Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Ruby Monday

A nice little miracle occurred the other day.  

We are having a new carpet laid and this past weekend, with the help of neighbors, we tore out the old rug.  Some time later, after two hours of carpet ripping, hauling, vacuuming, sweeping, sweating, the whole mess, Michelle realized that the ruby was missing from her ring.  Since the item was one of the very first things I had given her nearly three years back, she was heart-broken.  She checked the trash receptacle outside, went through the vacuum cleaner dust bag, scanned the bare floor again and again; we both looked high and low, and looked some more, but nothing.  Even our neighbors pitched in.  I told Michelle we would replace the stone first thing with another ruby . . . but sad to say that is a guy’s approach to such things and the words did not comfort a gal’s heart much. 

Funny.  Yesterday (Monday) my fair lady came quietly to me and said with a slight smile, “Come here . . . follow me.”  Not knowing what was up I trailed her into my office.  There, Michelle pointed to the floor where my feet normally rest while at this computer.  Hmmm, looking up, bright, red and sparkling, as if waiting patiently for us to find her, there was the ruby.  How it had gone unnoticed all that time in that much-frequented spot was a total mystery to both of us.  After all the vacuuming, sweeping and walking about, we considered it a minor miracle.  There have been some very nice things occur to the Goodriches during this passing month of July but we both agree that this was the nicest of all.

Crime Don’t Pay, No Way—I think it was a week ago, maybe a month, a year, decade, who’s counting?—when I reported on the air boat captain down in the Glades who lost his paw while showing some tourists how Floridians train their pet gators to sit up and beg.  Well, it proved that the pet, Ali the Gator, liked a little human with his seafood and promptly snapped off the hand holding the fish.  As it turns out, losing his mitt might prove the least of Captain Hook’s problems for he now is being sent “up river” for six months for illegally feeding the begging brutes.  Plus, Mr. Hook will have to fork over with his one good hand a $500 fine.  Dang, tuff enuff to lose one’s paw and spend thousands of dollars getting healed up and haired over, but to be jugged for the next half year and fined half a grand on top of everything else just don’t seem cricket!     

Savages Getting Savager—Also down Glades way--at Key Largo or Key Smallo, I forget which--a hard-faced, hard-hearted, hard-luck woman, some 62-year-old bar fly known locally as the “Sea Hag,” staggered up to an acquaintance’s house, a former fisherman friend she had screwed in a business deal, and demanded one of the cold brews he and a bud were guzzling out back.   Although the answer was “no,” it may not have been the word itself that was so important in this case as the manner in which it was uttered and the choice of words that accompanied it.  Whatever, much like that Cape Coral cowboy high-nooning the door-to-door salesman the other day, the Sea Hag simply pulled out a pistol and pumped five slugs into the fisherman, just for his consideration.  The fisherman is now and forever 64.

My advice to any of you who tire of this spinning blue ball and long to get off of it, but lack the stones to do it:  Come south and let Florida tend to your needs—just look cross-eyed at some of the primates down here and they’ll escort your butt right outta this realm quicker than you can say ‘Elvis has left the build. . . .” 


 Pistol of the Day