Several years ago, there was a Lifesavers Rabble Rousers class. A first year Lifesavers Rabble Rousers class. And they all had to take the same classes in their first year of Lifesavers School. And one of these classes, because I have no desire for inadvertent searchers to find this blog and think that they have found any sort of wisdom, we’ll call “mivil momedure”. And the professor was a man who had one of the finest bolo tie collections this great nation has ever seen, and who had a pretty spectacular collection of coffee mugs (though on warm days, I did note that he was more fond of the 32 Ounce Polar Pop, a drink that is in fact a gift from The Angels, Amen). His name, which shall be used here because it is already famous world-wide, I’m sure, was Professor Charles Geyh. He would be the first to tell any inadvertent searcher that if they accidentally stumbled upon my blog in searching for information about the subject to which he has dedicated a goodly portion of his professional life, PLEASE LOOK ELSEWHERE. I went into the final exam of both halves of his course thinking that most likely home-based taxidermy was going to be my chosen career path because my many shortcomings in Lifesavers Rabble Rousing were about to be illuminated. Charitably, or perhaps out of a desire never to have to attempt to explain the concept of “mivil momedure” to me again, Professor Geyh graded gently.
One day, (in a rare moment) the teaching ended early. And Professor Geyh explained to us how he had to reschedule (which we all knew meant “optional review session at the end of the semester when it is warm and sunny!”) class for the following week due to the fact that he was going to be attending a conference of other “mivil momedure” professors. I sincerely hope that those organizers called for extra law enforcement professionals, because, dang. If there was ever a wild bunch. And he further explained that the organizers of said conference had taken extra time to explain the dress code for said conference. Apparently, pants, a shirt with sleeves, and a tie were required for men. To which Professor Geyh’s immediate response was (and here’s where I have to take a tiny little poetic license, because this is a family blog…) “What? Do they think we are going to show up wearing pasties [ed. note: not the food item, though that would be an interesting wardrobe selection] and a**less chaps?” People, I am here to testify that it is indeed possible to laugh in a “mivil momedure” class, because we lost it. Learning had ended for the day-we were done. Send us home.
Fast forward a few years to Lifesavers Rabble Rousers School graduation. Our student speaker was a man, whose name shall be used here because it is already famous world-wide (note to process servers: he is living in Alabama under the assumed name of Juan Donaghy…), named Jeremiah Williamson. In a moment that could have been filled with sap and soap and frippery, Master Williamson told us (and visiting dignitaries and relatives) that story again. And made it the single coolest graduation ever.
This weekend (see—I wasn’t fooling you with that title!) I drove out to The Ranch before the sun had even woken up, surprised some Zebra who were just waking up and looking for their morning coffee (my camera was in my bag, thus proving that I am indeed an amateur at this blogging bit), and picked up the parental units and drove us to Canton. Canton, Texas is home to “First Monday Trade Days”, which ironically happens the weekend before the First Monday, so we think the people organizing it had taken some chimpanzee tranquilizer before getting down to the naming part of the meeting. “Canton”, as we insiders call it, is part garage sale, part “junk that yes, yes indeed somebody TOOK THE TIME TO MAKE” sale, part antiques sale, and part “old china and glasses” sale. The last bit sucks me in EVERY SINGLE TIME. In fact, mom had a moratorium on my buying any new dishes or glassware, but then I went into Ikea because I needed some martini glasses (mine keep breaking-I have NO IDEA why…) and so I decided to end that moratorium. Anyway, amidst all the heat, the seven-year-old children, the younger-than-seven-year-old children, the older-than-seven-year-old children, and the sequined sparkly boas in every single color of the rainbow, I managed to find some fantastic old dishes, and, well, THIS:
Canton has a strict “no photographs” policy (a lot of the goods are “crafts”, and well, craft espionage is at an all-time high, people), but since there is no way I was actually going to buy these things, and I’m pretty sure that the dude selling them could tell I was not about to try to fashion them myself, he let me take a photo. Professor Geyh, I do believe you need to visit The Ranch and take a trip to Canton. Your outfit is complete. The dude selling them said to make sure to tell you that “Those are the finest chaps that you’re going to find around here.”
I believe him. And with that, my weekend was complete.