trust Him.

Bengay Burns!

My honey-do list has gotten pretty long since summer time has arrived. Between the garden, the grass, and the critters, I have plenty to keep me busy just about every weekend.

A few weeks ago I finished the weekend very proud of myself. After having mowed and trimmed the entire lawn I had found some extra energy and decided to venture out into the edge of the woods to trim up some underbrush that had taken over that particular area. When I finished, I was covered from head to toe with “weed guts”, that the weed eater had scattered all over me, Braveheart picbut I was very proud of my accomplishment and it looked pretty good.

A few hours later I began to feel a burning sensation on my arms and on my neck but especially troublesome was the itch in the soft part of my underarm.   As the evening progressed, the itch got worse and I soon realized that I the “weed guts” that had been thrown onto me was actually a chemical weapon used by an aggressive attacker called poison ivy.

In my usual panicked and frustrated state I complained just before bedtime and as usual, Toni came to the rescue. “I have some ointment that might help,” she said. After a short time of shuffling medicines she emerged from the medicine cabinet with a tube of goo that was to help me get some relief. I applied it to the itchy areas and laid down for the night.

After Toni went to sleep the itch seemed to grow more intense as every moment passed. I lay in bed trying to be strong and a tough it out but the menace got the best of me so I decided, because I am so wise, to get up and put a double dose of that gooey stuff on my now spreading rash. It was particularly bad under my arms so that was the target for the moment.

I wandered into the bathroom afraid to turn on the light, because I didn’t want to wake Toni, and felt around for the ointment. The tube I found seemed a little different but I really didn’t pay attention.

That is… until the burning started.

By now, I am sure you know what happened. I had reached into the cabinet and pulled out the tube of Bengay instead of the soothing goo I had hoped for. I thought to myself in a split second “I don’t even use Bengay!” DANGIT! But it was too late. I frantically rubbed the area with a towel but I couldn’t get it to come off.

Complete panic set in as I felt the heat get progressively worse and worse. “What do I do?” I thought. “I know, I will put water on it!” Want to guess how that ended? Nope, didn’t work!   The heat continued to rise and so did my tone of voice. Finally Toni heard me scrambling around and woke up asking “Ken, WHAT are you doing now?!” I didn’t want to tell her. “Ummmm, nuthin..” I said sheepishly through my tears.

Suddenly the light came on. There she stood with that look on her face. You know the one right? The “kinda sorry for you, kinda think you’re a stupid idiot” look? By this time the pain and the heat had gotten so bad that I was beginning to wiggle around and dance a little jig of sorts standing right there in my underwear. “That’s what you get you bonehead!” she laughed. “If you would have told me, I could have stopped you!”

Here is how you stop the burn. You DON”T! I had to wait for it to either wear off or until my nerve endings were just too exhausted to feel anything. I think the latter was the case but it took way too long. The only good thing that came out of it was that at least Toni got another laugh at my expense. I tell you, I am not doing myself any favors in the area of “respect from my wife”.

Is that where I am in my life? Do I have to have her to guide my every move? I suppose it is the case to an extent. One thing is for sure. .. The label on the back of the Bengay tube is no joke. Take it from me. It burns really bad applied to the wrong area. I just hope I never need that Preparation H stuff.

Don’t get burned by your bad decisions because you walk in the dark.  Jesus Christ is the light, and He will forgive your every mistake so that burn never gets you.  He is God and He loves you.  That’s all there is to it.

Ken Dulaney

July, 2014

“Spend just 5 minutes in prayer for Israel and Christians being tormented in the Middle East.”

Arguing With A Robot

March 2013

It had been a long day at work and I had just settled into my big ole comfy chair at home while sipping on a Dumb robotbigolesweettea, and listening to the day’s events as discussed by my wife and daughters when I realized that I am really not that “hip” or “cool”. Up until now, I felt fairly comfortable with my knowledge of recent trends in our language. For example, I know full well when to use the words “sweet” and “cool” and “spiffy”. That makes me current right? Wrong, wrong, wrong!

