There are times I am better at writing my thoughts than speaking them. I enjoy the opportunity to verbally relate a story as it gives more freedom of expression. I enjoy the organization of being able to write a story, though when writing one has to go to greater effort to paint a verbal picture for the reader. I do not claim to be adept at creating either written or verbal stories. Practically every story I tell is an event that happened in my past. As an illustration, I will relate what to me is one of the most bizarre events I ever witnessed.

Have you ever heard a noise you couldn’t explain? This happened to me many years at one of my previous jobs. I didn’t think anything about it until one of my coworkers yelled at me.
The office I worked in at this time was always cold. It was that way even in the summer time. Often, the customers who came into the office would complain: “You all hanging meat in here somewhere?”

I have received emails for some time generated by several writers stating they were members of the greatest generation and were, therefore, “HIP!”
What, in the writer’s opinion, did this mean?

Sometimes what a person says points to a contradiction in other areas of life or reasoning. I’m definitely not pointing fingers—I know I have and undoubtedly continue to have contradictions in my life.

I’m going to make a confession to you, Dear Reader. I am writing this paragraph after I have at least halfway finished this article. I just looked at my email, and the topic of one item was this: “Does the sex of your dog make allergies worse?”

Before I married, I thought myself an expert on the subject. It did not matter that I was not a trained marriage counselor, I shared advice with anyone who would listen. I charged them what it cost me—absolutely nothing.
Now that I’m married, I realize how little I knew about marriage. I know less now than the day I said “I do”. I am thankful that all that marital advice I’ve given for years was free. It was worth what it cost.

The church of which I am currently a member put out a magnet a few years ago with the church’s logo and this catchphrase: Loveland—Where Everybody is Somebody.
I thought this a comforting sentiment. Church should be the one place that everyone feels like someone, no “big ‘I’s or little ‘you’s’”. Unfortunately, that is not always the case.

The first time I remember becoming aware of church dinners was when I was a young child. Maynardville Baptist (now the First Baptist Church of Maynardville) was going to have a homecoming. I didn’t understand at the time that homecoming was a special service to welcome former members and pastors to renew “auld acquaintance.

Many years ago Porter Wagoner did a recitation on his television show entitled “Trouble in the Amen Corner.” You can access it on YouTube.
The recitation tells the story of an old gentleman named Ira who sang in his church choir. His cracked voice did not harmonize well with the rest of the choir and he sometimes missed words.

I have been blessed (cursed?) to find humor where others would not even look. Let us consider the difference between “bloops” and “bleeps”.
When I was young, a neighbor of mine once quoted a little poem that my Aunt Lidia found particularly amusing:

I am “fed UP”. What does that exactly mean? For me, it does not mean that I have eaten so much food that I am no longer hungry.
Just to clarify, I’m really not “fed UP” about anything in particular, possibly other than the ever-increasing price of gasoline. I received an email from a friend titled “An Amazing English Two Letter Word”. The message reflected that the word “up” in the English language has more meanings than any other two letter word, and can function as five of the eight parts of speech we spent so much time learning in school.

I recently received an email with the phrase, “It’s weird being the same age as old people.”

My father had three full sisters who lived to maturity—Duskie, Fleetie and Vallie. One of them was once talking about their names. One sister said, “They gave Frank [my dad], Fred and Faustine normal names.” Another sister replied, “Well, Mother sure whopped it to us!” My uncle replied, “Who ever heard of a man named Purse?”