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Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Fwd: I Wish I use to Have a Unicorn

                                   I Wish I Use to Have a Unicorn

I have the luxury of day caring my very active and sometimes hot tempered four year old granddaughter.  A cute little curly haired, blond angel with more time-outs than the meanest hockey player in the whole universe. From giggles, hugs and kisses while sitting in my lap to BOOM!....standing alone in the bathroom thinking about what wrong she had done in less time than it takes to warm up 'Beefaroni'.  
The language she learns in pre-school!
After one such time-out, and a hug with a "I still love you very much" she told me of all the wishes that she would wish if Santa came to her house.
"Grandpa you know what?" ( this is how she starts every sentence, or, it's with a Grandpa look at this!)  "W   H   A    T ?"  I ask with the full knowledge that this is going to be an indefinite period of time that's filled the weirdest collection of rambling unconnected thoughts that all 4 yr. olds have wired on chocolate ( her mom's coming to pick her up in 5min. and this is how I get back at her for being a teenage girl).  "Grandpa you know what?"  (again)  "W    H    A    T    !" "Look at this!"
"Charlotte" ( in my best cautionary tone that portrays the fact that grandpa's had 10 hrs. of 'you know whats?' and 'look at this!' already today).
"I wish you and everybody else wouldn't get mad at me. And I wish I liked broccoli and going to bed when it's still light outside. And my biggest best wish is,....I wish I use to have a unicorn! A purple one that could fly so fast that......."
"I wish I use to have a unicorn?" I interrupted ( oh sure I wanted to tell her everybody wasn't mad at her, broccoli was good for her and how in the summer months the sun barely sets at this latitude. But, 'I wish I use to have a unicorn!') "A purple flying unicorn? And you've already given up on the idea of ever owning one? What quashed that dream?"
"GRANDPA, unicorns aren't real! But they use to be..."
"Mommy's here!" came the happy sing-song jingle coming up the stairs. Coat, boots, back-pack, tattered old blankie and two videos that shorten the day were all collected. Then with a hurried 'We'll see you tomorrow!'
All's quiet. All the noise, questions, guess what, look at this, hurried life and unconditional love exited the house. In its place the tick and tock of the old battery clock over the fireplace. And a small dog breathing a lot easier.
' I wish I use to have a unicorn', kept going over and over in my mind. At 4 yrs. old a dream has already died. The belief in, the hope of and the knowledge there never will be, has already come been and gone from my granddaughters life. For just a blink of an eye she could of had a unicorn. Purple and able to fly across that new field of dreams she had just started to cultivate. Virgin ground without the weeds of reality, that ruin many crops of our dreams. But at four years old the weeds have claimed the hope of a small girl, and her wish of ever owning a unicorn.
The wishes and hopes and dreams of our children are very special. They are the lucky few that can do, be, hope and try to have anything they want. It's up to us as adults to nurture their field of dreams. Protect it.
All to quick someone wants to enter that special area of their imagination and tell them they can't grow that in their environment. The unknowing older multitudes that know better, that kill young plants in early fields. Watch what your children watch, who they play and talk with. Be mindful of your conversation when they are in the room, and pick up your magazines. Young dreamers have big eyes and ears.
I sometimes wish our kids could grow up like most of us did, without the computer. Childhood mysteries that dad and mom would answer at an appropriate date are now solved over at Billy's house on his computer when his mom goes to the mall. I rather enjoyed my constantly incorrect childhood knowledge changing from week to week and friend to friend about girls, cars and what chemicals under the kitchen sink will burn.
Did I mention girls?  
It all depended on which friend had the older brother that bragged about how much he knew for sure about girls and  life. And then through the process of time was proven wrong again and again.
"Tommy's brother said there's no Santa! But then again he said girls can become boys at birth if a mom or dad blew really hard in their mouths."
Santa lived on to die another day.
Dreams were harvested then replanted, harvested and sometimes replanted again. A crop of dreams took many years to mature and harvest. I had many fields of dreams and wishes in those years. Now most those fields are harvested and bare. Age does that.
'I wish I use to have a unicorn' haunts me.
I wish she still wished she could have a unicorn.

