Thank You For Not Smoking The Drapes.

My Mother and I have always had odd conversations. My earliest memory of this was one Saturday when I could not have been older than six. I was sitting in the back seat as we passed the First Baptist Church. If you live in a small southern town you know that the First Baptist Church has the largest building of all the local churches. Ours was no different. It was impressive with a large domed steeple. As Mom drove by I noticed a large flock of birds sitting on the dome. Innocently I asked her what the birds were doing at church on Saturday. My mothers response - "Because they are Jewish." So I learned that Jewish people go to their place of worship on Saturday.
I was not the only one that asked odd questions. In Junior High Mom told me she wanted to know if I thought the Angels in Heaven wore socks. "Of course not," I told her. "They would snag on the streets of gold." She shrugged and we both went back to whatever we were doing before.
As I progressed into my teen years my questions transformed. Now I wanted to know if could date a high school senior my freshman year. My Mother asked me if I had been smoking the drapes. Smoking the drapes is a term Mom and I use lovingly when what we really want to say is "You must be high on some illicit drug because I know you are not dumb enough to ask me that seriously."
Recently it was Mom's turn again. "If you were about to eat a gingerbread man and he began to talk to you, would you continue to eat him?" Where she comes up with these scenarios is beyond me. The woman is beyond brilliant. She has two college degrees and only lacked a mere three credit hours to acquire a third. I like to humor her so I gave her an answer. "Yes I would. It is obviously a hallucination from the brownies I ate before the gingerbread man so I am going to continue to cure my munchies."

Just to clarify that last statement I am not one to do drugs. Well other than the ones I have a prescription for. Those are pretty awesome. I am a wimp anyways. Give me some NyQuil and I am told I am very entertaining.

My Children show all the signs of being just like me in the imagination department. I figure the road ahead is paved with odd questions. At least my days won't be boring. I will leave you with a family story of Mom that has to be my favorite. It also goes to show where I got my imagination from. Grandma and some neighbors had picked a bunch of strawberries and now sat at the kitchen table preparing them for canning. Mom was probably 8 or 9 months old, sitting underneath the table. Grandma and the ladies begin to hear growling. A single strawberry had rolled of the table and plopped onto the floor next to Mom. She was on her hands and knees growling at the offending fruit.