RRN Online Volume 490

October 22 '05

Volume 490

Demolition Duo Jason And Wayne

Outbuilding Minus Lean-to When Sarah moved from Oxford Street to Highland a few years ago, she was glad the property included an outbuilding. As outbuildings go, it had a few years on it, and had already assumed a "weathered look." The main part of the building was enclosed, but the hinged double doors didn’t close well enough to keep out small animals. Nonetheless, it was suitable short-term storage for some items. On the left side of the building there was a lean-to that may have served as shelter for a lawn mower. The roof of the lean-to had been punctured by a falling tree limb and should have been repaired, but fixing it was not a priority at the time and somehow the needed repair never happened.

In the years that I’ve kept Sarah’s yard groomed, I’ve often thought of cleaning out the lean-to as most everything inside wasn’t really worth keeping. But, riding by and peering inside on my John Deere was always a lot easier than finding the time to take a pickup load to the dump, excuse me…landfill. I suppose, I’d still be riding by had I not recently noticed the roof of the lean-to had caved in. What once could have been described as rustic suddenly looked dilapidated, so I decided it was time to demolish the lean-to.

These days, it’s a problem for me to find my pickup when I need it. Jason, who once had no desire to be seen driving my truck, uses it to attend classes at Itawamba Community College in Fulton, work at McCoy’s Grocery in Ecru, and visit his girlfriend in Columbus. Luckily, I took a vacation day on a recent Friday that happened to coincide with Jason being at home that afternoon. He wasn’t very enthusiastic when I told him I needed his help in tearing down the lean-to.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

"I’d say about an hour," I responded. "Is that important?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Emily’s coming up, and I need to clean up the house. Plus, I’ve got some homework."

Isn’t it strange how one’s priorities change over time? Even five years ago, cleaning house and doing homework were not part of Jason’s vocabulary, let alone his lifestyle. Yard work and other tasks involving manual labor don’t yet fit Jason’s lifestyle, but I expect that, too, will change as time goes by.

"Well, your Aunt Sara Sue will appreciate it, and I need your help," I cajoled.

After rounding up a couple of hammers and a pair of leather gloves for each of us, we piled into the pickup and drove down the street to Sarah’s house.

We had the roof completely down before Sarah knew we were in her backyard. She doesn’t hear well, you know.

"What are y’all trying to do, kill yourselves?" she quizzed. "Aren’t you afraid there are snakes under all the junk?"

"If I see a snake, I’ll chop its head off," I responded, echoing the words Sarah and I once heard our younger brother James brag in a similar situation.

James was about nine years old at the time. He did, in fact, see a snake, but as he hightailed it from the brush pile, yelling "snake, snake," he appeared to give little thought to chopping off the snake’s head. I didn’t see Sarah react to the oft-recalled family memory and figured she must not have heard what I said.

"If there were any snakes around, they left when the roof hit the ground," Jason assured Sarah.

While I felt that would certainly be the case with regard to a snake with good sense, I wasn’t so sure we were dealing with sensible snakes. I remained cautious for the remainder of the afternoon and took careful note of what I picked up and where I stood.

After breaking down the roof into manageable chunks and loading it into the bed of the pickup, we grabbed a few junk items and made our first run to the landfill.

On our way, Jason sarcastically commented, "About an hour, huh? It’s already been forty-five minutes."

"We’re about done," I replied, thinking one more trip would suffice.

A half-hour later, it was clear to both of us that two more trips would be necessary, possibly more.

"Let’s save the rest of this for tomorrow," Jason begged.

"I thought you had to work," I replied.

"No, I’m going to the ballgame," he stated.

"Then, we need to finish this today," I reasoned, "while, I’ve got some help."

Jason was hotter that he’d been all summer. I was tired and hot, myself, but from what I could gather, I was in better shape than he was.

On our third trip to the landfill, Jason reminded me once more that I was bad off on my time estimate for the demolition task.

"Your calculations are worse than Rayanne’s," he railed, and if that were not sufficient, continued, "You’re as bad as Brett, who’ll say, ‘Oh, I can fix that in ten minutes,’ and ten hours later he’s still working on it."

