Too Hot Tempers
& Tubs
This 
time
last year, I was struggling with what to do about our hot tub that’s
sunken into the deck. The hot tub was not functional, and the cover was starting
to disintegrate, plus a neighbor’s dog was helping it self-destruct.
I suppose some pet owners are as bad as some parents in that they believe
their precious one(s) can do no wrong or harm. The Labrador retriever of
my neighbor was too gentle for its own good, and nearly impossible to run
off. He showed up at our fish fry one year and wouldn’t leave. He
didn’t bark at anyone or bite anyone, but his presence made some folks
uncomfortable. I think his attachment to my hot tub’s cover was rooted
in the small puddle that formed on one section following a rain. He took
to that puddle like a bird to a birdbath, but unlike a bird, his body weight
was sufficient to contribute to an even greater sag in the cover. At some
point, the dog began to chew on the center seam, and within a few weeks had
pretty much separated the cover into its respective halves. Months passed
before I learned the neighbor had given the dog to someone in the county
and the dog was no longer in our neighborhood. Great was my joy.
I solved the problem with the appearance of the cover last year by stretching
a tarp over it, which would be the household equivalent of sweeping dirt
under a rug. This year, I decided to replace the cover, and maybe next year,
I’ll have the hot tub operational again. It wasn’t in working order
at the fish fry last year and it won’t be again this year, but it will
look better with its new cover.
My son-in-law, Anson, has a relative in the spa cover manufacturing business,
and once I provided him the measurements, he soon had a hot tub cover on
order. As it happened, I was off work last Friday. My granddaughters, Merilese
and Katherine, were spending the day with their dad and me up until their
dad had to leave for work around three that afternoon. Sarah showed up to
watch them so I could continue with my yard chores. But before leaving for
work, Anson received word the hot tub cover was ready, and I drove to Sherman,
MS, to pick it up.
The directions Anson gave me sounded simple enough, until I got to Sherman.
Finding old Highway 78 was something of a small challenge, but when I spotted
the "old service station" that Anson described as being across the road from
the spa cover factory, I thought there would be no problem locating my
destination.
"The factory is in a blue building," Anson had assured me before I left,
but the only building I saw was beige, not blue.
Thinking the factory might be located further down the road, I headed west.
A mile later and still no blue building in sight, I turned around and
backtracked.
"Maybe it’s located in the other direction," I reasoned, but I only
drove a half-mile before turning around once more.
I didn’t think my son-in-law was color blind, but I was beginning to
wonder. I was about to stop and ask directions (an unmanly action) when I
saw the building, almost hidden by trees and located a few hundred yards
off the main highway.
Fifteen minutes later, the cover was being loaded in my pickup truck.
"I hope you have some tie-downs," an employee commented, as I let down the
tailgate.
"I brought some rope," I responded, while reaching behind the seat to locate
it.
The saleslady who took my money was also concerned about my ability to transport
the item safely.
"Do you need some help?" she offered.
"I think I can handle it, but thanks," I replied.
Somehow the cover looked smaller than I thought it should be, but the plastic
wrapped around it had an 84 written beneath the word gray, which I remembered
corresponded to the length of one side of the square cover, and I had ordered
a gray exterior to blend with the color of the stained deck. After securing
the cover with ropes, I drove back to Pontotoc.
With temperatures in the nineties, it didn’t take me long to break a
sweat unloading the cover, removing the plastic wrap, and fitting it over
the hot tub. It fit like a glove, and I was pleased to note it was thicker
in the middle than on the edges, creating a gabled effect and enabling water
to run off quickly.
Even though the hot tub’s drain has remained open for months, there’s
always water standing in the bottom of it. Jason and I cleaned the leaves
out about a month ago and bailed out the standing water, though we knew the
next rain would trickle through the old cover and rise to a depth of
approximately six inches before reaching the drain. In the interim, more
leaves had drifted into the hot tub, but I decided a second cleaning could
wait one more day.
