rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the month “March, 2015”

Fashionable

Yesterday, the “Rancherette” and the “Rancherwriterpoet” went to get their monthly hairdo. The 2nd Tuesday of every month we make this trip. She goes to the hair stylist, while I go to the barber. Please understand, the same person who does the actual work on each of us is one and the same. Angie has been cutting my hair for over five years and the “Rancherette’s” for much longer.

While the “Rancherette” gets her hair fixed, mine only gets cut. It is a scheduled part of our routine. Since I get mine cut first, we go in separate vehicles, because I do not want to wait for two hours when she sits in the chair. They have no TV in the waiting room and even if they did, it would probably be tuned to the “View” or WE network or, even worse, Oprah. Not that I have anything against Oprah, but I would rather watch ESPN and you know I am not about to change any channels in a beauty shop. But, like I said they do not have a TV.

The only magazines on the table are those that are more directed towards the female gender. I think they share magazines with my doctor. People Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Vogue, you know the type.  I do not know why they can’t ever have a Sports Illustrated, or NFL magazine even a Super Hero comic book would be nice. But then again, all the hair stylists/barbers in this establishment are female. Most of their customers are female. I do not have a problem with that.

The problem I do have is that I always get the feeling the women are talking about me. They snicker and talk in low tones. They share pictures with each other on their “smart” phones and not with me. I have no idea what they are sharing. Not that I am curious or anything. Occasionally someone will laugh out loud. I smile as though I know what they are talking about, but …

I never see anyone pointing at me, but I notice that there are eyes sometimes looking in my direction. Talk about being paranoid.  Of course, I could always go to a “real” barbershop. But, then, I do like my haircuts. And you know us old folks, we don’t like change.

Well, this trip to the hair stylist/barber was a very interesting time. We are in the middle of spring break and the teenage grandson is spending time with the “Rancherette” (AKA, Memaw) and me. He knew in advance that we would be going for our monthly “do” so he would be going with us. Later, he would go shopping with his “Memaw” for school clothes.

I was to go first, as I always do, then she would follow with Kyle riding with her. Here is where things began to get interesting. He asked the “Rancherette” (AKA, Memaw) if he could get a ‘mullet’. Her reply?  Not in Memaw’s world. She said she was not going to be responsible for sending him home looking like that. She reminded him that his mother would likely not approve of that, either. So, the “Rancherette” (AKA Memaw), texts the Mom. Her reply?  “not no, but **** NO!” (You don’t know, it could mean heck.)  No, he cannot have a ‘mullet’! End of story”.  Not quite.

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He asks, “Memaw, can I borrow your phone?” “What for?” “To call my mom.” “Why?” “To ask her if I can get a ‘mullet’.” The “Rancherette” (AKA Memaw) relents, being the kind and gracious Memaw any kid would be proud to have. He calls his Mom. When he hangs up, he says, “Mom said I could get a ‘mullet’.” Around here, we are accustomed to speaking the truth.

I mullet-cartoon-i8 asked the “Rancherette” if I could get a ‘mullet’. Her reply? Not no, but **** NO! (You don’t know, it could mean heck)

I am always interested in the hairdo the “Rancherette” gets, but me not so much.

A Chicken Wrangler’s Poem

 

I got an invitation to write this cowboy rhyme,
‘bout the Chicken Wranglers who ride from time to time.
So I sat down in my cowboy corner and in my cowboy chair
I searched my cowboy brain and wrote this cowboy prayer.

“Lord, bless the Chicken Wranglers, the ones who ride the range
And keep them little chickens safe, away from critters strange.”

I wrote this with my trusty cowboy pen.

A Chicken Wrangler’s Poem

The old chicken wrangler moseyed out her back door
She had chickens to tend to and that’s always a chore,
They scratch and peck and preen and dig holes in the dirt
As the cantankerous old “Roo” just sidesteps while he flirts.

The old chicken wrangler or sometimes, “Rancherette”
Comes to see this “Roo” as something of a threat,
So, she speaks very softly, but she carries a big stick
‘cause this ornery old rooster is often just too quick.

He’s just about one of the best of the breed
Worth every nickel she’d spent on his seed.
He has all the makings of championship stock
Old Cap’n Kanga “Roo” reigns over his flock.