The evening conversation that was taking place was so far over my head that I had given up on taking part in it. Like a good little husband I sat there and kept my mouth shut, for a little while. After a half hour or so of what seemed to me to be Greek jibber jabber, I finally heard something that sounded familiar. Tiffoni, Monique and Micala were now talking about Tiffoni’s wedding plans and someone said “RSVP”.   “Hey, what does that mean anyway?” I blurted out. My Harvard educated wifey pooh jumped right in as if I were not cool or hip or spiffy at all. Go figure.

“It means Reply, See Voo Play!” she said. “Reply See Voo Play?” I asked exasperated. “I get the reply part, and I kind of understand the play part, but I don’t get the rest of it.” She prissed around the corner with an indignant school teacher’s look about her and said “Darn it Ken, it means please reply! It is French!”

“Well that changes everything!” I said. “I had no idea our family was now speaking French! Stunned that we were suddenly, and without warning to me, a multi-lingual family, I asked very humbly, “Why in the world don’t you just say “Hey, let me know that you’re coming to my shindig.”?” That made a lot of sense to me but apparently the circles in which the female units in my family run frown upon such simple requests, especially if they are submitted with a southern accent.

“Dad!” the girls all seemed to be in concert, “You just aren’t up to date with things are you?” That is when Monique, the youngest, began to instruct me on a few of the new terms used by young folks today. To my surprise I am not allowed to use them, any of them. I am not sure why.  She explained the use of words like “G” and “most”. I think “G” stands for gangster or something close to that, but it may mean “greatest”. I argued about “Most” as she used it in a sentence to help me out. “You’re the most” she said. “I am?” I replied. “Not really,” she said, “I was giving you an example.” “Ooooh,” I said. So let me see if I understand…

Slowly and calmly I said “So if I am the “G”, that is good? “Yes,” Monique answered. “ And in a few years, if I remain cool, the next bunch will say I am M, N, O, or God forbid a P? And if I am the “most” now, doesn’t that leave very little room for improvement? I mean how do I get better or bigger than the “most”? I suppose the good news is that if I am the “most” now, then I have no reason to diet because I can’t get more mostest’er right?” “She sighed and said, I was giving you an example, you are not the most,” laughing at me. “Well that’s depressing coming from my own daughter!” I shouted.   After they finished laughing at me for the third or fourth time I just gave up and tried to change the subject which brings me to a question.

Is it appropriate or allowed to argue with a robot?  I hope that it doesn’t make me a weirdo but I had an all-out brawl with my wireless company’s new supposed “user friendly”, “more convenient”, “ better for my overall well-being” answering system. It is about as convenient as a rusty spoon in the eye, or a belt sander on a toilet seat, both of which I was almost willing to do to myself before the call was completed. I won’t name them although I am tempted. I will say that their name rhymes with “Pee-wire”.

The rhyme and the experience overall reminds me of a time when I was three or four years old and I had an encounter with an electric fence that my mom, Ms. Dot, had clearly warned me not to touch. But, like most boys, I was hard-headed. On that day as I played in the back yard near Smithville, Mississippi, I had to use the bathroom pretty bad.  Curiosity got the best of me so I thought it a good idea to just pee on that fence.

Peeing on Fence

Needless to say, I learned a valuable lesson that day.  When I got up off the ground I remember saying to two things to myself.  1.  I hope no one saw that, especially mom, and 2.  I will never do that again because it hurts really bad!

That was a bad day for sure, but not much worse than the day last week when I called my cellular company to ask one simple question.  Here is how my call went (Not word for word, but you get the idea from my point of view):

Carrier: “Welcome to ___**___ company. Please listen to the recording because we changed our menu options and you can’t talk to a human. This is to help you and make your experience much more pleasant, frustrate you until you scream, chew a gap in your steering wheel, and run up the number of minutes you have to pay us for. Please tell me what you would like to do.”

