Scribbles and Scrambles ~ You Can Put Up Malls, But Rural is in the Blood...

Only in Iowa.

Long stories short.

Crying Fowl --

Mom and Dad ordered chickens. Free range, locally grown chickens. Two of them. The assumption was that they would be dressed -- for the freezer. Mom and Dad were scheduled to go out of town. Three days before they left they got a cryptic message to show up on Monday at 3:00 p.m. at a local middle school and that the birds have gone up in price by 2.25 each.

So now, Mom and Dad have left town. I have these "instructions" a check for $20.50 and a house key. There is more but I'm keeping this simple! I show up at the middle school. The entire campus is painted in school bus yellow because 3:00 is the time for buses!!!! And cars. Lots and lots of cars. So. In the 90 degree heat I wait. I scan the sea of vehicles looking, looking for the man in the overcoat or a refrigerated truck. Nothing. The buses leave, the cars leave, and still nothing that looks like it might belong to the chicken man. I begin to drive around the building. Nothing. No cars, no consumers wearing red carnations. Nada.

So finally, I decide I'm done with this little adventure. One last pass. And there he is. A large green trash can, a man in a straw hat and a woman accepting a dripping bag. The chicken man!!!!!! I've found him.

Now. Two chickens stuffed in Mom's freezer, the transaction complete, I head home.

The Buzz --

On my doorstep is a gallon jug. Full of yellowish brown contents.

Is it lawn mower oil? Gas? Someone's, who needs to see a kidney specialist, urine sample? I scratch my head. It's a milk carton like sold at Wal-Mart. I wrack my brain. Did someone borrow our lawn mower? Is this some weird sort of prank? And then I remember!!! The HONEY MAN. Yep. The gallon of honey has arrived.