I spent much of the next day, Saturday, working outside. I recall mowing
and weed-eating Sarah’s yard, stripping kudzu out of shrubs and pruning
tree limbs in my backyard, and generally sprucing up things in preparation
for the upcoming fish fry. But, shortly before five o’clock, I decided
to tackle the chore of cleaning out the hot tub.
After gathering the water hose, a disinfectant, brush, and a pail for bailing,
I lifted the cover and began the work. A mild stench rose from inside the
hot tub, causing my upper lip to curl slightly. I spotted a bleached-out
frog lying in the shallow water and scooped it out before beginning the bailing
in earnest. In my haste, I partially filled my right shoe with dead-frog
water but saw no need to tend to my discomfort immediately.
Forgetting to get an old towel earlier, I was about to go inside to find
one when I heard the phone ringing. I was unable to answer the phone before
the answer machine picked up, and the caller hung up without leaving a message.
Seconds after going back outside, the phone rang again, and again the caller
hung up as the answer machine started. The Caller ID indicated the call came
from "RCC UNICEL" I was about to return to my hot-tub chore when my cell
phone started to ring. Again, the caller hung up before I could answer, but
at least I saw the phone number and associated it with Felicia’s cell
phone. Stepping outside and onto the deck I quickly dialed Felicia.
"Uncle Wayne," she began, "Mama and I are stranded. We’ve been to the
mall, and the car just stopped. Who can we get to help us? It’s Saturday
afternoon, and we don’t know who to call."
"Where are you?"
"On Coley Road, near Belden, not far from Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church, "
she shared.
Sarah was talking non-stop in the background, and it was difficult for me
to understand what Felicia was saying.
"Let me talk to Sarah."
"The car just quit. I can’t get it out of the road. It’ll crank
and run for a minute and go dead again. There’s no place to pull over,"
Sarah wailed.
I didn’t have much better luck with Sarah in gaining an understanding
as to where she and Felicia were, so I asked to speak to Felicia once more.
Felicia is much calmer in a crisis than Sarah is. Finally, Felicia helped
me understand they were on the cutoff road from McCullough Blvd. that terminates
on Hwy. 9 at Endville. She had erroneously identified McCullough Blvd. as
Coley Road and caused me a great deal of confusion.
"Y’all may have to push the car off the road," I shared. "Jason’s
working this afternoon, but I’ll go get the pickup and see if it’ll
pull you home."
I called Jason to tell him I would be borrowing "my truck" and to ask if
the log chain was still in the pickup.
"I don’t know anything about a log chain," he responded.
My black car was hot inside, having been in the sun all afternoon, and it
seemed I was just beginning to get comfortable inside, when I got to Ecru,
where Jason was working.
"I checked, but there’s no chain inside the truck," Jason shared.
I opened the door, looked behind the seat and couldn’t see a chain either,
but I saw the old paper sack that the chain was once inside. And, when I
slide the seat forward, I saw not one but two log chains. Confident I had
everything I needed, I fastened my seatbelt, and, with the air conditioner
running full blast, was about to drive away, when my cell phone rang, as
I was muttering to myself how some folks couldn’t find their nose on
their face. Picking up my cell phone, I noted that Barbara was calling me.
Perspiration was building rapidly, as I answered the phone. At this writing,
it’s difficult to remember who phoned who and in what order, but somehow
Barbara, Rayanne, and Anson, all knew of the plight of Sarah and Felicia.
The roar of the engine, the roar of the air conditioner, and the road noise
prevented me from catching Barbara’s every word, and in a noisy environment,
I talk louder than normal. Plus, I’m like most people in that I tend
to talk louder than normal whenever I’m using a cell phone.
"You don’t have to shout," Barbara snipped.
"I’m not shouting; I’m just trying to be heard and to hear you."
I protested.
I managed to understand her to say that Anson had just gotten off work and
was going by the stranded motorists to see if he could help. Felicia phoned
me moments later and wanted to know how soon I’d be there. I wasn’t
able to provide her a timeframe, but I told her I was in the truck and had
left Ecru.
