Tales From Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!”

Lewis Carroll wrote that. He also wrote, “Twas brillig, and the slithy toves. Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.“

That’s pretty self-explanatory. It describes how the infield fly rule applies to Florida election judges named Chad.

Carroll should have written something about the heinous hatchback. 

I bumped my head on an opened hatchback as I placed a couple of heavy suitcases into a car’s cargo space.

“Be careful,” said my wife.

It was too late for that, but I’m thankful for her good advice.

“Beware the Jabberwock,” I replied.

I was in Alaska and my previous rental car had suffered a flat tire 20 miles from town. Another tire showed its support by losing air. When I’d picked up that car, I mentioned to the clerk that the low tire pressure warning light was on. She told me not to worry, as that light was always on. I ignored the light. I was in a hurry. The light wasn’t a liar. I’d parked near a river and gone for a hike. Cold, snow, slush and ice joined me. A flat and a flattening tire greeted me upon my return. They’re called idiot lights because only an idiot ignores one. I acknowledged them with Scooby-Doo like exclamations. Even though the tire was flat on only one side, I decided to replace it with the spare tire (a donut or space-saver) and limp to town. A friend stopped to help. I hadn’t asked for help because I’m a guy. Four hands made quick work. I was thankful for his assistance and for his friendship.

I made it to town and traded the car with less than the standard number of tires in for a rental car with four properly inflated tires. I was thankful for those.

I have much to be thankful for.

Last year’s Thanksgiving began with a bang. I stubbed my toe within a few steps of my bed. It stung like the dickens, but I was thankful. It meant I was locomotive. I had the power of progressive motion. That’s a fine thing to have.

Football games are on TV on Thanksgiving. Nobody I know is playing, I’m not in a fantasy football league nor do I have a bet riding on any of the games, so I’ve no interest in the outcomes, but I wish them well and am thankful when there are no injuries.

I’m thankful I’m not a crow. It takes three of them to eat lunch. One eats while the other two watch for cars. I couldn’t live like that. I’m thankful for everyone who I’ve broken bread with on Thanksgiving. The Grateful Dead might have been singing about a Thanksgiving meal, “Too much of everything is just enough.” That’s the reason sofas cry out in agony the day after Thanksgiving. A man knows his container is full when gravy popsicles no longer sound like a brilliant idea.

I’m thankful for all cooks, even those who hire upholsterers to do the stuffing. I thank the cooks because may God be praised, my belly had been raised with little effort on my part. I take the time to stop and smell the Thanksgiving kitchen. I’m as thankful for elastic waistbands as a dog is thankful for sloppy eaters. Always remember, in case of a gravy spill, your chair cushion may be used as a flotation device.

I’m thankful that though I’ve forgotten things, I’ve remembered useful things, such as: Always pass the mashed potatoes before the gravy.

The things I’m thankful for make a long list. The things that make me sad or are bothersome generate a short list. I try not to spend too much time considering that short list. It’s typically made up of things I can’t change, things that happened long ago and things that bother only me. I’m thankful for disagreeable people who demonstrate how not to be.

I’m thankful we get snow instead of an apocalyptic asteroid.

In grade school, I drew a lopsided turkey on construction paper by tracing around my spread fingers. I could almost tell it was a turkey. I’m thankful for patient teachers who fostered my love of learning.

I’m thankful I can laugh at the car ahead of me moving at a glacial pace and bearing this bumper sticker: I’m retired. Go around.

I’m thankful for the thankful.

Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Saturday.