A Helping Hand

Please welcome Slim Randles as today's Wednesday's Guest with another one of his tales featuring the guys at the Mule Barn Truck Stop Think Tank. This story really resonated with me, as I could relate to Mrs. Morris, and thank goodness I have neighbors like Windy, although my neighbors talk purt near normal. 

While Slim is entertaining us here, I am over at the Blood Red Pencil blog with a bit of mid-week humor to help you over the hump. Do stop by if you have a chance.

It is bitter cold here in most of the United States, and I'm sure in plenty of other places across the world, so let's have some hot chocolate and stay warm. Enjoy....

 Windy looked out the window. A great day for helping. Windy Wilson sets one day aside each week for helping others, you see, and this was helping day.

Mrs. Morris, he thought, checking on the calendar. Yes, Mrs. Morris’s poor ol’ shed that’s leaning dangerously to one side.

“I can just whup over there today and see that gets fixated,” Windy said, smiling. “By dark, she’ll have a perp-up-and-dicular shed she can be proud of.”

Windy talks like that. A lot.

Armed with enough tools to recreate the city of Troy, Windy arrived at Mrs. Morris’s house and set to work. He rigged a come-along to a tree and used it to straighten the shed. Then, while he had it straight up, he attacked it with bracing.

Mrs. Morris brought him coffee a couple of times, and later had him in for lunch. Mr. Morris had passed away several years ago, and some of these bigger chores were beyond her abilities.

Windy hadn’t asked Mrs. Morris about fixing the shed, because that’s part of the fun for him. You just show up and do it. Do it until it’s done. Do it right. Fortunately, Windy has always been pretty handy with tools.

By three o’clock, that shed was up and braced, and several loose boards had been nailed back in their homes again. He brought the can of paint out of his truck and started painting it the same light green it had always been.

Inside the house, Mrs. Morris looked out upon the wonder of a reconditioned shed in her back yard. She picked up the phone.

“Mr. Johnson? This is Mrs. Morris. That’s right. Look, I know I’d asked you to take down my old shed, but I’ve changed my mind. No, I don’t think the old shed will fall on anyone. Thanks so much anyway.”

Nothing like a good helping day, Windy thought, rinsing out his paint brush and dancing a little jig carrying the tools back to his pickup. Nothing like it.
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