Ken: “Customer Service”

Carrier: “You can’t do that. Let me give you some choices to pick from. You can say Pay my bill, add some more expensive stuff, or buy another phone altogether. What would you like to do?”

Ken: “Representative”

Carrier: “You can’t do that. Let me give you some choices to pick from. You can say Pay my bill, add some more expensive stuff, or buy another phone altogether. What would you like to do?”

At this point I decided to use an age old trick and press “0” to hopefully get to a representative. The annoying voice recording reminded me right away that I couldn’t do that and she did not understand. It may have been me, but it seemed as if she was getting increasingly annoyed with me. I swear, I think they programmed the system to sound more and more condescending as you continue unless you answer the questions in the way they want.  To make matters worse, I had now been on the phone with this narcissistic robot for over twenty minutes and my patience had expired.

Ken: (yelling, as the lady in the car next to me considered dialing 911, I am sure)  “REPRESENTATIVE, REPRESENTATIVE, REPRESENTATIVE!!!!!” I must have said it ten or twelve times, more angry with each interruption from my new robot friend.

Carrier: “You can’t do that, You can’t do that, You can’t do that,” to each of my screams.

Ken: “Holy smokes lady! All I want to do is find out why my bill went up! You morons can’t figure out how to simply send me to a person? Of all the stupid…..!”

She finally understood one word out of all of my ranting…”bill”.

Carrier: “Pay your bill! Let me help you with that. You can say “Pay my bill now, pay my bill later, how much do I owe, and hey, I want to spend a whole lot more money. What would you like to do?”

I literally pulled my car over the side of the road and screamed at the top of my lungs. Want to know what she said?

Carrier: “You can’t do that.”

Will someone please, the next time I have a thought of calling a company that has an automated system, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, put an electric fence in front of me and turn it up on stir fry.   That sounds so nice right now!

May God bless you and all that you do.

Ken Dulaney

Ken Profile 6

Here Kitty Kitty

Kitty PicEarly one Saturday morning I awoke to a curious scraping sound at 1:10 am. At first I thought it was a nightmare and since I didn’t’ hear it again right away I plopped back down onto my pillow. It didn’t take but a minute or so until I heard it again. Scrape, scrape, scraaaaaaaape. I leaned over and peeked out the window, half expecting to see Freddie Cruger from “Nightmare on Elm Street” staring back at me, flicking a bladed hand in the moonlight. But to my relief, Freddie was nowhere in sight. I thought “What in the world could that be?  I got up to investigate and noticed it seemed to be coming from the bathroom. As I crept through the doorway it continued. All at once I felt a lump in my throat and a sudden wrenching feeling deep in the pit of my stomach as I heard “Meeeowww”.

None of the cats were my idea and I certainly didn’t want this one, but guess who got to go out in the middle of the night and fish this little terrorist out of the tree? You guessed it…the stupid guy. So tonight, “Prissy” (translation: Demonious Catious) had somehow found her way into the attic and now had herself stuck in the wall of our bathroom!

Somewhat panicked I quickly and quietly tried to get dressed. I don’t know if you have ever been half asleep and attempted to put on baggy pajama bottoms with a flash light in your hand but it isn’t easy. I got my leg stuck, hopped on one leg for about three hops and crashed into my hanging clothes in the closet. It hurt, but I was more worried about waking my wife Toni and to my surprise she never stirred. (I think she was awake but ignored me.) Now sweating, heart racing, and without a clue as to where the cat really was, I made my way out the back door and downstairs. Mack, our Labrador, decided that we were going to chase critters and came flying by me, nearly putting me on my back again. I thought to myself, “This might be a really bad idea. Maybe I should just let the cat find her own way out.” I took a few more steps and noticed I had my pajamas on backwards. Go figure.

