Well, I Ain't Writin' No Haiku About It

Ruth left me a message last night that Uncle Jim passed away Sunday around noon.

Uncle Jim was Aunt Lois' husband.

So guess who is doing the officiatin'? There was a rumor going around that Olivet Christian Church in Center wasn't going to let any guest officiants after that mess that was the message at my aunt's service. Apparently this rumor is not-so-reality-based.

The service is Saturday, and like previous funerals involving husbands (or former husbands) of my aunts, I don't think I'll make it.

(At least I don't think I made it to Deana Mae's husband's funeral. I was pretty young at the time, but maybe I was there... one of my earliest memories was of seeing him still alive, though.)
Rachel's former husband Bill passed away back in 1999, I think... I know the service was on the day Ruth and I had to move out of that duplex in Overland Park, anyway. So I didn't make that one.

This time around, since I'm afraid I could go to prison for aiding my Aunt Rachel in killing "that S.O.B." that spoke so... well, "insultingly" doesn't really cut it, does it?

Anyway, I'm afraid I'd be all-too-cooperative in any plan she had to harm "that S.O.B.", so I think I'll stay away. I'm not sure if Dane is going. I need to see if we'd all like to contribute to some sort of flower arrangement or something.

There was this time when I was very young--say, mid-elementary age or so--and I realized my dad was so much older than everyone else's dad. Shawn Couch's dad coached us in little league, and did stuff with us. My dad was mostly... well, old and in the very early stages of the emphysema that finally took his life in the mid-80s. I remember thinking something along the lines of, "So, who do I have in the family who is like a younger dad?"

Uncle Jim came the closest. Uncle Bill (Rachel's husband) was way off in Omaha. I remember thinking it should be my mission in life to hang out with Uncle Jim, but on my next visit out to their place, I realized he was way too busy to hang out with me--and plus, most of the stuff they did on the farm was so foreign to me, I'd be of no use around the place.

I hadn't thought much about that until just now. Odd stuff, eh?

Anyway, I basically accepted that I didn't really have a "younger dad" figure like most of the kids I knew did, and I moved on with my life. Until now, when I've suddenly decided to dwell on it.

Okay, back to the discussion about urine samples in trucks.

The Great Orange Juice Fiasco

Okay, picture it: It's a lovely somewhat-spring-like morning. I had to run to the bank during plan time, because we were having Penny Wars at school, and I have an account at a bank that allows me to use the change-counting machine for not charge.

I'm on my way from the bank, a few strange coins that didn't want to go through the machine are in my pocket. I have the brilliant idea of stopping by Sonic to get an orange juice (because orange juice with crushed ice just ROCKS), and thus have some change to replace the change that wouldn't go through the machine.

I buy my orange juice with no problems at all. I put the straw in and have a sip. I have a drink carrier-thingy in the car, and I open it. I set the Styrofoam-like drinking container in the carrier, and vaguely notice it isn't a tight fit--a bit the opposite, really. However, I was getting ready to pull out into traffic, and didn't have time for such minor details.

I turn into traffic, and my precious, precious, PRECIOUS drink goes flipping over onto the passenger floorboard...

...and it lands "head first"...

...and the straw is forced up through the bottom of the container...

...and suddenly I've got this container that is leaking--scratch that--GUSHING orange juice from both ends.

Now, a little about my car: The driver's side window doesn't roll down.

So, keeping in mind that I've just entered traffic (and it wasn't THAT bad, but still, there were many vehicles I could have easily hit while driving and dealing with this container), and I'm holding this thing in my hand. Orange juice is getting on me, on the floorboard, on the drink caddy, and on my little catch-all between the seats.

Again, I can't just toss it out my window, as it won't roll down.

The up side? I had to deliver pizza that night, so I'd brought a change of pants with me.

All in all, I found this to be an enjoyable event, but I'd rather not repeat it.

Let this be a lesson to you that you should never trust a drink to stay in the drink caddy.