Stewartville: 07.08

My brother James sent out an email and this was a story he shared and it cracked me up and so I am sharing....hope you don't mind Jimmy...

The other day while driving home after a long day's work, I was winding down to an NPR broadcast on conserving energy. Feeling rather green by driving my 40MPG Honda Civic, I decided to go one step further and choose windows over the AC. I rolled down the glass and invited nature's breath to lick my skin cool. Being a little overzealous with my new "power"controls I discovered that with slight manipulations I could adjust the wind's vector and maximize its cooling potential. Down in back, the wind moves to the right. Up in front, it moves to left. Down in the back just a little more and... WHZZZZZZZZZZ, A HUMONGOUS BEE FLEW IN AND SLID RIGHT DOWN MY SHIRT!

I screamed like a school girl on fire,

lost control and donutted off that country road like LindsayLohan on her way to rehab. Alive but still under attack I jumped out of my vehicle and loudly flung myself about like... well, like someone with a bee down their shirt. I tore off my clothes in a wild frenzy of yelps. It wasn't until I was half-naked and several hundred feet from my vehicle that I noticed the old local sheriff had pulled up right next to my car and was standing watch--with one hand on his door and the other on his holster. I walked back slowly, my heart racing,trying not to look like the crack fiend I just impostered. Extremely nervous and still breathless from the bee bout, I called out to the sheriff in broken English, "I... (gulp) swerved... bee down... (gulp)shirt... I, uh... (gulp)." Immediately realizing how ridiculous I sounded, and having arrived at my car, I stopped talking and just panted heavily--shirt in hand and sweat on face. Those couple seconds of awkward silence had me prepared for the worse. The sheriff finally responded in full country twang, "Son, that's jest 'bout the funniest thang I've ever seen." He full-heartily laughed and I cautiously joined in, still not sure if I would be required to "spread 'em."

He made a friendly approach over my car and asked me if I was alright."Yes," I said, "except for this big bite on my..." and I desperately began to explain myself. His laughter caught me mid-excuse, and I was soon relieved as he admitted I didn't do anything wrong. He said he saw me lose control and then run out of my car, and just wanted to make sure I was alright. We looked my car over and luckily found no damage.

Then under the shade of a nearby tree we had one of those intimate conversations you can only have with a stranger. He leaned against a signpost and I against the trunk and we exchanged biographies. His was naturally much longer and filled with some great advice. Except for his service in Vietnam he has always lived in rural Illinois. I asked him how he could do it--live a life some would say was so simple. He smiled at my ill-phrased query but responded without guile: "A lot of folks are always reaching up--but I've always tried to reach out. Life, son, ain't about who y'are or what y'are or even where y'are. It's about the people around you. Remember that, boy." I did. We talked a bit longer and then he received a call and had to leave. We shook hands and then parted.

As I got back into my car and continued my drive home (with my windows up) I thought about all the people I've met here in the mid-west... and thought about how right the sheriff was.