Bob Niles

Fwd: Why am I still in hot water if there's a water shortage?

                 Why am I still in hot water if there's a water shortage?

"Why are you just sitting under that tree?" My wife asks before she is even out of the car. "But maybe my first question should of been is where did you get that tree? Is that the chestnut tree from the Pounds yard across the street?" Again questioning and accusing  before she completely out of the car and both feet on the driveway.
"Good observation honey! You're absolutely right. They stuck an orange fence around it after they demolished the house so no kids would be climbing up in it before they cut it down. I just beat them too it and planted it here."
"You can't just go cutting,...or planting a cut,...???how did you get it over here? And what's that around your neck and wrists? Your stinking sports socks?"
"Oh I'm just playing it cool honey."
"Oh I'm the one who's going to be playing it cool honey! And for a long time!"
"You remember Ron and Dereck from my bowling team well they had a truck and a chain and I had a plan. And now I'm enjoying the cool shade under my new chestnut tree." BONK! "Look a chestnut just fell on my head, that's good luck!"
"No it was me and it was a rock! Not good luck." My wife stated now looking for another projectile in the form of a rock.
"Did you know the shade from a tree is cooler than shade from a building? The tree cools itself by water evaporation through its leaves thus creating a cool dome all around itself. And around my neck and wrists are my tube socks filled with frozen rice. The frozen raw rice form a tight fit around the areas with a lot of blood flow thus cooling me."
"Speaking of blood flowing what's in front of all my curtains covering all the windows?"
"Funny you should notice that. I nailed wet sheets over all the windows."
"You drove nails through my Venetian plaster to hang wet sheets, which are probably dripping on the hardwood floors so,...because,...??" She stuttered as she expertly launched proof she'd found another rock.
"It's just that the tape wouldn't carry the weight of the wet sheets." I defend myself as I dodge her expert aim.  "And they are there to cool the house. As warm breezes pass through them the water evaporated from your Egyptian cotton sheets thus creating a cooling effect. And the Egyptians knew how to keep things cool."
"Not as cool as your going to find it Mr. King Tut! Oh and look we have a pool in our front yard! Or is it just a massive pool cover!?"
"That's exactly what the neighbours will think when come back from holidays is that we have an in ground pool. Now whose keeping up with the Jones? And it only cost you a couple of hundred dollars honey. We can have faux pool parties around this beauty. Girls in bikinis with bikinis all in my yard expecting to swim but I'll just say the PH balance is too off to swim in your bikini right now. We'll be the talk of the neighbourhood!"
"We already are! And it ain't good! Mr. Bikini!" She exclaimed with both arms in the air. Which was unfortunate because when she tripped over the hose she couldn't catch herself.
"Why is there a hose running through my front door?" She demanded, in a yelling kind of way, from an almost horizontal position. "And why, may I ask is steam coming out of the lawn sprinkler which is where this hose seems to be attached to!"
I was surprised at how quickly she had righted herself. She then stooped over either looking for rocks or noticing the blood oozing out the hole in her stockings. But either way it would be a 'duck and cover' operation for me.
"Well," I defended while looking for cover "they say not to water our lawn or wash the car or fill up the grandkids pool because of a water shortage. But they don't say anything about hot water. There seems to be no shortage of hot water, so I thought I'd water our thirsty lawn from the bottom of the hot water tank."
"You can't water the lawn from the hot water t-a-n-k!
She expelled a thrust of air from her lungs in pronouncing tank because it was said while throwing a rock my way.
"That's what the guy from city hall said when he stopped in his car." I said ducking behind my new chestnut tree. Which, caused it to lean a little to far into far into the yard and then it went from vertical to a more horizontal plane. "I told him I could, and showed him how I hooked it up at the tank. He continued to say I couldn't do that but I showed him the tank even has its own hose tap at the bottom. Any----way,....we have to appear down a city hall on Tuesday at 10:00 am. I told him it was quite impossible as you have a job."
My tree had now attained full TIMBER status. Fully relaxed in a linear fashion across the pool cover and the wife's prized roses. I took a hit to the thigh with a piece of cement from the walkway. Made a mental note of where it bounced so I could retrieve it for repair.
"Well I don't know about you," the wife started out with just a tinge of anger, disgust and possibly hate,  "but I will certainly be cool tonight. There'll be no you, you heat radiating mammal  with your heavy breathing getting our, MY bed all hot!"
'Enjoy your tree Tarzan!' was the last thing she said. Then the sprinkler shut off, the hose was then thrown out the door and then the door achieved an even plane to the front of the house with a loud BANG!

