AMOS & ANDY

Andy is my brother-in-law. I'm Amos, the "wannabee" working on my tan.

(Alternate titles considered for this blog were "Driving Mr. Daisy" and my bride's suggestion, "Anus & Andy." I think I'm insulted.)

Andy has been our house guest, on and off, for the last couple of weeks. He seemed satisfied with the accomodations, though he was disappointed that there was no chocolate on his pillow every night. (He didn't like our soap, shampoo or cereal either.)

We tried to prepare for his visit by inquiring about some of his wants and needs:

Patty- "What do you like to drink?"

Andy - "White wine, Pinot Grigio."

We bought Pinot Grigio. Upon his arrival, we offered Andy a glass of wine:

Andy - "Sure, I'll have some wine. Give me the red."

Patty - "I thought you liked white wine."

Andy - " I do, but I can't drink it. It gives me gout."

Okay...............................

Conversation is always fun with Andy. He only hears half of what you say, and he only remembers half of what he hears.

We convinced Andy not to rent a car during his visit; hence the "Mr. Daisy" reference. In the course of two weeks, we toured much of southern and central Florida, as Andy broadened our horizons. I didn't think there was any place but the beach down here.

We visited Aunt Jean, cousin Diane, and Hansi, the Wonder Dog. During that trip, Sheriff Andy reminded us that you can take Andy out of law enforcement, but you can't take law enforcement out of Andy. He regaled us with numerous stories of his detective cases, and threatened me numerous times with "citizen's arrest" for my driving practices. (Each successive threat was less amusing than the previous one.)

We took Andy half way for a play date with his friend Richard; a stay over! All reports suggest that Andy behaved himself. Such a good boy! (He forgot his pills; as I said, forgetfullness and not hearing were prevalent during his visit.)

We went to a spring training baseball game. Only we could pick a game that we would be delayed by rain, during a time of extreme dought in this area. Oh well....

And we visited Andy's friends, Bob & Judy. They live in a place called "The Villages," a beautiful "Adult Living" community. It was like Disney World for geriatrics, or maybe the Twilight Zone. Old fashioned architecture, piped in music on the streets, restaurants at every corner. The main form of transportation is golf carts. Over 75,000 people, no kids. Median age of the population must be close to 75. The typical house probably has one bedroom, but 3 bathrooms.

Despite all of our travel, (if I ever reach desperation here, I will stand outside with a sign that says"will drive for food") and numerous visits to restaurants, ( thanks to the generousity of Andy and his friends) he did find some time to "veg" at the beach, walking a mile in my shoes.

I suppose we should be happy we only provided Andy with room, board, and occasional car service. Richard's wife. Bea, was forced to sacrifice a pint of blood to satisfy his insatiable appetite for amusement, getting him a "free" ticket to a flight museum.

Andy has an adorable tee shirt with a picture of all of his grandchildren on it. People react to it with "ooh's and ah's." He also has another tee shirt; slightly risque. It refers to an aging squirrel and his testicles. This one elicits mild laughter, unless of course you happen to wear it in a Baptist thrift store. The clerk was more appalled than amused. Oh, Andy!

But Andy is gone now, driving home with Caroline, his own "Miss Daisy." We are once again "empty nesters." Of course, the first thing we will do is sell the bed in the guest room, to discourage him from ever coming back!

No, just kidding. (I'm a kidder.) The sheriff is welcome back any time; he was a generous and gracious guest. His friends quickly became our friends, and we all miss him; everybody except the clerk at the Baptist thrift store.

Can I get an "AMEN!"