"Ouch, that hurts," I responded.

So, I underestimated the time required. I admit it, but there was more stuff inside the lean-to than I thought. And, what do you think Jason would have said if I had told him from the beginning that I needed his help for the next three hours?

"We really need to clean out the inside, too," I shared, before calling it a day, "but that will definitely have to wait until cooler weather."

Sarah’s outbuilding looks a little smaller, now, without the lean-to, but it’ll make my job of mowing around the building a little easier. By this time next year, I expect grass will have filled in the bare spots created by the lean-to, and the thoughts of the hard work required to demolish it will have filled in, too.

Moon Shine Harrassment Vindicated

The white SUV stopped abruptly in front of Sarah’s house as if a group of "rollers" were about to unload. Under cover of darkness, Sarah and I were watching her property through the front window, while enjoying the warmth of her living room on a cool October evening. We sprang towards the front door, and about the time we got it opened, something white protruded from the passenger-side window.

A sneering voice shouted, "How about that Mrs. Brown," while a hand slapped what was then more obviously someone’s bare backside.

"That’s a first," Sarah exclaimed. "I’ve never been mooned before."

Neither of us was able to get the vehicle’s tag number. It sped away, before we could get past the porch. Yet, in about the time it takes to drive around the block, the vehicle was back, and the scene repeated itself. Only this time, the language that was yelled from the SUV was less than suitable for a family newsletter. And, once more, we were not able to discern the tag number.

There aren’t many occasions that I wish I had kept the double-barreled shotgun I sold to Tony Austin in a fit of sentimentality, but that night was one of those occasions. A well placed blast of rock salt or even birdshot would have given me tremendous satisfaction and would have surely given the youthful offender plenty of reason to keep his bare backside where bare backsides belong, out of sight.

To persons who think it is okay for their children to decorate someone’s yard with toilet tissue and consider it a harmless act, I offer this incident as an example of the fallacy in their philosophy. Allowing children to commit minor infractions regarding personal property and littering laws is comparable to allowing youth to smoke marijuana and expecting they will never experiment with more dangerous drugs. Children who are weaned on yard decorating will graduate to more advanced forms of vandalism such as "forking," seeding, and the scattering of shredded paper or plastic when the wrongdoing of childhood looses its thrill.

Unless, I’m badly mistaken the young man who mooned Sarah was the same one who dumped shredded toilet tissue on the edge Sarah’s front lawn a few nights later as Sarah’s son, Brett, and I watched helplessly from the carport. The vehicle was the same make and model as the one Sarah and I had seen, but this time it didn’t stop. Instead the passenger emptied the contents of a leaf bag onto the lawn without the vehicle ever stopping.

Brett had come home for the Ole Miss/ Alabama game and volunteered to help guard his mom’s yard. Following the game, Brett hoped to capture some of the nightly goings-on with his camcorder, which we could turn over to the police. Unfortunately, the camcorder wasn’t setup at the time the tissue was scattered, and we squandered the best opportunity of the evening. We abandoned our watch at a quarter of three on Sunday morning.

Sunday night was a busy night for teens. There were no classes scheduled for Monday in the City Schools, and the streets were alive with mischief makers. Pontotoc has a loosely enforced curfew of midnight for youth eighteen and under. As I understand the interpretation given by a neighborhood teen, underage teens are not harassed by police after midnight unless they appear to be causing trouble.

It was close to midnight when a white truck stopped in front of Sarah’s house. As soon as I realized the "mooner" was back, only in a different vehicle, I made a dash for the truck. This time, I was close enough to read the tag number as it sped away, but there was no tag to read.

Sarah had then had enough of the shenanigans and dialed 911.

"Did you get the tag number?" she asked, hoping to relay the information to the operator.

"No, it didn’t have a tag, but it’s a white pickup truck."

"She wants to know what kind of truck?"

I don’t know the make. I was too busy trying to see the tag to notice."

Incredibly, the same truck reappeared. Having made the block, the "mooner" was back, shouting and hollering, and this time I made sure to find out the make of the pickup.