Tuesday 10:20 outside city hall.
Well I showed them! You can water your front lawn from the tap at the bottom of your hot water tank. Then they showed me how very expensive it is in the form of a ticket. Good thing the wife's at work. Now if I can just get back in the house.

Bob Niles

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Fwd: Cutting the grass sucks!

    Cutting the grass sucks!

"Honey I can't go to your sisters this afternoon because I have to cut the lawn!" I yell over the football game. She unplugs the vacuum, throws her arms in the air and gives me that look. You know the look, every wife has one. The one you never saw before marriage, but now after several years it has become a prominent facial expression.
"What?" I question. "I'm cutting the lawn after the game is over. I'm  waiting till the game has ended. Unlike you. You know I hate it when you vacuum during the game. And I think the rest of the people in the stadium don't care for it either!"
Ya right cutting the lawn, this summer? She knew I was just trying to get out of visiting her wonderful sister who has it so much better than her. Wow! Her sister has a vacuum with a ball on it. What is it with her and sucking? I dare not bring it up as I know for sure it will get around to me.
It's not the grass that needs cutting, but the dandelions. Them and their sunny disposition! Bright happy yellow faces blowing, dancing and waving at me - look at us we are survivors! They're about half a meter high my neighbour with the perfect lawn tells me. "Hey Bob them weeds are about 18 in. high on your lawn. Just about as tall as the fine looking wheat you're growing in your garden there."
I correct him by pointing out that it's corn, not wheat, I'm growing, and that he should jump on the metric train at some point in this century. He responds with something about not biblical there were 12 disciples not 10, then laughs and goes in his house. Which is what I wanted all along anyway.
I don't really want to walk the whole yard just to cut their heads off. Last time I did that I looked like that character Pigpen on Charlie Brown. A cloud of dust enveloped me, just like Pigpen as I walked behind the lawnmower making breathing difficult and the wife's laundry hanging outside,....well let's just say she wasn't happy. I got the look! And words! Then it got real quiet. For a long time.
It's so dusty because I don't water the lawn, and it won't rain. Down in California where it's really dry a special prayer service was called for by many of the churches. They just didn't have enough faith for it to rain it seems. Oh sure thousands gathered,...but nobody believed enough to bring an umbrella.
 I don't water the lawn because we have to pay for every liter of water we use. And with this dry spell I'm conserving water any way I can. The lawn goes all brown and people think I really care for the environment. But it's just that I'm a cheapskate, not an environmental-skate.
Besides if I cut the lawn I have to cut the clover that's in the lawn too. And when you cut the clover you're going to kill or collect a few bees in the grass bag on the mower. Dandelion heads, clover heads, bee heads and me be heading for the house as I pour angry bees into the Green Cart. I'm surprised they still let me buy honey after what I've done to them over the years.
I peek out the curtains as the wife leaves the house on her way to her sisters. All is now well in my world. Except for the yellow heads with the sunny disposition. It's then that it hits me, she's on her way to her sisters. Pay attention.
Her vacuum! 'Her vacuum hit you?' No! That's what I'll use to collect all them, laughing in my face, dandelions. It's perfect really when you think about it. It will suck up all the dust in the yard. It's counter rotating brushes will rip their lemon coloured heads off and then grind it's legs out at carpet level.  And it has a headlight!
At first I'm surprised at how quite it runs when it's out in the yard. It seems to be working well, but requires a bit of patience going back and forth over each weed. I select weed after weed adding extension cords as needed onto my new yard buddy. And voila, about as quick as it takes to make a left hand turn on No. 3 Rd. on a Saturday afternoon I had made it look like I had cut the lawn thus avoiding a visit to her well to do sister's.
"The lawn looks good honey." The front door states as my wife walks in. "Why's the vacuum in the carport?" My wife questions, as she kicks her shoes, and any chance I have of getting away with this, to the door
Lie! Lie! Think of something cleaver! My brain yells at me. You were fixing,...?? That won't work, she knows you don't fix things! Someone broke into the house and you caught them heading out the door with her precious vacuum. Maybe? Might work.
"I was in the yard vacuuming when I caught this guy leaving the house with your precious vacuum,..." I..stutter. And then I get the look. And then words, and then quiet. Very quiet. All I remember her last statement ended in a question. I have no idea how to respond. As usual. I may have whimpered,...I'm not sure.
That was two weeks ago and now I'm out in the yard with her vacuum again. Ridding the lawn of my cheery yellow friends. It's my vacuum now. The wife now has a new bagless Dyson with a big ball for a wheel, just like her sister. Small price to pay I figure to get things back to somewhat normal again. We're going to her sister's later today. Together! We go everywhere together now, and will be for the foreseeable future apparently.

