Life in this Grand Trailer Park

August 25, 2002

It never ceases to amaze me what a grand life I live.  I  have a wonderful trailer, a young, beautiful, intelligent bride that cooks, cleans and brings me Buckhorn Beer when I need it. 

I took the time to sit in my ‘79 4X4 Ford F250 pickup in the back yard and tried hard to remember the last time it actually ran.  I couldn’t.  Doesn’t matter.  Sometime I’ll take the time to put another motor in it.  Until then, it’s a great place to sit, smoke cigars and drink beer. 

Preacher stopped by looking for me.  I knew I was in trouble when my lovely wife began cleaning the trailer in a mad rush.  She never cleans (not REALLY clean) until she sees the cops or the preacher’s car coming up the drive.   It didn’t matter which one it was because I had already been OVER SERVED my share of Buckhorn beer.  I decided to slip quietly out the back door.

I thought I had done real good hiding in my Ford, but Preacher asked my young bride where I was, and being the fine upstanding, God fearing, woman she is, she couldn’t lie.  At least not to the preacher.  So there I was, face to face, with a sermon in shoes looking through my Ford window.

Now I'm sitting her quietly, a 12 pack under my belt, a six pack in my lap and a fine $2 cigar in my slack jaw mouth.  I love Preacher.  He is a fine guy, but just his presence reminds me of how I really screw up on occasion.  And I think this might be one of those times.  He just smiles at me and in his most non-preachy type voice ask me how I’m doing. 

What could I do but offer him a beer?  It was the only thing I had to give unless he wanted a toke on my cigar.  He turned me down on both offers.  You know, to me, there is something disturbing about a mental picture of the preacher with a beer and a cigar.  It just ain’t right.  I'm glad he turned me down.

He only wanted to be sure that I made it to church this Sunday.  I haven’t been there in six months.  I tried every excuse that I could think of.  No clean clothes, couldn’t shave due to a rash and my well went out again so I couldn’t take a bath.  It really sucks when the preacher says that none of that matters. 

So I went.

Church is a cool place.  I know, I can’t smoke cigars or drink Buckhorn there, but the people were cool.  When I first went to this church I was amazed that everyone spoke English through the entire service.  They had some dude playing drums, another chick playing bass guitar and another playing lead.  The music was pretty cool too.  Not like the hymns I remember from the 60’s. 

There were only a couple of things that I couldn’t understand but it don’t matter.  When I get it I’ll let you know. 

I went that whole Sunday without a single Buckhorn or cigar.  Bummer.  But for some reason I felt better.  Such a strange world.

Uncle Ralph

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