"It’s a Chevrolet with Z71 on the back fender," I relayed to Sarah, who was still on the phone demanding the police do something about the situation. "Tell them it turned down A. J. Robinson Road."

Within a few minutes a police cruiser passed in front of Sarah’s house but didn’t turn onto A. J. Robinson Road. Carroll Kyle, one of Sarah’s neighbor’s drove by and stopped to chat with us. We explained what was happening, and he left.

When I saw a suspicious looking white truck slowing as it neared us, I stepped close to the road, knowing the driver would be aware I was watching. Realizing it was the truck we had reported to the police, I reached down and picked up a four-pound sized piece of pavement and was prepared to throw it at the truck if the "mooner" showed himself. Yet, just as it passed, I saw what appeared to be a masked figure in the bed of the pickup. Whomever it was, growled loudly like an animal. It took a lot of self-control to refrain from sending the piece of pavement hurling towards the figure.

I had not paid much attention to the car following a couple of hundred feet behind the pickup, but when I saw it was a police cruiser, I wanted to shout, "That’s them," but I settled for simply pointing toward the pickup. A second police cruiser soon followed.

Minutes later Carroll Kyle returned and said the police had someone pulled over on A. J. Robinson Road. I asked if he had time to take Sarah and me down there. We pulled in behind the police cars, and Carroll and I got out. Carroll told the officers that Sarah and I had called in the complaint. One officer was busy writing a citation while the other one kept an eye on one young man outside of the truck and whoever was still inside the truck.

An officer asked if I could identify the offender. I explained that the large butt we saw filled the window, and we couldn’t see anyone’s face. He also wanted to know if I could identify the young man as the one in the back of the truck. I explained I thought the rider had on a mask. The other officer began a search of the bed of the truck and produced a motorcycle helmet.

"Does this look like it?" he asked.

"It could be," I replied, "but it was too dark for me to be sure."

At the time, none of the occupants cared to admit to the "mooning" episode. Carroll and I decided we weren’t needed, and having satisfied my need to confront one of the offenders, we walked back to the car and Carroll drove us back to Sarah’s.

One officer stopped by Sarah’s later to report that the young man, who was seen in the back of the pickup, finally admitted to the charge of indecent exposure, but only when the police told the four young men that each of them would be charged and jailed unless the guilty one confessed. The officer told us when the offenders would appear in court and that they had written a total of seven citations for the incident. He further assured us the judge would not take lightly the charge of indecent exposure, especially with the act of lewdness and disrespect being directed toward a woman.

It was around 1:00 a.m. when I left Sarah’s house, but I felt like the excitement was over, at least for Sunday evening. Unfortunately, the season for vandalism is still young. I imagine I’ll be pulling guard duty through Halloween and beyond.

It’s like Sarah says, "I may not be able to stop them from rolling my yard, but I can sure make it hard for them to do it."

Bodock Beau Short Bits Of Humor

The following were found on the website of Reader’s Digest.

Quacking Up

A duck walks into a drugstore and asks for a tube of ChapStick.

The cashier says to the duck, "That'll be $1.49."

The duck replies, "Put it on my bill!"

Look It Up

A panda walks into a bar, sits down and orders a sandwich. He eats, pulls out a gun and shoots the waiter dead.

As the panda stands up to go, the bartender shouts, "Hey! Where are you going? You just shot my waiter and you didn't pay for the food."

The panda yells back, "Hey, man, I'm a panda. Look it up!"

The bartender opens his dictionary to panda: "A tree-climbing mammal of Asian origin, characterized by distinct black and white coloring. Eats shoots and leaves."

Man's Best Friend

A poodle and a collie were walking down the street.

The poodle turned to the collie and complained, "My life is a mess. My owner is mean, my girlfriend is having an affair with a German shepherd, and I'm nervous as a cat."

"Why don't you go see a psychiatrist?" asked the collie.

"I can't," replied the poodle. "I'm not allowed on the couch."

Thick Walls Make Good Neighbors

Last night I played a blank tape at full blast. The mime next door went nuts. -- Steven Wright

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