Bob Niles

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Fwd: Superior Dribble: Trash Talk


Trash Talk

"Honey! It's garbage day tomorrow, you have to prepare the trash! If you're looking for your glasses I last saw them on top of your head! I'm heading out."
She knows I need my glasses to prepare, not take out, but to arrange and properly place unwanted articles and food waste in their respective bags and boxes. I need my glasses to find that dad-blang triangle on the plastic containers. Lord forbid if I get the wrong numbered triangle in the recycle box. If they could make the numbers bigger or colour them it would certainly make my life easier. I have to twist and turn them trying to get the light right, running my finger across the ridges trying to caress out a single digit number. I look like I'm trying to strum some instrument made of recycled garbage. The wife's jealous of her plastic salad box, complaining it gets more loving attention on the way to the Blue Box than she does all week.
Now the plastic's taking care of, it's time to wash the bottles and try to remove labels from the glass. I say try, because usually that's all it is, is an attempt. If they (the garbage police) want labels off, why do they (again the garbage police) let companies crazy glue them on. They are at one with the glass! Hot water, soap and razor blades are needed to try and hide the fact that it was once a pickle bottle. It seems anonymity is very important to the people down at Bills Brought Back Broken Bottle Bin. Where their motto is 'Be an un-labeler enabler!' I think Bill drinks what's left at the bottom of the bottles.
Onward to the papers! For this I refer to my 'Recycle With Confidence' section of my recycling bible (provided by our fair city) which I now find out got mixed up with the recyclables last week! And thrown out! So now with anything but confidence, I attempt the next to impossible. The house receives and brings in a lot of paper. And for this we have two different bags with which to recycle our papyrus. So do I use the blue bag or the yellow bag for a non-glossy insert flyer with removed plastic window made from cardboard with a newsprint insert. I hum and haw over this one for some time, and then with little confidence place it in the yellow bag. I then get off the floor and phone Tom next door to see which bag he used. No answer.
Newspaper after newspaper checked for hidden paper infractions. Cardboard boxes flattened, and staples removed. Egg cartons squished. Plastic windows removed. Tearaway all traces of my name and address on any envelopes. Become like the pickle bottle. Find interesting article in 'Time' magazine and waste ten minutes determining if your spouse is cheating on you.
Now, not only am I not sure I've got the right paper in the right bag, I now lack confidence the wife is staying true to our wedding vows! I'll try Tom again.
