You can't pick your family, but you can pick Hedge Apples.

I took my parents and my sister on a little walk to pick hedge apples when they came to visit last weekend.
Before we went out into the vast wilderness to hunt for a hedge apple tree we employed a couple of super heroes. But, when they heard the word hedge and apple....
They fell down, dead. Poor, poor batmen. I guess this job calls for a bigger, heathier, braver, older and blonder superhero.
Dun-duh-dah-dah! April the strange muscle neck to the rescue!!! I'm able to leap over my tiny parents in a single bound. They really do look up to me! It's not easy being with all the little people. Uh, okay, moving on.

This is my mother. She is a gigantic goofball that has created her own language. It's a good thing I can understand her or on Saturday when she was insisting that we go see the Appalachias we would have been packing for a long journey across many states. Instead I suggested that we stay right here in Kansas and go visit the Alpaca Farm. Mom, repeat after me Al-pack-uh.Okay, Alpa-lay-shuh.
Alpaca, Alpalacia, Appalacia...it's all the same. Right?


This little guy is my dad. He's tiny. Like 5'9" tiny. He hates it when I say how little he is, because despite his small stature he's a big man. I mean look at how he man handles that wagon. He's a brute!
He was very determined to get every hedge apple off the tree. So he shook it. And that's when I wanted to start singing "Shake it like a Polaroid picture...shake it....shake it...." Note: the Country Doctor's wife came along to document the whole thing.
Here she is documenting me documenting her documenting me documenting her.....somebody stop the madness, please.

Back to Dad. Check out that shirt! I know he's tiny, but he's quite hip. He's hip Harry the hedge apple picking man.

When you ask "Why April, WHY?!" These people, they are why. I had to live with them. I can't seem to shake 'em . They keep coming back.
But, that's okay. Everybody needs to be loved by somebody. Right? But, I do wonder sometimes if I was switched at birth.The end.
For more information about hedge apples click here, apparently there is a market for these things.

Phone Conversations

Rechelle- Was she always that farty?

Me- Uh, yeah, I think so.

Rechelle- I don't remember her being that farty.

Me- You're saying farty. 

Rechelle- I know.  I like it.  Farty.

***

After this conversation Clay told me it's very difficult to talk to me on the phone when he's at his desk where other people can hear him.

Clay- Hullo.

(long pause)

Clay- How?

Clay- You couldn't get out?

Clay- Did he hurt you?

Clay- Why didn't the kids hear you screaming?

Clay- I do feel sorry for you.

Clay- Are you okay now?

Clay- No, I'm not laughing.

Clay- Bad rooster.

Clay- Bad, bad rooster.

Clay- I don't think it was the kids' fault.

Clay- Okay, okay, sorry.  

Clay- I have to go.

Clay- No....no... I do feel sorry for you.

Clay- I didn't lock you in the chicken coop.

Clay- Yes, you should go lie down.

Clay- I have to go, but it's not because I don't feel sorry for you.

Clay- Yes, you sound stricken.

Clay- The door is broken?

Clay- Is Seth fixing it?

Clay- Very bad rooster.  

Clay- I really do have to go.  But, I love you and I'm glad the rooster didn't hurt you and I know it wasn't your fault.  Because it never is......  

*****

Me- Hello.

Mom- Is this my sweet darling daughter?

Me- Hi Mom.

Mom- Your father needs to talk to you about a fund raiser for the Vurtus (which is sorta the name of my kids' school but not quite and I've given up trying to get her to pronounce it correctly.)  So here he is......HARRY!  April's on the phone!   She wants to talk to you about your bike ride!

Dad- Hello?

Me- Hi Dad.  

Dad- Hi.

Me- So, you want to talk to me about a fund raising bike ride?

Dad- Uh-huh.

Mom- Harry!  Tell her about the presentation!

Dad- What presentation?

Mom- People will want to see a presentation!

Dad- Why?  I don't want to do a presentation.  That's what April is going to do.

Me- I'm going to do a presentation?  To who?  When?  What?

Dad- I just want to ride the bike.  

Mom- You are going to have to take the bike and make the presentation!  People won't understand what you're trying to do for the Vurtus!