But a wrangler can’t have just one stud in his herd
And this chicken wrangler? She needs a brand new bird.
So from her Silkie flock way up on the hill
Comes a nice Blue cockerel that gives her quite a thrill.

This brand new Silkie rooster comes with Silkie chicks
Bringing with his hatch a brand new bag of tricks.
While pullets scratch and peck and preen and dig ‘round in the dirt
“Big Blue” is just a crowing, still learning how to flirt.

So a Chicken Wrangler’s work is almost never done
and cleaning all that poop ain’t never been much fun
But wrangle on they will ‘cause it’s built inside their genes
and just like kids, they love ‘em, even when they’re teens.

                                                                                 Pete Robertson                                                                                                               March 2015

Evil Twins

I try my best to help the “Rancherette” with chores around our home. I believe it is the right thing to do. At my age, I don’t always get it right, but I still know how to do the right thing. So, I try.

Sometimes, I help with the dusting of furniture. Sometimes, I miss a spot. Sometimes, I help with the vacuuming. Sometimes, I miss a spot. Sometimes, I wash the dishes. Sometimes, I miss a spot. Sometimes, I make the bed; sometimes I miss a spot, uh corner. Every once in a blue moon, I will cook something, however, that is generally left to the best person for that chore. Did I mention the “Rancherette” is also a “Bakerette?” Which is very good, except for my waistline.

I realize that there are chores around the home that usually fall to one gender or the other. But, it does not have to be that way. For example, I usually tend to the yard work. However, the “Rancherette” did not get her name by sticking to housework, only. She draws plans for a chicken coop on a napkin, I build it; she paints it. That is what we call sharing. I consider it a privilege to help around the house.

However, there is one area I tend to stay clear. The Laundry! It so happens, in our little farm house, the laundry room is also in my bathroom. I see the laundry appliances every day, morning, noon and night. They are evil. They stare at me. I undress for my shower, they are watching. I shave, they are watching. I brush my teeth, they are watching. Anything else I do in my own bathroom, well, I’m telling you, they are up to no good. Consequently, I almost never do the laundry.

It seems, every time I do put something in the washing machine, it loses it. Not all of it, only part of it. That very nice pair of socks, the washing machine ate one, only one. What am I supposed to do with only one argyle sock? I can’t replace it; they only sold one pair at Walmart, and then discontinued that style. But that is another story.

That wicked machine will turn my tee shirts wrong side out, and then, since the “Rancherette” does the folding she has to take the time to turn them back the right way. I’m sorry about that, but it is that revolting machine. If she accidently folds the tee shirts that way, then I wind up putting them on wrong side out. How on earth does that machine do that?  I’m telling you that machine is up to no good. It even turned my “whitey-tighties into a pale pink. How stupid do you think that looks at the gym?

Occasionally, it will throw a temper tantrum. Have you ever seen a washing machine throw a temper tantrum? Well, it bounces up and down, crawls all over the place, rolls over and spits up bubbles on the floor. No, I’m not talking about a two year old. I am speaking about the horrible, obnoxious washing machine. It cannot control its bladder, either. Sometimes, it will have an “accident”. Wicked, I’m telling you.

It also has an evil twin brother (or sister, I’m not sure of the genders) Its name is “dryer”. Washer and Dryer, two peas in a pod, as they say down here in North Texas.

I once placed a nice beige sweater in the “dryer”, another fashionable piece of clothing I purchased at Walmart. The “dryer” ruined it. It shrank so badly, that even Luka, the rescue Italian Greyhound could not wear it.

I cannot even begin to tell you how wrinkled the “dryer” left my pants the last time I tried to use it. The creases in the folds were destroyed and the shirts lost all their buttons. Do you know what it is like to put on a shirt with no buttons? I can understand losing my marbles, but buttons? And you know the one sock that the “washer” did not eat? The “dryer” did. As it turns out, this was a blessing in disguise; I was able to purchase a complete new pair.

Since its evil twin washed the peppermint inside my pants, the “dryer”   went ahead and melted it to the fabric. Conspiracy for sure. Now I have a sticky spot in my pocket. I told you they were evil.

Machines like these are supposed to make your life a little more efficient and I suppose they do, to some extent, however, I am going to stick to my dusting, making the bed and washing dishes, even if I do miss a spot.

