My Own Signs
Forty sets of six, by Edwin Irish, October 1998 to September 1999
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Here they are, every one I've kept, numbered in the order I wrote them, with the date I finished each one. I have thrown out more than I kept. Betty has seen all of them, the kept and the thrown out, and she would like you to know that she has suffered.
The rules are on the front page, but the short of it is five signs to say it and the sixth to sign it. My sixth sign is always the name of my old store, Irish Implement, which sold and serviced farm machinery on the highway at the edge of town from 1956 until I retired in 1994. The building is a body shop now. I figure the store has earned a little more advertising, even if there's nothing left to buy.
Read them slow, one sign at a time, like you were going 35 on a summer evening. That's how they were meant to be read. These are all mine, every word. If you want to use one on something, write and ask, and I'll most likely say yes.
No. 1 · October 17, 1998
Written on the back of a gas station receipt somewhere in Iowa, on the way to our daughter's. It isn't my best, but it was my first, so it stays.
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No. 2 · October 24, 1998
| AND WAVE. THEY'LL WAVE BACK |
Everybody waves out here. If you don't, we talk about you at the cafe.
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No. 3 · November 3, 1998
Betty hit one in 1987 with the Buick. The deer got up and walked off. The Buick didn't.
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No. 4 · November 15, 1998
Written on a napkin at the church supper. The pastor asked to see it. He laughed, so I guess it's all right.
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No. 5 · November 28, 1998
Two miles, 1974, in my good shoes. I have checked the spare every time since.
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No. 6 · December 12, 1998
The county plow drivers are the hardest-working men in the state from November to March, and nobody thanks them.
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No. 7 · December 30, 1998
Betty's favorite. She says it's the only one of mine that's any use.
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No. 8 · January 16, 1999
A week on the lake in January. Four perch. Two books. Good week.
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No. 9 · January 23, 1999
The first one I wrote after the computer class started.
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No. 10 · January 30, 1999
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No. 11 · February 6, 1999
It's a 486. My son says that's old. So am I. We get along.
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No. 12 · February 13, 1999
I learned this one the hard way, my second week on the computer. Carolyn and I are speaking again.
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No. 13 · February 20, 1999
She's fifteen. She says LOL means laughing out loud. I asked her why she doesn't just laugh out loud.
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No. 14 · February 27, 1999
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No. 15 · March 6, 1999
He's a good neighbor and I mean that. He read this one and said we're welcome any time.
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No. 16 · March 13, 1999
Car phones were just coming in when I retired. I had one in the service truck the last two years, the kind in a bag the size of a lunch pail.
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No. 18 · April 10, 1999
If you're not from here: when the frost comes out of the ground in spring, the road heaves and goes soft in places. We call them frost boils. You'll know one when your coffee does.
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No. 19 · April 17, 1999
Our daughter's. I counted twice.
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No. 21 · May 8, 1999
Planting season. I sold that fellow's dad his first tractor. Probably.
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No. 22 · May 17, 1999
Harold and I go every year. Neither of us has rowed since Eisenhower. That's what the motor is for, but it wouldn't rhyme.
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No. 23 · May 29, 1999
Betty says I don't need anything. I tell her it's research.
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No. 25 · June 16, 1999
For our anniversary. We were married June 16, 1951, a Saturday, and it rained. Betty read this one and didn't groan, so by my own rule I ought to throw it out. I'm keeping it.
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No. 27 · July 3, 1999
This is not about anybody in particular. Betty would like it known that it is about somebody in particular.
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No. 30 · July 24, 1999
Dinner is at noon. Supper is at night. I don't know what they do in the Cities.
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No. 31 · August 7, 1999
The grandkids were up for a week. The two little ones each have one of those games with a screen the size of a saltine. I tried it. I couldn't get the fellow to jump.
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No. 33 · August 18, 1999
She still picks up for me. Usually by the fourth ring.
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No. 34 · August 21, 1999
| BUT YOU CAN'T KICK THE TIRES |
Thirty-eight years I sold machinery. I never sold a tractor to a man I hadn't shaken hands with, and I never had one come back on me that I couldn't fix with a phone call and a drive out.
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No. 36 · August 28, 1999
Betty says this one is not a rhyme, it's a confession.
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No. 37 · August 31, 1999
The one I'm proudest of so far. It's also on the front page, on posts.
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No. 38 · September 4, 1999
Betty and Carolyn and I rode the bus up to the State Fair on the Thursday before Labor Day. I am not going to list the seven.
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No. 39 · September 10, 1999
Thank you to the other half.
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No. 40 · September 13, 1999
For Dad, who never once turned the car around for a sign, and always slowed down for them.
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That's forty. There will be more. I've got a notebook going for number 41 and it's about the leaves, but it isn't right yet. Betty didn't groan.
If one of these made you smile, or groan, write and tell me which. [email protected]
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All rhymes on this page © 1999 Edwin Irish. Last updated Monday, September 13, 1999.
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