Anson arrived ahead of me. Sarah or Felicia had managed to get the car off
the highway and into the driveway of a garden center. Anson was standing
in front of the car with the hood raised and a big grin on his face.
"It’s running," he stated.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing, I just cranked it."
"It did that with me, too," Sarah shared. "It will run for a while and then
go dead again."
I decided to drive the Buick and let Sarah have my truck. Meanwhile Barbara
drove up, accompanied by Rayanne and her two youngest, to check on everyone.
"I want to ride with you, Uncle Wayne," Felicia confided. "Mama’s driving
me crazy."
I drove, perhaps, a mile, and the car engine died. The narrow road had almost
no shoulder, so I pulled alongside a driveway, maintaining a position parallel
to the highway. Sarah and Anson also pulled over. Anson and I decided to
chain the car to his truck and let Sarah and Felicia take my truck back to
Jason with Barbara following. That would allow Barbara to drive my company
car (only employees or spouses of employees are permitted to drive a corporate
vehicle) back to Pontotoc.
I was able to get the electric windows rolled down by cranking the car,
momentarily, before getting underway. Thus, I had the benefit of a hot breeze
for the trip home. Anson and I made it to Pontotoc without incident and took
the car to William’s Garage. The business was closed, but the owner
showed up shortly after we did and had us park the car in an unoccupied bay.
"I’ve got these others ahead of you, Mr. Wayne," he pleaded. "But,
I’ll get to yours just as soon as I can."
I thanked him for his promise, and Anson and I were soon at my house. I returned
to the deck to finish the "hot tub cleaning" project, almost two hours after
I had first begun the task. Barbara must have felt sorry for me, because
she fixed supper Saturday night without any help from me.
My mind keeps returning to something Felicia asked when she and I drove away
from the garden center.
"What makes you so different from Mama? She gets crazy in a crisis and you
stay so calm."
"She’s a lot like her mother," I explained. "Me? Well, I suppose, I
inherited a smaller dose of Mama’s genes."
What I didn’t say was that I’m not always calm in a crisis. I get
panicky sometimes, too, but I’m a lot better at disguising my frustration
and fear than is my sister.
Some folks are amazed that I’m able to write an article or two on a
weekly basis and wonder how I manage to find new material. Yet, with a family
like mine, there’s plenty of material. The biggest problem of late is
in finding time to put the stories on paper.
Where’s RRN
Been Westminster Abbey
Readers have
not responded very strongly to our request for vacation pictures of places
this newsletter has been this year. However when our oldest granddaughter,
Anna Butler, traveled with relatives to England, she was thoughtful enough
to bring back this photo. Anna is holding a recent copy of Ridge Rider News
and is standing in front of Westminster Abbey in London.
Readers who still have not taken a summer vacation are encouraged to do as
Anna has done, and submit a photograph to share with others.
Bodock Beau
Courtroom Cackles
The one time I testified in a court of law was not a pleasant experience
and certainly not funny. Yet, sometimes, cross examinations give cause for
laughter. Consider the following:
1 Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July fifteenth.
Q: What year?
A: Every year
2 Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you
when he woke up that morning?
A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.
3 Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies
in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
A: Would you repeat that question, please?
4 Q: Were you present when your picture was
taken?
5 Q: So the date of conception of (the baby) was August
8th?
A: Yes.
Q: And what were you doing at that time?
A: I resent that question.
6 Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there any girls?
7 Q: Can you describe the individual?
A: He was about medium height and had a beard.
Q: Was this a male or a female?
8 Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget. Can you give us an example of something you've forgotten?
10 Q: Did you blow your horn or anything?
A: After the accident?
Q: Before the accident.
A: Sure, I played for 10 years. I even went to school for it.
Shared by Cheryl Radford
Share this article with a friend.
Home
Copyright © 2000 - 2004 RRN
Online.