If I hear the “twins” calling my name, I’m running outside to mow the grass, or burn leaves or shovel snow, or build something. I think that may be the right thing to do. Thank you, “Rancherette” for your expertise and willingness to fight off those evil twins in my bathroom. They frighten me.

Catching up with Technology

Finally, the day arrived. The “Rancherette” and the “Rancherwriterpoet” both made an important trip to Dr. G., the dermatologist. There was much trepidation in the eyes of one of the participants. That participant shall remain nameless for fear of retribution if her name is revealed.

In researching for this article, I find that those who eventually will become more, shall we say advanced in age, usually are the ones who will make this journey to their own personal Doctor G., the dermatologist. That age falls somewhere between puberty and senility, and not to be confused with virility.

So off we went. We live in a rural area, so it is about an hour’s drive to his location. We usually make a day of it and visit the local shops and restaurants that are not available to us where we live.

Since the “Rancherette” has been having difficulty with her cell phone not charging properly, she decided to check in at the phone store. On a side note, remember when they were actually called mobile phones and rested in a bag and had a cord? For that matter, remember when there were no portable phones at all? And what ever happened to the “tele” part of the word? Television is now TV, telegraph is now IM, (I looked that up, Instant Messaging.) and telemarketer, well, that is still used, however at one time they were called aluminum salesmen. No offense to any retired aluminum salesmen. But you get my drift.

Anyway, as we entered the “phone” store, there were several sales associates standing at the door. Very courteously, they opened the doors for us. Our time was limited because of our appointment with Dr. G., the dermatologist, so when we entered I remarked to the “Rancherette”, choose a sales person who looks “geeky”.

“Why?” she asked.  “They will know much more about what you want” I replied. I mean no disrespect for “geeks” are very intelligent when it comes to electronics, computers and all that nerdy stuff.

A very nice young man, probably in his early twenties, very early twenties, volunteered to help us. The “Rancherette” immediately began her requests. She asked questions that I did not know and he gave answers that I did not know. It was very clear they were speaking in a language of which I was unfamiliar. I learned later it is called “geek” language.

At this point, let me inform you that I have an old “flip” TELEphone. It rings with an actual TELEphone ring. It does not have a QWERTY keyboard, in fact, no keyboard at all. I have a computer for that. I am not profoundly literate about that either. I learned to type on a Royall typewriter, before electricity. My flip TELEphone does not IM or TEXT or take pictures. I have a Kodak
camera for taking pictures. It does not play music. I have a transistor radio for that. It does not have the capability of playing videos. I finally broke down and bought a used VCR for that. That set me back 20 bucks. I understand there is now a device that plays something called DVD’s.  I’ll discuss those inventions at a later date.

The “Rancherette” and the “Geek”, (sounds like a movie or country music song) must have hit it off. I remember she called him a geek and he took it as a compliment.

Once she made her choice, he whipped out his trusty tablet, (I do not mean the Big Chief tablets I used when I was much younger)

Big Chief

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and begun touching symbols and icons and lo and behold, her TELEphone information was staring us in the face on his tablet. After much discussion, they made the deal, and he began moving her data from her old TELEphone to her new TELEphone. Most people use only the …phone portion of the word. AND he saved her three bucks in the process. I knew this kid was good. I liked him.

So, I have a new respect for “geeks’. They have such knowledge. For example, they can form a series of binary digits on a physical storage medium in order to manipulate the data in any central processing unit even though the executable programs are stored in separate location, especially in the clouds.                                         And I have no idea what I just said.

We finally left the store to make our way to Dr. G’s office, but stopped for lunch at a local “Cajun” restaurant. Delightful and spicy, just what we needed. The “Rancherette” was so excited about her new TELEphone, she was beside herself. Could not put it down. One would have thought she had just got a new Barbie doll for Christmas. I was never that excited on Christmas morning.

After arriving at  Dr. G’s office, and being seated in his special recliner, the participant who previously was distressed had an epiphany.  Dr. G. informed that person that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, for whatever was concerning that person, was of a benign nature. It is related to heredity and basically comes from the aging process. You know, somewhere between puberty and senility, not to be confused with virility.

Phone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All in all, it was a good day. It also helps if one gets a new …phone.

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