Dad- Martha!  You don't know the first thing about biking people!  They don't need to see a presentation!

Mom- Harry!  I'm not talking about the biking people!  I'm talking about the Vurtus people!

Dad- That's what April's going to do.  She can do that.

Me- Uh.  

Mom- You can not make April explain your biking to Vurtus!

Me- Er.

Dad- Oh for crying out loud!

Me- Okay.  I think you both have some sort of weird and obscure valid point that someone in the cosmos is going to understand, but I'm going to get off the phone now.  Good talking to you both.  Love ya.....

Mom- Oh,  well, okay Honey.  Good grief, your father is so stubborn!  Now line up those babies all in a row and give them a big hug and kiss for me. 

My Parents in a NUTSHELL!

Oh, no. What have I done?

I was trying to find a photo of me that would describe to you all how humbled I am that so many of you have wandered over here to say a few words to me. But, then.....well, I got sidetracked. Kinda like when you start cleaning out your storage room and you start finding all kinds of wonderful treasures that you forgot you had.

I found these two videos of Mom and Dad. They're reading my Christmas letter. Their reaction is a perfect, spot-on description of their personalities.

Guess who I take after?

I once had a dog that was emancipated.

Language.  It's something we all use.  Some of us use it better than others.  Some of us disregard well founded grammar rules.  Pronunciation and definitions are meaningless dribble.  Some of us are far to creative or, dare I say, lazy to use words properly.  Some of us like to make up our own vocabulary and expect everyone to comprehend our violent slaughter of the English language.   

I, myself suffer violent bouts of language slaughter, mostly after a visit with my beloved parents.  Usually, it's my mom that makes up words.  Like last week she told me that a lady in her church was at home suffering from 'epa-plasia'.  I hadn't heard of this 'epa-plasia', but I thought that the old lady must be on her death bed for sure.  Later, I figured out it was a young woman in her third tri-mester that had preeclampsia.  There is no way in hell Mom will ever be able to remember the word preeclampsia or be able to pronounce it, so from now on if a lady is suffering from the dreaded preeclamsia it will forever be known as epa-plasia.

A few weeks ago my dad and I were sitting in the parking lot of the local custard joint enjoying our frozen treats and watching a couple walking their Standard Poodle.  Dad and I admired the dog and reminisced about our own Standard Poodle, Thunder, that had been our family pet when I was growing up.  Then, it happened,  Dad innocently threw out this wing-dinger.....

"Yeah, poor Thunder, he sure did get emancipated in his old age."

What?  Thunder was emancipated?  From what?  "Dad?  I think you mean emaciated."  

"What?  Emanciated?"

"No, e-ma-ciated."

"Oh.  Well, I guess he was both."

Mom and Dad also say these words: End-dustry, Choir-practor, Eye-talion and my favorite Warshington.

Thanks Mom and Dad.  I needed something to write about today.  I love you best.

Your Favorite and Prettiest Daughter, 

April

Broompa

Have you all met my dad? He's good at a lot of things.  He retired six years ago and started bicycling all over the USA.  He never had a passion for exercise or cycling before, but he didn't want to sit around and get fat, so he started riding a bike.  He has the most awesome muscular legs.  He's 64 years old and in great shape.

He's very organized and likes things to be done certain ways.  I got my "no-tolerance for a dirty vehicle" attitude from him.  Dad is a great house guest, because he hates messes and cleans up after himself.  He also hates to loose things so he keeps all his luggage neatly stored in a corner of a bedroom.  I hardly notice he's in my house.  

He's also very frugal.  He doesn't spend money on unnecessary items.  Especially clothes.  That sweatshirt he's wearing I bought for him at least eight years ago.  I also noticed him wearing a long sleeved polo that I gave to him when I was in college.  The thing still looks new.  He has these brown leather ankle boots that he wears to church that I swear he's had since I was in grade school.  He's owned them so long that they're back in style again.  I don't know how he does it.

His choice of mop is two little boys.  He can clean the floor, exercise and play with his grandsons all while listening to a football game.  The best part?  It didn't cost him a dime.  He's a great broompa, I mean grandpa.