After about twenty minutes of stomping through the dew covered back yard, travelling back and forth from the basement entrance and the garage, I found myself no closer to finding the little furry Freddy Cruger wannabe. I decided to crawl under the house in an attempt to locate her without waking Toni. This meant low crawling in the dirt and spider webs so you can imagine how frustrated I was becoming. My first trip across the cold dirty basement produced zilch, nothing, not even a hint of a cat, so I crawled back out and headed back to the garage where I finally heard her little demon voice once again.

I trounced up and down, back and forth trying to locate the little snot but she kept moving . I was in the grass, in the basement, in the garage, back in the grass, three or four times before I decided to just leave her there.   By the time I got back out of the basement for the fourth time, Toni and Tiffoni, my oldest daughter, were standing on the deck looking at me as if I were a certified loony tune. I thought to myself as I peered up at my two judges, “So much for just leaving the little beady eyed devil where she was. Heck I am going to sleep in the truck.” “What are you doing now?” Toni asked with an indignant tone. After she finished interrogating me with a couple of dozen questions, all of which implied that I somehow had something to do with the whole thing, she paused to take a breath.

“Meeeow”. The cat had made her way down the overhang and was now in the siding right behind Toni. You would have thought the house was on fire. “Get her out, get her out, get her out!” she screamed as she started banging on the wall. I yelled back, “Let me get the ladder!” happy that the focus had shifted off of me.

About twenty minutes later I had ripped a chunk of siding off the house, had insulation falling on me like snow, and had cut my hand in about five places, and was beginning to develop a number of cramps in my back, legs, and most notably in my brain. I stuck my head up through the hole I had made and was somewhat shocked to see a bug-eyed grey fuzz covered demon of a cat staring at me as if I was holding up her next hair appointment. “Here kitty kitty kitty” I said one more time as I teetered on top of the ladder, hand outstretched. “Nope” she seemed to say, “You’re not good enough” and refused to move. She was just laying there like a knot on a log, seemingly very proud of herself.

In my mind’s eye I could imagine the little demonic furball quietly laughing at me while whispering “Just go to sleep!” in a tone that Freddie Cruger himself would find eerie. That was it! “Toni, you get her. I am done. She can stay up there for all I care,” I said.

Toni was able to coax the little snot out far enough to grab her, but I was giggling inside just a little when the cat latched onto her hip and refused to let go. Hey, why should I be the only one with scars right? When the ordeal was finally over we were both scratched up and worn out. When we made it back to bed the last thing I remember Toni saying was “Bless her little heart.” I just rolled my eyes, sighed and pulled the covers over my head. “I can think of something other to bless besides her heart.”

God has a funny way of showing us the comedy in our lives.  Although I didn’t laugh much that day I can look back now and laugh, knowing that He has tried to get me out of some difficult situations only to have me refuse to do the right thing and save myself.  I guess how we see our current situation depends on our perspective but He always has his arm stretched out to help us.  I am going to try in the future not to scratch His arm up so he can get me out of the attic.  Thank you for reading and for your comments.

Anyone need a cat?

Ken Dulaney

May, 2012

Willard & the Hillbilly Bat

Willard Jesse Hamby is a friend of mine. Jesse and his wife Jennifer own a cabin in the Smoky Mountains and usually spend weekends there with their little dog Sharzee the Shitzu. It is a beautiful place nestled on a mountain top wHillbilly Batith all the picturesque views you would imagine. They were kind enough to invite me and Toni up on a few occasions and I can tell you, the place is amazing. It takes a lot of work to keep it looking so good, especially when it is so far out in the mountains and they have only the weekends to work on it.

Jesse is much like me, managed by his spouse and very proud to be so. He is well trained and obedient and generally does what Jennifer and Sharzee the Shitzu tell him to do. Much of Jesse’s life consists of insuring the comfort and well-being of the girls (Jennifer and Sharzee the Shitzu).