Still bothered by the flyer made of cardboard with the newsprint insert, I complete all paper products and move on to food scraps. Confidence builds. Either cooked or non-prepared foods all go in the kitchen container and then the green cart. What my wife can do with a $30 dollar roast is criminal. I just throw it out before it becomes a crime scene. For Christmas one year I got her a serving platter with the white chalk outline of a roast. Like the police do with a dead body. In response, she used my suit pants that day as a pot holder to remove the turkey from the oven. Asked why, my now ruined expensive suit pants became a pot holder, she replied 'Thats what you use them for!'
I search fridge and freezer for all past and future offending food scraps. Careful to leave the frozen fruitcake from Aunt Tilley that's been there for three years, then away for two, only to be re-gifted back to us for an additional four years more.
Now waving and clapping my hands I make my way to the kitchen container. I look like a blessed, praising church - goer as I enter a small cloud of fruit flies. I affix both hands to its smooth exterior, careful not to slop any residue on my skin. It'll stain, burn and stink on contact, immediately, and for an extended period of time. Eye protection is a must! Now down a flight of stairs, opening two closed doors I reach the green cart outside. I clear a ten ft radius to pour the offending odor into the green cart. I open the lid of the kitchen container and my fruit fly herd triples in size as they try to escape my wifes meat loaf. I carefully pour out this offending odor, turning nose and eyes away, noticing all the lights at Toms house are off. Now it's off to the end of the driveway for tomorrows pick up.
I see Toms Blue Box is at the curb already. I go through his yellow and blue bag to see which one he used for the flyer ( I'm sure we both got one in the mail) made of cardboard and newsprint. No luck! It's not there. I try his phone again.
Several more trips to the end of the driveway conclude garbage eve. All garbage has been prepared and expelled less than one week from entering my abode.
The digital alarm clock shows the score all tied up at a dozen apiece as I lay in bed looking at the ceiling. I lay there wondering where my wife is and thinking back to my youth.
"Honey! It's garbage day tomorrow have you taken out the trash!?" My Mom would ask my Dad.
"I'll do it during the commercial!" was his reply. Two minutes done! Which is why I guess we are where we are today.
And then I think............., and then toss and roll and notice all the 2s on the clock. The wife's not home yet. I get up, put on my housecoat, outside to the Blue Box and retrieve my worrisome flyer. Back to the house, crumple it up and flush it down the toilet. Problem solved! Tomorrow I'll wipe up the water from the toilet over flowing and unclog the throne from its offending flyer.
I lay there, now at peace wondering why I never thought to separate the papers from the flyer. Silly me. S l e e p y...I hear a door....Toms wife tip toes into the room. I sit up and turn on the light, "Honey it's 2:30 in the morning! Do you know which bag Tom used for that stupid flyer!?"

