I know a sure-fire way to make a million dollars overnight. It's legal in all states, it will bring no shame upon your family, and it will be something you can brag about to your grandkids. I have even shared this idea with several people. Do you know how they responded? They scoffed at me! I didn't even ask for a percentage of the earnings.
Here's how to do it: invent a starter for a small engine (lawnmower, chainsaw, weedeater, etc.) that does not involve a pull string, but a regular old key. Pretty simple, huh? I know for a fact that women all over America, and I don't use that name lightly - I include Canada, the United States, Mexico, Central and South America - will rush out and buy those newfangled machines. Maybe even women in (gasp!) EUROPE and (swoon) ASIA! Heckfire, I'll bet even ladies from AUSTRALIA!!!! would jump on this! I'm telling you, this is a big deal. I don't know any woman who enjoys pulling that string over and over and over and over.... to no avail. It is so frustrating! With several of those implements, I even have to put my foot on it to hold it down while I yank up on the string. Over and over and over and over and over. Hunched over, sweating, panting, and getting a sore arm from pulling that blasted string. I read somewhere that you never forget how to curse when you are a DIY homeowner. I maintain that the same is true when you do your own yard maintenance.
Those with the Y-chromosome have quickly snuffed out my idea by saying, yes, but you would add at least five pounds to the weight of the apparatus! Hey fellas! That's called INVENTING! Think outside of the box, for crying out loud! I never said that this millionaire idea would be easy! Good Gravy, if it were that simple, someone would have already thought it up and we wouldn't be having this exchange.
Last weekend I was mentally prepared to do some hard-core logging with my newly repaired chainsaw. I had my official logging Carhartts on (they could walk out to the woods on their own, I'm sorry to tell you, as they have been logging a few times this summer), my bar oil and gasoline in gloved hands. Mom and I lugged all of the equipment out to the woods, found the treasure and got set to work. Guess what. The chainsaw wouldn't start. There I was, all dressed up and no toolage (it's possible that I have made this word up, but just go with it). I tried and tried and tried to get that thing started as my mom looked on in dismay. We walked back to the house, picked up a bigger, heavier chainsaw and headed into the woods again. Back at the sweet spot, I bent down to the chain saw and heaved on the string. Over and over and over. By then I was ready to challenge a trucker to an expletive contest. Sweat was dripping in to my eyes and down my back. The cool morning was replaced by a hot afternoon and the horseflies had found us. I would have traded just about anything for a machine that would easily start. The sad ending to this story is that I didn't cut any wood that day. Chainsaws 2, Gretty 0.
By now all of you sharp minded ones shouldn't even be reading this, you should be jotting down numbers and sketches and ideas. The quicker you invent it, the sooner you'll be living the life of luxury. Please think of me as you are sipping those pink lemonade margaritas by the pool at sunset.....
Three Mules Abreast
There are a couple of things you should know before reading any further. First of all, I love road trips. I especially love to take road trips with my mom and my daughter. We listen to loud music (Steve Miller Band is great Road Trip Music), yell at other drivers ("Thanks a lot, Stupid!" is one of our more famous sayings), marvel at majestic scenery (the Vermilion Cliffs and the Grand Staircase are amazing). My daughter, Sofie, will read voraciously in the back seat. She doesn't like to be interrupted while reading, but every once in a while we can get a "ROCK ON!" out of her, and she loves to repeat our outbursts of road rage (that's how we can have a famous saying). She's seven. The other thing you need to know here is that in spite of being such an advanced reader, she still gets the words "bra" and "breast" mixed up. Don't ask me how this is possible.