“Willard Hamby” is Jesse’s late father’s name and Jesse was named after him. Mr. Willard and Mrs. Becky Hamby were both dedicated school teachers in Tennessee and did a wonderful job of raising two boys, Jesse and Jerod. I call Jesse“Willard’ when I am feeling a little “Jerry Clower-like” much because I have such respect for Jesse’s parents. Jesse is an avid fan of the southern comedic legend Jerry Clower and can quote many of his routines word-for- word. So in the spirit of Jerry Clower, and in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Willard Hamby, we will call Jesse “Willard” for the rest of this story.

Not too long ago, Willard was frantically working at the cabin and mowing the yard in an attempt to get it cleaned up. He had cut the grass and worked up a good sweat as the day wore on. You see, he has to push-mow the yard there because it is very hilly terrain. It is hot and he was terribly tired when our story begins.

“Well Ken, I have had a day today,” Willard said.

“Really? What happened?” I asked.

Willard explained, “Let me tell you. I had been working all day at a frantic pace trying to get the grass cut and all the chores done so that Jenn and I could enjoy some down-time this weekend. We are constantly worried that some large predator like a stupid buzzard or hawk might grab Sharzee and fly off with her. The grass had gotten pretty tall and there was some leaves around the cabin. You know how it is. The last thing I needed was for a snake, a raccoon, a bear or some other varmint grabbing that dog and taking off with her!”

I replied, “Brother, I can understand that! You would never be able to live in peace if something happened to Jenn’s baby.”

“That’s right,” Willard said. “But brother, I am telling you I wasn’t prepared for what happened today. Have you ever seen a bat?”

I paused for second before I answered. I was curious, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this story because bats give me the heebee jeebees and I thought Willard was aware of that. “Sure I have! “ I said. “There are lots of them around here. The small ones that eat skeeters (mosquitos) right?”

“Oh no, I mean a real one!” Willard said. “Man, I was mowing and turned the corner and saw this eagle sized critter laid out next to the cabin. At first I thought it was a hawk just sprawled out there like he was trying to get a tan. I shut the mower off and walked over to it to get a better look, not thinking that it was alive. Of course, I grabbed a brush top to poke it just in case but I never got the chance. That thing must of heard me coming because when I got close it jumped up on its hind legs and started hissing at me, wings spread and everything! Dude I though Dracula was about to jump up outta that grass and GIT ME!”

After I caught my breath due to the mere thought of coming face to face with such a vile creature, I asked, “What in the world did you do?”

“Man it caught me off guard!” Willard said. “At first I thought it would just fly off but oh no! This thing had an attitude! I finally remembered I had a big ole brush top in my hand and thought about just whoopin it till it flew off, but before I could swing at Dracula the bat, my feet reminded me that they knew the way to the back door.”

“So you ran.” I said.

“You dang right I ran! You would have run too if you had seen that thing!” he stated with certainty. I think he knows me pretty well because truth be told, if it had been me, I would have cleared a new path for a large power line down the Tennessee mountainside for the great State of Tennessee at no charge, had I been faced with such a demon. I kind of think it would have been like the Tazmanian devil from the Looney Tunes show just mowing down trees and slobbering all over the place. That is what I would have done I am pretty sure.

Once back in the safety of the cabin Willard was faced with the wisdom of his soul mate and she asked the question that any sane woman would ask. “Well you didn’t just leave that thing out there did you?” Any married man knows what that means… “Get your butt back out there and get rid of that monster or you are sleeping on the couch tonight!”.

So ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that our hero, Willard, grabbed his shotgun and plunged himself into harm’s way to protect his wife Jennifer, Sharzee the Shitzu, the great State of Tennessee and these United States of America. Jed Clampett would have been proud to hunt with this mountain of a man, decked out in his cutoff shorts and flip flops, facing down the terror of all terrors, Dracula himself.

“So Willard,” I said. “What happened when you got back outside?”

“I sneaked back around the corner and that stupid thing was gone. I don’t know where it went but I was pretty darn happy because I didn’t have any silver bullets. Nobody needs to know different so let’s just you and me say I whooped that critter and ran him off the mountain,” he said.

