“Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good,” is an ancient adage that smacks of relevance to the human condition. The turbulent winds of the top half of June of 2008 brought woe and begot harsh words from me as I harvest the fallen limbs from my land on a daily basis. I was sorely vexed, but I kept a stiff upper lip through the ordeal.

While I was suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune the hair fixers around town most likely regarded the tempest as a stimulus boon. They worked double shift at affixing temporaries to feminine “dos”. There is no such thing as a permanent.

My travails and their preposterous experiences pale to those of one of our local young men howsoever. Get your hanky out and prepare to blot away the tears of pity during the next few lines of this tragic string of adversities that were administered unto the subject of this missive. Better yet, a brand new box of Kleenex might be necessary.

He and his adoring wifemate are preparing a new home in the rurality, to house the happy couple and their young’uns.

The man of the house volunteered to travel to Granbury and transport a huge porcelain bathtub for installation. He opted to use his wife’s new wheels for the job, but he chose his own trailer and managed to affix it to the back of his wife’s transportation.

He bid a found farewell to his little family, climbed under the steering wheel, backed up to get the vehicles into alignment and capricious fate dealt a joker. The trailer jackknifed and brutally removed a back fender from the wife’s conveyance.

“Sacre Bleu!” he may have cried out. The wife most likely voiced something along that line. His mouth was a grim white line as he fetched his jeep as a substitute. He fired it up and returned to the interior of the house to bid farewell to the big-eyed family circle.

“I smell toast burning,” he remarked. The wife scurried to the kitchen, but his nose had betrayed him with an erroneous ID.

There was no toast aflame—it was the jeep, and the resultant fever put it on the sidelines.

Not to be outdone our hero utilized his pickup truck for transportation, and actually completed his mission. He went to Granbury and returned in triumph. When the goin’ gets tough—the tough git a goin’. Don’t you love happy endings? Keep the blotter handy and gird your loins for further tragedy.

Returning home from his day job our subject opted to transverse a stretch of rural road and he espied an assemblage of four doe deer. Cautiously he pulled over parked and watched as three of the deer bounded away into the woods. The fourth nibbled away at a patch of succulent greenery in the borrow ditch until she raised her head to masticate the grass before swallowing.

She spotted the pickup, became alarmed and bolted into action. She collided with the door of that idling, occupied pickup and left a sizeable dent about dead center. Dazed but unhurt, she rejoined her three friends and they left the scene post haste.

Now, Beth is the mother and Lannes Callison is the father to Laramie Callison, who is the star of this demolition derby. Stephanie is the lifemate to Laramie and they dwell as a couple unto this day.

Laramie has accorded himself well, as has the rest of the tribe. Beth’s line of work is hair fixing, so she had a run of “Bad Hair Days” during the winds of June, while Laramie survived the “Bad Heir Days” like a champ.

Laramie is an only child, and the reason is obvious, if you take his actions into account.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp