Mostly True Memoirs

That Clown is Haunted

The storm on Sunday was severe.

The news is reporting that seven tornadoes touched down.

One of them was as big as an EF3.

I don’t like tornadoes.

At times like this, I miss California.

All I had to worry about in So Cal were earthquakes, fires, floods, power outages and outrageous gas prices.

But no tornadoes.

The thing that is really annoying me right now is that my neighbor’s massive blow-up clown is still standing.

Seven tornadoes couldn’t take that thing down.

It’s haunted.

At least that’s what I think every morning while it watches me drink my coffee.

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Mostly True Memoirs

Storm Damage

Wow – what a storm we had last night!

At first light this morning, we went outside to inspect for damage.

In the middle of the street was a large piece of debris.

It was a very wet sheet of cardboard.

Bob gathered it up and stuck it in the trash can.

That was the extent of the storm damage on our street.

Whew!

A tornado touched down nearby causing significant damage.

Luckily, our neighborhood was not in the path.

I’m not a big fan of tornadoes.

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Mostly True Memoirs

The Clown Returned

The neighbors have re-installed the massive, blow-up, Halloween clown.

It continues to loom over my kitchen table.

It’s watching me while I eat…

However, I think it is some kind of bargain, knock-off, cheap quality sort of clown.

It’s already showing the ravages of time.

And we still have two weeks to go before Halloween.

I can only hope that bad weather will take it down quickly.

My husband says that I am not being neighborly.

Excuse me?

WHO is not being neighborly?

They are the ones who put up a clown.

Clowns are creepy.

I am simply standing my ground.

And praying for hail.

Very sharp hail.

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Mostly True Memoirs

No Signs of Responsibility

We had our first rain of the season.

I was very pleasantly surprised to find, early this morning, an old towel on the floor by the dog door.

The Grown Son had thought to wipe the dog’s paws.

“Look!” I exclaimed to The Husband, “Signs of responsibility!”

Bob laughed.

And laughed and laughed and laughed.

“That was me,” he said, “I had to let the dog out in the middle of the night.”

Oh.

Never mind.

The Grown Son has not shown any signs of responsibility.

At least as far as housework is concerned.

Speaking of which, we are down to three spoons.

I’m guessing the rest of the set is under his bed.

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