Yes it's me. Your favorite Yard Yeti broadcasting live from the Summer Olympic Games. Today, in honor of the festivities, I will be substituting the Noon Whistle sound effect with the peals of Big Ben ringing out over the airwaves. A personal thank you to Big Ben Franklin, our proud sponsor, for the loan of their Big Ben alarm clock, a $3.95 value on special today, Aisle 3, lower shelf.
"Tick Tock goes the clock...time won't stand still. But we can...let's catch up." (My trademarked and truly original opening line.)
It's Yard Yeti Time!
Sitting here in my front row seat at the 40th Annual Main Street Olympics, clad in yellow wellies and my Deftly Designed Designer Overalls...my incredibly chic argyle leg warmers, matching terry cloth sweatband and wrist guards, I would like to thank our sponsor, the Main Street Women's Guild, for using their sewing circle time to create an exact replica of my Olympic garb for my trusted pet parakeet Pepper. I cannot believe how you all managed to make those stretchy little anklet socks that look just like my yellow wellies. Pepper would like to thank you but he keeps sliding off his perch and is less than appropriate when he tries to stick the landing and fails.
(Looks like I will be using the MUTE button instead of the three second delay as Pepper's Tasteless Tweets are trending on Twitter...)
And now the weather update. Hot and dry. Dry and hot. Heat lightning and Hot Flashes. Arid. Parched. Thirsty.
In desperate need of a cool drop of...
Pepper just said...no water for me...I prefer mine NEAT.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have little or no control here, so excuse me while I tickle the little guy's tonsils with tequila and then maybe we can get on with the show.
The police blotter is particularly full this week as Main Street was shut down in both directions while the grandstands and the bleachers went up. As our only policeman, Gilbert Dewey, has no patrol car, he was hospitalized mid week for heat exhaustion and a nasty thigh rash after chasing speeders down while on foot. An update on his condition will be upcoming in the hospital report.
Cue the ambulance sirens. Woo. Woo. Woo.
Officer Gilbert Dewey was released this morning and has returned to active duty as the Chief Of Security for all Olympic Events. Thanks to the Thursday afternoon Card Club members for needle pointing the official SECURITY insignia on the brim of his bright yellow mesh ball cap. Unfortunately, the metallic thread set off the metal detector at the Flickering Flame restaurant and a mild panic ensued, until everyone was reassured that the Flame had not gone OUT. Just flickered.
The OFFICIAL FLAME OF THE OLYMPIC GAME is FINE.
It took three extension cords and some duct tape, but the night light shines on.
Well a little off and then a little on, but that's what flickering means, for heaven's sake.
Mayor Yoo-Hoo, dressed in white belt, white shoes and burgundy polyester slacks is our Master Of Ceremonies and the infamous Mr. and Mrs. We-Have-Nothing-Else-To-Do-Except-Watch-Our-Neighbors-Through-Our-Window-Because-We-Are-Too-Cheap-To-Pay-For-Cable will be the official Olympic judges as they are, well they are the MOST judgmental folks we know and jumped at the chance to rate their neighbors imperfections on a scale of one to ten. Perfect.
Our competitors hail from all four corners of the world. We secured these Olympic Games as we are the Heart of the Heartland. Meeting On Main. Where, doing our personal best everyday, is our motto.
Actually, our motto is more succinct.
"Don't just sit there, DO something."
Our champions are outstanding in their fields.
Well...yes...there they all are...
Out standing in their fields.
The Dream Team. The Yard Yetis. The top qualifiers. Brimming with confidence and dripping with sweat. How do they achieve such notoriety? With the sweat on their brows. With the dirt under their fingernails. With back breaking labor from before the sun rises and well after the sun sets. Practicing their routines on the apparatus and arm wrestling with Mother Nature. Strong. Proud. Ruthless and Restless Warrior Women. Athletes of the Acreage. Yard Yetis Extraordinaire.
The Schedule Of Upcoming Events:
A Synchronized Activity of Some Sort...TBA
Tractor and Weed Pulling
Fence Post Sitting
Aquatics at the Aquatics Center just north of town on the blacktop, turn left at the sign for the Bountiful Buffet and Resort.
Can You Hit the Side Of A Barn Basketball
Swine and Shine Showmanship
Garden Drainage and Pest Management
Garden Gnome Volleyball
...and the field day favorite...only for Senior Yetis...
The Grow A Chin Hair Contest
Under strict management rules, our Olympics will be tape delayed and all the scores will be posted on the Internet BEFORE you actually witness the events. That is, we have to wait for Pepper to sober up.
We hope that you will all come back next week once we have time to tabulate all the scores, all the participants have been released from the hospital, and traffic on Main has returned to normal.
I, your favorite Yard Yeti, will be on hand with my faithful and slightly sick sidekick, Pepper. I warn him and warn him about riding the Tilt-A-Whirl with a stomach full of corn dogs...but nooooo...
I, my sweet self, will be competing in the 400 meter freestyle. If you could see me waving through your radio, you would see me sitting here in my yellow goggles and swim cap, practicing my strokes. My nickname is "the Minnow". That's all I am going to tell you, just to wet your whistle! (Pepper just perked up and is ready to wet his whistle. Naughty bird. Wait until you see him in his Speedo and swim fins.)
And now our special guest of the week and a fellow Yard Yeti, Fifi-Forget-Me-Not!
A high five for FIFI.
Better make that a high ONE as she forgot the other FOUR.
Fifi is wearing a string around her little finger and her wrist and her ankle. The first string to Remember, the second as a Reminder to Remember and the third as a decorative ankle bracelet with her name and address on it for the day she is so lost in her thoughts she cannot find her way home. Forgetting, they say, is a sure sign of an aging addled brain, where puny pieces of personal history hide in a locked cabinet in the middle of a maze.
Forgive and forget.
Forget and forgive.
Or as Fifi would say...just forget it. Fifi knows about missteps and misspeaks that she would like to blot out forever. Well, she says, get out your shovel. Find a nice shady spot. Dig a hole. Drop in the error of your ways. Smooth things over with the toe of your boot. Turn your back and walk away.
And just like the line in the movie...foggeddaboudit.
Follow Fifi's advice...keep your name and address securely tied to your ankle and you will always find your way Home. Even through a yard pockmarked with so many holes, it looks like a bad case of moles.
Home. Here behind the microphone. A tired BROAD at the end of another BROADcast day. Ready to lean into the microphone to whisper my trademarked signature sign off...
"Your secrets are safe with me,
except for the ones I posted on the Internet."
Day after day I sit here in my studio, Pepper beside me, and do my personal best. It is exhausting. Trying to be the best everyday. Competing. Trying very very hard to be special. To be outstanding in my field. To be chosen for the team. I remain a Not-Yet-A-Yeti. An aspiring apprentice. Each time I meet one of the Yard Yetis, I think I will learn the answer to the question of how to move from HERE to THERE. I want to so badly. That's why I am on the radio, broadcasting near and far. I keep watch over the Flickering Flame. I watch the sky at night for a pinprick of light. I send out my signal and hope, as I close my eyes, in that time just before the coming of sleep, that someone will hear me, see me, and point the way.
Fifi-Forget-Me-Not remembered. She will not forget again. Ever. On her way out of the studio, she looked back at me with fondness, and simply said...
Fifi spelled backwards is IFIF...IF...IF...
IF ONLY is very lonely, she said...and then she was gone.
Chapter 7 | Chapter 9