The mystery of the missing rocking chair

   
      Howdy, as you most probably know by now, the name's Winston. I just woke up from my nap.

      Yesterday was as weird as Myron's lamps. I was about to sit on my rocking chair to escape Ruth's viola, when I went three feet below my favored destination. If it weren't for my duck cane, my bottom would have slammed into the floor of the porch. That would have hurt.  Anyway, for the next few hours, all I could think about was the question of "Who Did It?". Did Ruth sell it? Did the girl scouts take it hostage? Where could it be?

The restaurant with a side of UVA

   Howdy, the name's Winston. My apologies to my fellow war heroes, I mean readers, no, war heroes sound fine, that have not heard from the old Winston. Don't worry, I'm NOT dead, I think. What happened is that Ruth used our window browser bill on a new viola case! At least she's not vacuuming.

  Today I went to visit my great-niece, Rachel. Rachel is in college at the UVA university. I've accepted the fact that she chose UVA over the pride and joy that comes from the military. My great-nephew, Alex, knows what I'm yapping about. As I was saying, Ruth insisted we go to visit Rachel. Unfortunately, I had to leave the old duck cane in the cottage so that Ruth could make room for her viola.

 Once we arrived at "Virginia", I shuddered. I thought Virginia was in the South. It was freezing, I'm glad Stephen the duck cane was left in beautiful Oregon. Ruth spotted Rachel on an application on her cellular mobile. We went out to eat at some restaurant. My aging eyes could see once more once I observed that they had the chairs I designed by the window. Good for them! I insisted that we sit there instead of sitting at tables with chairs of lesser value.

 Ruth of course bought the most expensive meal there was on the menu with a side of fries. Good thing that I stopped eating years ago, or else, I'd be on the streets.

Love and Hate from the EAST!

-Winston

Sleeping Schedule

     Why hello there! As you know, the name’s Winston. I just have awakened from my afternoon nap. Wrong! I try to stick to my sleeping schedule everyday, but every full moon I seem to feel crazy and go to sleep when the sky tells me to. Unfortunately, I was only half asleep when Ruth (my wife) started her vacuuming. She never vacuums! It is almost like she times her vacuuming hours during my sleeping schedule. Anyway, I was awakened with a killing mood. So I visited my friend Myron. Here let Myron here start introducing himself! “Come here Myron!”. ( Be nice okay, Myron has an accent, he is from Kentucky).


       Myron:   Hi there! For all ya’ll folks out there, I would like to tell you Winston and I have been friends ever since I was in the nursery school-house also known as kinder school? “ Winston? How do the young people say ‘nursery school’?” “ One minute, let me call Ruth.” ( 5 minutes later) Kindergarten!  Thats the word i was look’in for. Anyway, I was born in Maine as a matter a fact, I moved to Kentucky when I was in first grade for the fourth time. I was really shy when I joined the military. I accidentally shot Winston. Not my fault! You can blame anyone you want but that was 100% the gun's doing.
                         Love and Hate from the West,
                Myron, Winston, and the gun's fault.

How I met Winston

 How I Met Winston the Whiner

  So today at my book club, fat old Beth asked me how I met Winston. I don’t even know why she cares about true love- she’s dating at LEAST 4 guys. Is one Winny? Anyway, I’ll send Elise to bombard her with girl scouts later. Here is how I met the love of my life.

  I was at a pub, and I got this sudden urge for Rum. The bar was super busy, because the military was off on a break. I didn’t mind. They were all handsome. Anyway, after a long time explaining what Rum was, and the longest wait, I got this tiny little shot glass full of water. WHAT! I was just about to take out my gun, when I realized hey. I could use a little water. So I grabbed the bartender by the collar and said, “Where is the ice, bonnie lass!?” and this other handsome lass said, “YEA WHERE IS THE ICE” and he and his brave military friend went to look for some. After 2 hours of boring conversation with the old man next to me, they gallantly waltzed in with 5 cubes of ice. By the time it reached me, I had already chugged the water and yelled “WHERE IS MY RUM”. 

    No matter how much Winny annoys me, he will always be the romantic of 1955, I remember my first date with Winny, instead of being the classic guy, he bought me a bouquet of ice! I put it in water immediately and through out the flowers.
            Bye!

Ruth's Viola

     Howdy, the name's Winston. If you do not realize this, I am typing slowly because of my exhaustion. You remember my weekly naps, and how Ruth has been vacuuming during my napping schedule, so I changed the timing of my naps. I finally got sleep, but then I heard the worst noise a man could have suffered in his whole life. Ruth has been practicing the viola during MY resting hours.

    I know what you're thinking, " Sleep outside on your rocking chair", well, you're wrong in two ways. One, Ruth's racket can be heard through the wooden cabin of mine, even worse, it echoes! Two, once a man is off guard, a girl scout appears. They wake you up and there is no time to escape!

   Don't get me wrong the viola is a wonderful instrument, I listen to it in the Saturday plays with Myron. However, Ruth cannot make a sound! Her squeaking is the only music coming from the strings. Also, I was on the window browser when I realized that a viola costs 45,000 pennies! Where is Ruth getting such money? It was as clear as the bullet Myron shot at me! My dear, lovely Ruth was robbing banks.

