They say keep an eye on the sky . . .

And I say you better keep an eye on it and not just your peach pizza.

Because if you keep an eye only on your peach pizza, the ramifications of what could happen next can be devastating.

It all went down something like this.

Back in March of this year, the sweet daughter seemed in the throes of decision making.  She really, really liked it where she was teaching school in South Dakota.  She had good friends, she had good co-teachers, and, of course, she had good wood fired pizza.

But, she had been involved in the school system for long enough that it felt like it was time for a break.  She said what she would really like was a secretarial job at one of the local businesses just outside of town.  She implored of the crusty old man to check it out for her.

As luck would have it, they had a position exactly like she wanted, that they had just filled.  Now she was on the fence.  Come home with no bird in the bush or stay there with a bird in hand.

The crusty old man said come home, possibly for selfish reasons, that something was bound to happen that would be exactly what she wanted.

She came home. 

And nothing turned up. 

She started taking the corral down.  It was hot, back breaking work, and the telehandler kept dying on her.

The crusty old man suddenly had inspiration. 

Maybe the drugstore would have a position. 

So, he stopped in there one day, and, of all things, they were in the process of interviewing for a position. 

The sweet daughter quickly filled out her application and submitted it. 

They said they would let her know the next morning. 

The next morning, they called her to say, “Sorry, but you just missed it.  The one before you decided to take the job.”

Wearisome days followed.

For the crusty old man, that is.

Many doleful comments were heard that indicated there would never be a job.

Of course, experience spoke reassuringly and calmly in the midst of these minor tantrums, saying that what will be will be, and that all things would work out in the end.

And then, the crusty old man had another inspiration.

He messaged the fertilizer store just a half mile south of his place and explained his daughter’s wishes.

And, as luck would have it, they were interviewing that very day for a position that involved secretarial work.

Except this time, the sweet daughter was afraid.  Because there were lots of men there, and she didn’t think she would know how to do the job.

She sat still at the dinner table, wasting long minutes when she could have been at the neighbors, showing a good character by arriving early for her interview.

She really did look scared.

But, she eventually did the right thing and got herself over there.

And, they said they had just interviewed someone that morning for the job.  They said they would let her know the next morning.  She figured all bets were off.

The next morning brought tidings of joy; she had been hired.

At first, she thought it was just like she feared, that it would be a daunting job.

But a few days and weeks later, she came home with smiles and chuckles about the day’s happenings and mentioned how she really liked this job.

Until we had a beautiful 70 some degree day with the bluest sky and the greenest, softest grass.

And then we heard complaints about going back to work after her time at the dinner table was finished.

Whereupon, the crusty old man began to enumerate in, perhaps, the tenderest of mocking tones, the journey thus traveled to where she was. 

All this done while he was serving himself one of Mama J’s dulcetly good pieces of peach pizza.

And then it all went down. 

Literally.

From a long way away, or so it seemed, the crusty old man heard himself gasp and sputter with a sharp intake of air.   

He heard himself trying to speak a word, any word for that matter to maintain his sobriety and position of leadership among the females in his house.

From that same distant place he heard himself stutter, “It’s in my shorts!  It’s running down my legs!”

And as he began to come back to, and as discernment made its way back into his addled mind, he realized the sweet daughter had aimed her full glass of ice cubes and water directly into the gaping v of the crusty old man’s shirt, made larger and an easier target since he had failed to button the top button that morning. 

This was no spring chicken of a shower.  No.  It was a stormy, wind laced deluge.

It was a sad, soaking trail he left as he tried to ease out from the table to change his clothes, hoping not many more icy spots would come in contact with his already hypothermic skin and state of being lest it render him senseless and paralyzed at the feet of the women folk who were laughing so hard that no sound whatsoever came from their parted lips.