Well Willard, just between you and me, I know you whooped that bat. I swear I won’t tell Jennifer or Sharzee what really happened. You’re secret is safe with me!

Dedicated to Willard and Becky Hamby and their wonderful family, and to my friend Jesse.

Ken Dulaney

Ken Profile 6

If you enjoyed the story, please do me a favor and follow Biskittales on Facebook and “Follow” this blog so you can be notified of new stories.  God bless you and all that you do, and thank you for reading.

Pajamas and Posies

My wife and I have developed a sort of “habit” on Sunday mornings before church. Our service starts at around 10:00 am, which means we have plenty of time to sit out on the front porch and drink coffee and enSteve Urkeljoy the morning, if we get up like we should.

A few Sunday’s ago, I was feeling particularly lazy due to my being up late the night before, waking up around 7:30 and dragging around for forty five minutes or so before I joined Toni on our front porch rocking chairs (matching no less) to watch the birds and assorted other critters beginning to move around in our front yard.   I felt that since I was so sore from a hard Saturday’s work in the yard and garden, it would be okay if I just slipped out to the front porch rockers in my pajamas to enjoy my first cup of coffee. I could get dressed for the day after my left eye finished opening, thus preventing putting my pants on inside out.

Opposites attract. That is what they say. In some cases in our marriage, that is true. For instance when I wake up, I am a slug. Toni on the other hand is a rat on acid. Her energy is unbelievable and often makes me feel guilty that I am not up and being as productive as she is. This particular Sunday was no exception. I got about three sips of my coffee down before she spotted a place in our lawn that didn’t have posies planted.

“I am going to transplant some ivy over there by the driveway” she exclaimed. I thought to myself, “Seriously? Already? My arms don’t even work yet!” I just kind of looked at her with a dumb look on my face but the decision had been made. She was up in a flash and her rocking chair continued rocking from the vacuum of her quick departure, but empty as if there was a ghost in it . The good thing about how fast she got up was that I didn’t have to comb my hair later because the wind from her “jet” past me parted it, although in the wrong direction.

So there I sat in my rocker, in my pajamas, unshaven, limbs inoperable for the most part, feeling guilty. The ghost was a terrible conversationalist, so I had to make a decision. I decided to go grab a cap and wobble out to the driveway and try to help. My hope was to diminish the guilt associated with my lack of enthusiasm.

This was around 8:15 or so, the time when most people are headed to Sunday school. So I stood over Toni’s shoulder and asked if I could help to which she replied “No, I want these done a certain way.” Translation: “You are a moron and couldn’t possibly plant posies the way they should be planted.” The thought crossed my mind that I should just go back in the house and get dressed when I heard a rumbling behind me. “Naah, I thought, can’t be. It’s too early.” The rumbling got louder.

In a split second I realized that our neighbors, Tracy and Daryl were coming down the hill in their vehicle, family and all, headed to church. Before I knew it they were right behind me. “Oh GREAT!” I said. Toni turned to see me, in all my exasperated frustration, throw up my hands. “I am out here in my pajamas looking like a goober!” She collapsed in laughter. I am sure the neighbors heard and saw her hee-hawing.

So what would you do? I was busted, no doubt about it. Here is what I decided to do in the span of about a half a second. I yanked my pajama bottoms up to a level I affectionately call “Erkle level”, (socks and loafers exposed) spun my hat around to the side of my head, crossed my eyes, and tried to look like a rap star, in hopes that I wouldn’t be recognized. I learned later that it didn’t work and that I just looked stupid.

Defeated and embarrassed, I moped back to the house to get a shower and get dressed the right way, thinking two things:

  1. “Dang… I didn’t even have any Ambien,” and, 2. “I am going to start having my coffee on the deck out back.”

I hope you all have a great week. Thanks for reading. I would love to get your feedback. Just email me at krdulaney@gmail.com.

Ken Dulaney

Ken Profile 6