My Old Heart Runs Up in a Pile

That's an old saying for what happens when somebody makes your heart melt, and if y'all didn't know that, it's because you've got cell phones growing out your ears like a fungus, and you miss half what's worth hearing. Or either you're just plain ignorant.

Which one it is, is not mine to say, nor will I condemn thee because if I have said it once, I've said it two or three times: "Judge not lest you be judged," a saying much used, but for which I was never given credit and as old as I am now, I don't give a you know what.

Which reminds me of this: If I could do my life over, I might become a Licensed Practical Nurse. Then I could have LPN after my name and feel like a big shot. And maybe if I'd been an LPN, I could've been some real help to my neighbor Delores when she turned her ankle falling over a hoe after we tied one on New Year's Eve, which you can read about down there where it says "The Guilty Dog Will Bark."

But one thing I would not want to be and that is a judge. A while back, we started a contest, with the aim of giving a prize to the one who sent in the worst, the ugliest, the filfthiest pot or pan they had and still used. You can go down to where I wrote "Parade of Pans" parts one and two, for more information.

Some of y'all were good to send in your pictures, so many that the girl who helps me out with this blog told me I couldn't put them all up or else I'd end up having to pay the Google people for extra space, and as much as I've had to cuss the Google people, I sure don't want to have to pay them for the privilige. But all of y'all who follow my blog (in hopes of getting in my will, I know) and some of you who don't, were so good to help me out that my heart fairly ran up in a pile, as I said.

When it came down to it, I couldn't decide how to pick. Should I give points for dinks, dents, and dirt, like I said down there in "Parade of Pans" or just shoot from the hip and holler it as I see it?

After studying on it, I arrived at the conclusion that the pots and pans were just about evenly filthy--at first glance. (Remember that last part.) So I told that girl who helps me out to be the judge, and she just parked her arms across those big jugs of hers and said, "I am NOT going to get involved with THAT," so I got my daughter Lou Ann in on it, which was a mistake because she's going through the menopause and has seen some things and had some ideas lately I have called into question, such as seeing that alien at the end of her bed and thinking it had taken her aboard its plane and used her for some kind of experiment.

Well, Lou Ann took a good hard look at pan number one up there, that woman called Hendersonville Epicurean's pizza pan, which I talked about down there in "You Danged Ole Fusspot!" and agreed with me that based on that pan's level of grunge, if it was a dog and I was judging the show, I'd say it was pretty much in line with the breed.

What really got to Lou Ann, though, was that she thought she saw that alien's face in the middle of that pan. We called over my son Terry Wayne and asked him and he said the same spot she thought was an alien looked to him like an orangutan's behind or Homer Simpson's face.

I'd heard of that kind of thing where people think they see the Pope in a pizza or the Virgin Mary in a biscuit, but I would have never thought anybody kin to me, much less two of the children who sprang fully formed from betwixt my very legs, would have had such a gift, though with Lou Ann I think it very well could be the menopause. Anyhow, Lou Ann proclaimed that this feature of Hendersonville Epicurean's pan gave it added value, and made it a top contender for the prize, which may or may not mean it won the prize.

You'll have to find out next time. I'm going to keep y'all in suspense. Life has no meaning without suspense.

Stay tuned.