  This is not just an inference, it is a fact. Earlier today I noticed Ruth with a flowered hat. The hat was not a present from me. Why else wasn't she wearing the hat I gave her? Sure it was a little bit of a heavy hat, with a couple of holes, but back in my day, it would be an honor such an article of clothing. Shoot! I just heard Ruth open her viola case, see ya!


  Its been a while since I decided to come on to the internet. I hate my husband. But I hate his mother so much more. She thought it would be cute to buy a girl scout cookie box. That's O.K with me. Unless she uses MY MONEY! I don't have a lot of money... That's why I steal. My girlfriends and I go to Oregon's National Bank every Saturday and act as a homeless old girl scout and they make it rain millions! I bought a new hat just the other day. The one Winston bought me looked like beaver pellets. It smelled like it too. I want to talk more so give me a minute to put away my viola.

  Have I gone deaf? Whew! By the way, I just remembered a very important detail about the hat that I gave Ruth. The answer was in the diary I wrote when I was in love with Ruth. The hat was the one I had worn when Myron shot me in the military. That day, I thought that if I had died what would I have left for Ruth? That day I stored up some money and bought Ruth a golden necklace with my name on it. 24 carrots. I hid it in the hat I gave her. Since then I still haven't died. I was such a fool! Now Ruth is stealing, she probably will sell the necklace.

Winston's trip to the Big Pear

          Howdy, it's me Winston, and I have just arrived from a 168 hour trip to New York City, or as Ruth calls it "The Big Pear". Ruth grew up it New York City, and not the fancy uptown area, the real city. She was always hitting the pubs, cracking up the party arrangements, you name it.

 
     I always thought Ruth made the good kind of sacrifice by leaving the pear and moving into lovely Oregon, but the entire time, Ruth was counting the days. Apparently, I owe her a week of visiting the pear. I don't mind visiting the fruit, however Ruth's parents live right at the tip of Manhattan, Long Island.

  We went in the airport. I managed to fit everything in one luggage, Ruth though, didn't seem to have the same intention. Ruth brought four bags, not including her carry-on. Once we reached security, we had to TAKE OFF our shoes. So I made sure that I took my precious time taking them off.


Ruth: MY LORD Winston is a slow cow and takes 50 minutes to velcro his sneaks. And the security officers made me TAKE OFF my fanny pack! What the HELL am I supposed to put in a fanny pack? Diapers for Winston? Its just filled with my hip magazines. The plane is chill. Except Winston brought his desktop computer to the plane- t's in the same luggage as his panties! Well, food is coming-Winston gets cranky if he doesn't get his midnight snack. G2G!



 


         

White Powder

         Howdy, as you should know the name's Winston. I am writing to the window browser to inform you of something I think is ( as Ruth would say it) hopscotch. SNOW. I am gl-A-ad that it only arrives one season of the  year.  The worst season. The season where the girl scouts sell you the SAME cookies with a different holiday name for more money. Vanilla becomes "Winter Wonderland", Thin Mints are "Christmas Trees", Caramel deLites turn into "Christmas Presents", and so on. But also, SNOW. Snow is cold. Snow is boring. Snow is an obstacle. You may wonder, "Winston must have had a tragic history with snow", and to answer that thought I am going to tell you yes.

        Now, before you begin thinking of all the possibilities such as a military incident or meeting Ruth, I must make you aware that when I was trapped in Syria with Myron in the deep, icy war battle called snow, I already hated snow. It began on January 31, 1935. I was eight years old, living in the apple of Midwest. It was a below freezing Thursday, I was minding my own business, watching my father "discipline" Albert, my younger brother, with his leather belt. When my mother, who was getting things tidy, takes off the wooden boards nailed to the window to get some fresh air in, and there it was. The little sniper we call snow, and a whole barrel of  it. "Winny, dear, why don't you go out and play with Harold in the snow?". My mother's ideas, I should have known. However, I had nothing better to do in my chair watching my brother's discipline occur. An hour later, I was with my best albino pal, Harold.

       We were just making snow monsters, when these huge, acne faced, meanies come across our way. Harold let out a disgusted "Good Scott" when he saw them. "Well look righ' here Tom, we have ourselves here some half portions!". Rude. As a matter of fact I was NO half portion, I was known as a straight on Joe when I was in school. I told those scrubs to back off and let us be. My nanna had told me to take the high way but I was no doormat. This resulted in both Harold and I to be robbed of our possessions, stolen from our pride, and buried 4.908 feet in the cold, white powder. It wasn't until later that a couple of young lassies came by in their Peter Pan collar and saved us. One of them noticed my tennis shoe laces sticking out of the snow. Harold thinks of it differently, but I think that she was thinking "Aces! Free shoes!".  For me, my hair has never been the same ever since. Harold earned the worst of it. Today he is still paler than he was before the incident.

    A similar thing happened when I was seventeen. My mother had already set my father's boat on fire for the third time that month. I was walking back to my cave with Robert and Harold, coincidently, telling Robert of the story of the meanies. All of a sudden, an ice ball was thrown at the back of Robert's head. I turned around only to see the same cement mixers from nine years earlier! I was about to make a run for it. I wish I did. In the end, all of us were tied over the freezing creek waiting for our doom. Eventually, Harold's sister helped us down. Did I mention it was snowing that day? Coincidence? I think not. My main wall buster is this, the day I met Ruth, it snowed, I should have known.

             Love and Hate from the West,