Bob Niles

bobby did this  

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Fwd: Camp Atcha Ownrisk

                                     Camp Atcha Ownrisk

Dear Mom and Dad,
Grandma thought I should write a note to let you know we are all okay here. The fires and smoke have only added to our camping experience with Grandma and Gramps. Gramps said it was a good thing he had built the campfire on the west side of his van as the flames ran away from our campsite rather than through it.
Gramps is a really good driver and is teaching me to drive when his eyes get too tired from all the smoke. He works the three pedals and the shifter and I'm the eyes that steer Gramp's 'Millennium Falcon. Oh don't worry it's only on the back roads where little traffic is seen as most of the residents that use the roads must be away on holidays. That's what old Gramps figures anyway.'. Grandma sure gets excited easily.
Last week we spent an extra day in this little town that was under a vaccination order. It sure was a quiet little town.I guess everybody's hiding from getting their shots like Peyton and I did.  Gramps had to fix the brakes on his old camper-ized van so we camped behind the tire shop in town. The man that owned it was evac..u..something and  wanted Gramps to come with him and his family off the mountain. Gramps laughed and waved him a cheery good-bye. But before they went (and in a big hurry)  they had left the bathroom at the back of their shop open for us to use at night. 'Good thing!' Gramps said because the tanks on the van were overflowing so we couldn't use the toilet. Gramps said he'll dump them soon somewhere because with so much extra weight, stopping the Millennium Falcon is more of a suggestion than conclusion.
Grandma and Gramps sure pray a lot. They were praying so hard and all the time that they would find Peyton again. But I guess you already knew that we found him. Gramps said he used his secret computer to computer-ize you the message. The hospital fixed Peyton's leg with a cast and now he's as good as new. It will still take a while for his hair to grow back though because of squirting gas on the fire. But gramps said you knew that too.
I guess he told you about the EpiPen too then. Gramps figured we needed some nuts with our beers. Kidding! They were light beers. Anyway that  'blue to the sky and orange to the thigh' TV ads paid off big time! Twice! Gramps can't believe so many things, like mixed nuts, have actual nuts in them. Then he got all bothered and wanted to know how everybody went from allergic to intolerant overnight. Grandma said she's going to start reading the labels on all our treats from now on. And we eat a lot of treats!
Gramps tuba sure takes up a lot of room in the van. But he swears by placing it on the picnic table at the camp site it usually keeps the sites on either side empty. And if not, like our last stop at Camp Atcha Ownrisk  the teenagers guitar at the site besides us, at 10 o'clock at night, makes good fire kindling.
A couple of nights ago gramps and I went up to the top of a nearby ridge that's burning and empty the septic tanks on the fires. Whatever septic is, besides stinky. I figure he should  get his picture in the paper for helping put out fires but he's not interested. He said he wanted to keep it our secret.
You sure got a cool parents Dad. After they go to sleep Peyton and I can stay up as late as we like. Don't worry we don't go too far out in the forest as gramps says there are black bears and grizzly bears around. He has bells that we wear and we carry bear spray. We know they're around as we see bear droppings all over the place. Peyton's gross cause he looks in it to see what they eat. Gramps and him found berries, grasses and fur from maybe a rat in the black bear scat this morning. And bells that smelled like bear spray in the grizzly scat just behind Gramps van. Gross eh?
Grandma is going to show me how to mail this at our next stop. My first mail! Gramps won't let me use his secret computer to email you. I think he's a spy! We're going off now to look for him as he's wandered away again. Doing spy stuff probably. Last time we found him he was spying through the fence of a colony of nudists back in the woods.  Grandma kicked him in the bum and scared him. He almost knocked the fence over and let the nudists out.  Grandma said nudists are naturalists so I guess they eat berries and nuts and,....hey maybe they eat bells!
"So Emmett are you and Peyton having fun?" you ask. Do nudists eat bells and poop in the woods!? Of course we are! Ha ha! That's old school LOL
Love you! See you in 10 sleeps maybe.
Emmett Griffin
Grade 4

