Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Profound to Profane

I don’t know if the minds of most people bounce around from the profound to the profane on a daily basis, but my mind certainly does. I was once called a philosopher by the dean of students at my son’s Catholic boarding school; mostly I’m called “not right” or “nuts.”

Is it nuts to announce that there are similarities to volunteering with the Ruritan supper set-up and being the den mother for a bunch of cub scouts? Cub scouts do good work in their communities while having a lot of fun, with help from their mothers. This sounds much like what the men of Ruritan do, but with the help of wives.

There are many men in Coker Creek who have no wives and have well outgrown listening to their mommies (assuming they ever listened to them). They’re a good-hearted bunch and are ready, willing, and able to take direction from whatever woman shows up first in the Ruritan kitchen. I don’t really know the drill, but I’m willing to wing-it if no other woman with a longer Ruritan history is in attendance; however, I tend to put things in the wrong place, and since we’re mostly people “of a certain age,” moving things from their usual spots can be rather disorienting.

The first time I was in charge of set-up, I had the hamburgers after the salads, and we had to move everything into the proper places before we could commence to serve supper. Just last night, someone helping me put the dish washing water on the dish rinsing side of the sink. It was a mess trying to keep people from pitching potato salad spoons onto my clean flatware. I don’t try to think outside of the box or color outside the lines; I just don’t always have good control of my crayon. I sure am glad when someone else shows up to take over.

I want to be clear on one point, I’m not helping set up the kitchen because I think this is women’s work; I’m doing it because Richard’s on the board and I need something to keep me busy, and out of trouble, while he’s in the meeting. I did spend over two decades catering functions in every manner of meeting and party place; so, I feel somewhat qualified.

Even rule-following Richard is beginning to expand the parameters of the boxes we live in; he made a cake out of beets. But, he did swear me to secrecy about what was in the cake until all the accolades were in.

Now, here’s a little ditty that rattled out of my brain:

The Zit in My Armpit

I have a zit in my armpit;
It hurts so bad I could cry.
The doctor said it’s MRSA,
And it could get worser
But it’s unlikely I will die.

He gave me a pill prescription,
And liquid soap, and some salve.
If used daily, without fail
From hair to my toenail,
It will cure whatever I have.