You Can't Take It With You (Part II)

I have a peculiar, "break-the-rules" manner of dictating a bucket list. It also leaves a lot less room for disappointment. You see, I put it on my bucket list only after I've done it. It's a system alright. Very much a compliment to my backwards docket are my real-life Sycamore family described in an earlier post of the same name. They didn't fail to deliver this time. Here's what the itinerary consisted of this time around, again simply put to preserve the beauty:

Still greeted in very much the same way, with an approach of many. I retailed their names in my mind again only miffing two. After a few comments on the lovely weather (rain and cold) we all went inside. I was hit early with the schedule, that had a mixed feel of pre-determination and spontaneity. First was a showing off of the architectural computer game. It was the low light but still intriguing. Next the eldest showed me his newly purchased scanning radio and a listing of all the stations he'd uncovered. We listened for a while to the Blountsville police and puzzled at their numeric code. Then came the jokes, my favorite kind. Those presumed corny. A telling and retelling commenced, some with spice and drama, others with stuttering and mistakes, but all funny. The relish of each one by them all was a breath of fresh air. They did most of the telling to start with but I eventually got up the nerve. Next came a lecture on guns and a marvelous showing collection-wise. Of course now the shooting will come. To load the impractical but amazing black powder pistol you must first clean it out, then pour a measured amount of powder, finally the lead ball and then mash it all in tight. Then squeeze the caps to put on the back (you squeeze them so they don't fly off). Now to shoot. Glasses on, hearing protection on, both deemed unecessary by me, but I'm no expert. I'm a horrible aim, but I manage to spare the cats and chickens with my two shots. After that we are back inside, but only for a second because two of us are off to milk the cows. Now I've never done it before but it's very simple if you aren't squeamish. I wasn't very productive and was shown up tragically by the seasoned milker. I finished a mere cup and a half while he belted out around a half gallon. Now discussions of government conspiracy. A trip back to the house, we try the milk. It is warm and creamy. Some pour it in their coffee. I'm shown a gun-like flyswatter. I talk about how unimaginative the name of a fly is. They say they haven't had a chance to try it out yet because there have been no flies since the winter, and I am pleased to find one on my own. Finally I'm shown the sheep, goats, chickens (I was offered one to take home. I regretfully declined.), horses (which you can ride) and more. A quick run around the property, the lending of a Smith Wigglesworth book, and the traditional, everyone outside to wave farewell will wrap up the afternoon.

I know good sorts from bad sorts and these are good sorts. Here's another for the annals. Look for another, I have no doubt one will come up.