A Sunday drive . . .
THE OLDER I get the slower I get.
I’ve mentioned that before and the absence of speeding tickets in my recent history is stout evidence of that.
So it is a few days back that I’m motoring along St. Clair County 26. I’m headed for fried chicken at the Two Sisters on the outskirts of Ashville.
A couple of miles from Ashville High School, I spot a police car sitting on the side of the road.
Glancing down at the speedometer, I’m doing a sedate 60-mph. No problem. Speed limit is 55 and you usually get at least a five-mile cushion.
Blue lights flash.
Just like the bad guys on TV, I stop and hold both hands out the window as the policeman approaches my car. The waving hands get a laugh and:
“You’re okay, man, put ‘em back in.”
“Sir, do you know the speed limit along here?”
I’m wrong on the 55.
“It’s 45. You passed the sign at the crossroads back there. You’re 15 over.”
But good times are here.
We chat a couple of minutes. He never even asks for my driving license; just steps back, smiles, waves a hand:
“Just slow down a bit for me, sir.”
Two turtles pass me the rest of the way in and on the way back. Ashville definitely is not a speed trap.
QUOTABLE: “I’ve traveled a long way and some of the roads were not paved.” – Will Rogers
“The silence of a falling star,
“Lights up a purple sky.”
If you’re hooked on Hank Williams (I have been since the late 1940s), you need Spotify on your PC. One Williams “folder” has 225 of his songs that will let you wallow in Hank for nine hours and 25 minutes.
“Did you ever see a robin weep,
“When leaves begin to die?”
Hank died at 29 in the back seat of his Cadillac. They said he died of whiskey and drugs, but the number one hit on the country juke box the night of January 1, 1953, was Hank’s . . .
“I’ll Never Get Out of This World Alive.”
Yeah, I know I’ve told you all that before, but not this morning.
THERE IS good humor out there that’s not filthy. This one is from good buddy Smiley Anders, who writes SIX columns per week for the Baton Rouge Advocate:
“Two guys are sitting behind an elderly nun at a Notre Dame football game. To needle her, one of them said loudly, ‘Let’s move to Oklahoma. I hear they don’t have Catholics there.’
“‘No, I’m going to Alaska,’ said the other man. ‘No Catholics there.’
“The nun turned around, smiled sweetly, and said, ‘Why don’t you go to Hell – I KNOW there are no Catholics THERE!’”
IN WEDNESDAY’S birthdays I listed a Brandy Hamilton for March 3. I’m not sure about Brandy Hamilton, but I now know March 3 was Happy Birthday time for Brenda Hamilton.
I’m going to blame that one on aging fingers.