Last week the three of us were hurtling back from a quick visit to Flagstaff, Arizona. We were on our second day of the return trip, so we were getting a little rummy. Our road trip philosophy is basically to switch drivers every two hours, and at the switch we have to take care of any other needs: buy gas, get something to eat, use the bathroom. We drive for 12 or 13 hours in a day - that's how we can get there in just over a day and a half. So we were coming along I-84 (which, by the way is also called Old Oregon Trail Highway), passing by an abandoned cement factory in Lime, Oregon, and then continuing on through some desolate curves and dry hills. We came around a corner, wishing we would see a place offering up something to eat. Instead, we saw a little shack with a lot of old cars left around the outside, and driving up a hill away from it all was a covered wagon. As I was the driver on the curvy road, I couldn't stare too much at it, but both Mom and I were exclaiming and shouting, "Look, Sofie! There's a covered wagon! See it? See the horses? It's just like what Laura Ingalls Wilder rode in!" We were excitedly talking over one another and Sofie could hardly pull her eyes away from her book, but she did grunt in acknowledgement. Then Mom said with wonder, "Wow, a covered wagon! Look, it has three mules abreast!"
It was silent for a moment and then I began to snicker. Mom looked insulted. "What?!", she demanded. I started to laugh. "I can't even imagine what she thinks that means!" Mom realized what it was that she had said, and then she started to laugh, too. By this time I was crying from laughing so hard, and it was hard work to keep my eyes open to see the road. Finally one of us asked Sofie what she thought that had meant. "Well", she said, "I didn't really know. I guess it means three mules are next to each other and their breasts are touching." Of course that made me howl with laughter. Mom was trying to be very proper and not laugh, mostly because she didn't want me careening into a ditch. She explained what she had meant. An hour later, we traded drivers. I got in to the passenger seat and started giggling. I could hardly talk, but I managed to squeal, "Three mules abreast!" and then I dissolved with laughter.
A week later, after the first day of school, Sofie and I were home having an afternoon snack. There were some old lame balloons creeping around our house, and she grabbed two of them and stuffed them under her new copper colored tunic. "Look at my bras!", she exclaimed proudly.
Last week the three of us were hurtling back from a quick visit to Flagstaff, Arizona. We were on our second day of the return trip, so we were getting a little rummy. Our road trip philosophy is basically to switch drivers every two hours, and at the switch we have to take care of any other needs: buy gas, get something to eat, use the bathroom. We drive for 12 or 13 hours in a day - that's how we can get there in just over a day and a half. So we were coming along I-84 (which, by the way is also called Old Oregon Trail Highway), passing by an abandoned cement factory in Lime, Oregon, and then continuing on through some desolate curves and dry hills. We came around a corner, wishing we would see a place offering up something to eat. Instead, we saw a little shack with a lot of old cars left around the outside, and driving up a hill away from it all was a covered wagon. As I was the driver on the curvy road, I couldn't stare too much at it, but both Mom and I were exclaiming and shouting, "Look, Sofie! There's a covered wagon! See it? See the horses? It's just like what Laura Ingalls Wilder rode in!" We were excitedly talking over one another and Sofie could hardly pull her eyes away from her book, but she did grunt in acknowledgement. Then Mom said with wonder, "Wow, a covered wagon! Look, it has three mules abreast!"
It was silent for a moment and then I began to snicker. Mom looked insulted. "What?!", she demanded. I started to laugh. "I can't even imagine what she thinks that means!" Mom realized what it was that she had said, and then she started to laugh, too. By this time I was crying from laughing so hard, and it was hard work to keep my eyes open to see the road. Finally one of us asked Sofie what she thought that had meant. "Well", she said, "I didn't really know. I guess it means three mules are next to each other and their breasts are touching." Of course that made me howl with laughter. Mom was trying to be very proper and not laugh, mostly because she didn't want me careening into a ditch. She explained what she had meant. An hour later, we traded drivers. I got in to the passenger seat and started giggling. I could hardly talk, but I managed to squeal, "Three mules abreast!" and then I dissolved with laughter.
A week later, after the first day of school, Sofie and I were home having an afternoon snack. There were some old lame balloons creeping around our house, and she grabbed two of them and stuffed them under her new copper colored tunic. "Look at my bras!", she exclaimed proudly.
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