Bob Niles

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Fwd: Fan Appreciation

                                             Fan Appreciation

Squirt, squirt "Are you going to buy groceries today!?" My wife yells at the top of her voice. I look in the direction of the cool splashes and see her moving her lips while using her fingers to keep her hair out of her mouth. "No I'm not going anywhere near Surrey today!" I holler back cupping my hands to form a megaphone around my mouth.
I get off the couch to go toward the kitchen and feel, this time, three shots of water. This must be important. The wife is now coming this way, but her hair is ahead of her and then to the left of her as she moves from one seemingly magnetic force field to the next. Again words rise above the constant wwwwwwwwhhhhhrrrrrr of the room but again I respond negatively to any Surrey destinations.
She points me to the cone of silence, the bathroom, and I do as directed. Now with the door closed all the rooms power down as independent motion detectors detect no life forms.
"Are you going to get groceries?" She asks while fixing her hair in the mirror.
"In Surrey? No I thought I'd go to the Value Save- On Market around the corner." I say.
"Surrey?" She questions my reflection. "Who said,....never mind! Just pick up some plastic wrap for the sandwiches were making for the church social this afternoon. O K?"
"Okay! Message received" I salute her in the mirror, click my heels together and then clap both hands together at the right side of my head, which commands a collection of rooms throughout the house to power up fans that I've hooked up to The Clapper.
 I have many fans. My wife not being one of them right now. But not that kind of fan. I mean I have the air blowing and air sucking, 2000 rpm, pedestal, table top, ceiling, 10 inch, 14 inch, 24 inch, 36 inch, finger removing blurry bladed fans! All used in my effort to stay cool, and drive my wife nuts.
I don't mean to drive her nuts and lord knows this isn't my first attempt nor will it be my last attempt to inadvertently do so.
She attains this level of mental instability due in part to the fact that each conversation during this heat wave has to start with a well aimed squirt from the mister bottle. This, because verbal language skills cannot rise above the whirring drone of dozens of fans.
It's the large use of fans that keep me cool during this current heat wave. And it's because of this, spoken word is now substituted with lip reading. And to what level of intensity emitted from the nozzle of a spray bottle sets the tone of the conversing.
A floating mist carefully placed on a whispering wave of air, delivered to the cheek of your spouse is one of passion. Where as a direct couple squirts to the face commands that you must pay attention, now, and is also more likely.
Not only is annoying conversation with a spouse done away with, because of multiple fans, but so also is any clue as to having a kitchen full of fruit flies. With four and sometimes five fans in the kitchen fruit flies are a thing of the past. Oh they're probably there in your handsome kitchen recycling bucket, but the minute that lid is lifted,  they are blown to,...? Don't care! It's all good my house of many fans. That is until they become silent.
She,..the wife, made me shut them off!
It was while we were wrapping up all the sandwiches for the church social with the 2500 ft. box of food film I had bought earlier that day that she,..the wife, pulled the plug. And I guess, in her defense she was right to do so. It seems, I, attempting to wrap the first plate of stinky egg salad finger sandwiches had used up half the box of food film trying to get a flat sheet with four, no five fans blowing. The food film kept folding up on itself! And I confess that I had said words that dear Sister Lofstrom, head of the Sunday School, would not of been proud of. And so it was decided to stop all the fans.
And then it was decided that I would now exercise my right to a clothing optional house (since all the kids moved out) and continue this chore in my tighty whitey's with a coffee stain on the crotch (don't ask).
Egg salad, cucumber, chicken salad and smoked salmon sandwich plates, one after the other all wrapped with expert precision whilst donning my official 'no fans no clothes food film wrapping uniform'. Working naked (almost) to help out at the church.
Things were going swimmingly,..until I went to place food scraps in the kitchen's recycling fruit fly container. A cloud, a black cloud of Biblical proportions (appropriate) rose as if angry ,and now with no wind to to hinder their annoying-ness took full advantage of getting in my face. And I, naked and vulnerable to their annoying-ness started squishing them by clapping my hands together.
All five, four fans in the kitchen were hooked up to The Clapper. On then off, then on again and then off again my blurry bladed fans met my unrealistic commands. My wife with her back to the situation also let Sister Lofstrom  down in her verbal barrage of questions as to just what I was doing. Food film was flapping as waves of warm fast moving air tugged at its corners. Corners were lifted and removed as the on again off again onslaught continued. Fruit flys peppered mayonnaise laden finger sandwiches and stuck like a wet sneeze to a screen door. All is lost.     Well not really.
Treating each infected sandwich as if it were a birthday cake we blew out most of the mayo imprisoned little black flies. The rest looked like pepper we thought, (not able to locate our glasses at the time).
And so it was, five dozen tiny sandwiches all made their way to the church social wrapped in about 2000 ft. of food film. All fans were now permanently banned from food preparation areas in our house. The fruit fly box was moved away from the kitchen and dear Sister Lofstrom expressed some unbecoming words upon trying one of our egg salad finger sandwiches down at the church social.
First the kitchen, and now the church,...I'm running out of fans.

Bob Niles