The Case of the Handle Bar Mustache...

There are several reasons I have put off writing a blog.
One large one, seems to lay in the name "BLOG." I may be crazy, but too me, the word is just ugly. For one reason or another, my brain inserts it into places it doesn't rightly belong. For example, It sounds like someone saying, " Oh my word, get out of my way, I am going to "BLOG!" Or for goodness sake, stop picking your "BLOGS!" I just couldn't get over the name of this activity, and to be quite honest, the worry about what people would think of my thoughts that more often than not border on that thin line of insanity. Having said that, I love to write, and I have since I was a little girl. and if we are being super honest, I need an outlet!
Not necessarily for personal sharing, just somewhere to lay all of these extra thoughts I have in my head to rest. So here goes my first, well kind of second blog of randomness..Enjoy.

Like many other working moms in our neighborhood, I make extra money by putting on my bravest face, a bright reflective jacket, and holding up a stop sign as a crossing guard, two times each day. Once in the morning, and once in the afternoon. Like every other job working with the public, I see peculiar things. For example, many mornings, I see people carrying cases of beer from the local grocery store at 7:30 Am, or runners running just for the sake of running, not because someone or something is chasing them, which is the only way I would ever get myself to run. But today I saw something that made me giggle, and when something makes me giggle, I feel a grand obligation to share.

I was sitting warm and cozy in my mini van waiting for the next kid to arrive, when I happened to catch a glimpse of a gold Ford Windstar stuffed full of a large man with an even larger handle bar mustache. I immediately wondered where he was headed in such a inappropriate mode of transportation.

For sure he had to be on his way to get his prize, family heirloom Chopper out of storage, (which with out a doubt his wife made him do.. Because no respectable man with that kind of mustache would be caught without his beloved motorcycle.) armed with polish and gasoline on a quest to get it primed for the upcoming riding season. Or perhaps, and possibly better, he had just robbed a stage coach, out along the Pony Express, and he along with his loot, thought the gold mini van would be the perfect vehicle to hide out in until he got across the border. Either way, I felt a little twinge of sadness for him and his clearly out of place and needing a home, handlebar mustache.