Spring is perking right along and even though some recent pics of places like Yellowstone show a plethora of snow still on the ground, it won't be long now until the buffalo there will be head butting nosey, picture taking tourists once again.
And all over the mountainous regions people are preparing for the summer migration of old retired folks to come rushing westward like the proverbial lemmings over a cliff. Campers will be packed, gas bought, and motels and RV parks will be full once again of buffet emptying hordes of gray-haired old men and their blue haired old wives.
Miss Trixie and I have been busy as usual with family and friends and work on the farm so not too much time to spare every week, so it seems and that's all good when you are retired like Ol’ Dutch. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop they say, and I get in enough trouble on my own without old Beelzebub adding to that list of infractions.
This past week we were saddened to hear of a close friend passing on to his Heavenly reward and since he was kinto Miss Trixie of a sort, we attended the funeral and burial. It was good to see a lot of the old friends from the area and I don't use that term lightly as I noticed just how old they all had gotten since last we shook hands. I mean Ol’ Dutch feels kind of old some days but hanging with that bunch made me feel like a Spring chicken once again let me tell you what.
Hugs were exchanged all around and conversations flowed as to where they all were living now, grandkids born and of course the inevitable surgeries they all had in the last year. This is always accompanied by the display of the scars to prove it baring old skin that had long lost any elasticity it may have had and ended up ruining my lunch of turkey on rye.
The old married women always inquire as to Miss Trixie and I as to when we will get married as they want her to get my pension and inheritance. And the old men also push me towards matrimonial entanglement as they hate to see anyone single and happy when they were long ago lassoed and piggin string tied into submission by their wives.
Ol’ Dutch has long suffered under the constant barrage from these married old folks and finally I broke under the strain, and I think I finally found a way to get them to leave that subject alone. They have a sneaky way to bring it up about someone getting married then saying “you’re next” with a lively grin from their denture filled mugs.
This time however, Ol’ Dutch was ready for them. When they tried to steer me toward the black tuxedo clad aisle of no return, I would bring up poor old Joe passing at the young age of 87 and smilingly chime in “You’re next.” As you can imagine this led to a quick change of the subject and often a fast exit from the conversation by some of the people so set on getting Ol’ Dutch before the Justice of the Peace in the Great State of Texas or anywhere they can hold me down long enough to do the deed.
I know of no other greater cause of divorce than getting married and so I am trying to keep those statistics from increasing any more in this country if I can. Don't ever say Ol’ Dutch doesn't do his part in making America great again. For I have seen the promised land and I will lead you to it.