Coffee Break (Simply for your entertainment)

“ … and there I was, listening to his advice. Advice I never asked to hear. I haven’t appreciated Stuart’s opinion since I was four years old. In fact, he gets on my last nerve. I mean, seriously? He’s going to tell me how to repair the barn door? Why, he sits all day at a computer. And it’s a good thing, too. He’s just not too bright.”

She blinked her eyes and forced them to focus. How many conversations begin this way? Uh, yeah. Every. Single. One.

“I don’t know, Paul,” Sarah’s voice was warm and sweet. “Maybe he googles all day or watches YouTube tutorials.”

“Then there’s yesterday. He called to tell me I’m not using the right kind of grain for the chickens. When I told him there ain’t no better than what I use, he had the gall to correct me. He knows me well enough to know I said it that way on purpose.”

She nodded in an I-totally-agree-with-you sort of way.

“I told him if he would just come out to the ranch, I’d be happy to show him why I’ve got this under control. I know this place like the back of my hand. I told him I’d be happy to teach him all I know about what it takes to succeed as a cowhand or pig farmer or growing the best crop of wheat. Do you know what he said?”

“I can only gue …”

“I’ll tell you what he said. He said he knows what to do. He said I don’t need to explain a thing to him. You know what? I think he would have told God how to create the universe. I’m sure he would have had a better way.”

He paced and pushed his hand through his hair, tugging on it as if he could pull the frustration right out of his head.

“I’ve done all I can, Sarah. I even invited him to the house for supper. Told him I’d cook up steak—medium rare. Just the way he likes it. No one can grill a steak better than I can. He said he would pass on that unless I’d let him come over early and assist in the grilling. Assist. Yeah, right. We know what that means.”

 She sat down and paged through a magazine as he spoke. He didn’t seem to notice.

“That means he will tell me how it’s done. Last time he came over, he started up the tractor. I asked him, I said, ‘What are you doing?’ He told me he just wanted to listen to the engine. Wanted to be sure it’s running right.”

She sipped her coffee. It had grown cold, so she stepped into the kitchen to heat it up. “Want some coffee while I’m pouring?”

“I told him to get off that tractor. I told him I’ve been working on tractors since I was ten years old while he sat under a tree with one of his books.”

She noticed fresh cake on the counter and sliced a sliver off. Listening made her hungry … or bored. Cake was good for either one.

“I think next time he comes over here I’m going to let him know he isn’t king of the hill. I have done all I can to help him. From the moment we started kindergarten, he’s always had to have the last word. Do you have any idea how maddening that is?”

“Well, maybe …”

“I have noticed he’s that way on the phone, too. I called him the other day to let him know I stopped by the local farmer’s market and noticed they had mislabeled their produce. That manager tried to tell me the difference between beefsteak tomatoes and creole. I shut him down fast. Told him I’ve been growing tomatoes since I was knee high to a grasshopper. That manager just turned and walked away. But guess who knows more about tomatoes than I?”

Sarah scooted til her back rested against the couch cushion. Her feet dangled, so she crossed her ankles and tried to appear comfortable. She tilted her head to one side and set her gaze on Paul. She was great at the appearance of listening while going through a mental checklist of things to do.

“I ended the phone call by telling him thank you but no thank you. I didn’t need to hear which tomato is more acidic. Did I tell you I ran into him at the co-op store last week?”

“Actually, you said …”

“I was there to pick up dogfood. They have the best price in town, have I told you that already? Anyhow, he was standing there looking at coveralls. I tried to slip past him but he saw me. He called me over and proceeded to show me the double stitching. He tried telling me which coverall brand is superior. I told him I happen to know the guy whose great-great-great-grandfather came up with the idea of coveralls in the first place. I asked if he knew where the first pair of coveralls was made. Do you know where the first pair was made?”

Sarah resituated herself on the couch.

“Texas, of course. I thought everybody knew that. He tried to tell me it was Colorado. Whatever. Colorado.” He laughed at the very idea.

He paused. She raised one eyebrow, looked up at him, and waited.

He stepped to the window and eyed the dogs chasing each other across the field.

“Sometimes I wonder what dogs are thinking when they’re running around like that.”

“Where’s that bone?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Dog’s never forget where they bury a bone. It’s in their DNA.”

He placed his cowboy hat squarely in place, rubbed his chin and turned to look at her.

“Oh, something else about my trip to the co-op. I took a quick look at the winter seed catalogue. Mr. Johnson was at the counter. You remember him?”

“He must be 90 years old by now!”

“Yeah, that’s him. He was looking at the seed catalogues too. I told him what I know to be the best buys.”

“But, Paul, Mr. Johnson has been farming longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I know it, quite the shame that he needed me to tell him what to plant. You know, if Stuart had been there I’m sure he would have argued with me. As sure as the day is long, he would have argued.”

Sarah returned to her magazine article, Choosing the Best Apples for Your Pie.

“What are you reading, there?” He looked over her shoulder. “Oh, I read that article. I don’t know who the author is, but she clearly has never made an apple pie. She says buy Granny Smith. Nope. Incorrect. Everyone knows its Fuji. Be careful what you read, there, sis.”

She closed the magazine and thought about another slice of cake. She looked down at her thighs and decided to skip it.

  “Back to Stuart. He’s coming by tomorrow to pick up his shovel. Do you know where the first shovel was used?”

She didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she drank the last of her now lukewarm coffee and shuddered at the bitter sip.

“It isn’t written down anywhere, but the first shovel was an invention of cavemen.”

“And you know this … how?”

He shook his head in disgust. “Are you really my sister or did Mom bring the wrong baby home?”

She pursed her lips then clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. She learned these tricks long ago. It bought her time to find the self-control to keep quiet. It never did any good to argue with either of the boys. She was the baby sister, after all.

To her relief, his cell phone rang.

“Hello? No, no, I don’t think so. That can’t be right.”

She bit the corner of her lip and wondered who the caller might be.

“Statistics show most Americans are severely lacking vitamin D, not B. That’s because they spend so much time indoors. Not me. I get plenty of sun and fresh air. You’ll have to check your facts on that. Have a good day and hey, take a walk outside before you make your next sales call. Good luck.”

“Sales call?”

“Yeah. A rep from Healthy Harvest supplement company. He tried to tell me I need more vitamin B. Even if I did, Healthy Harvest isn’t the premier place to buy it. No, I happen to know Mother Earth has the purest vitamins. Well, unless you’re talking therapeutic oils. That’s another story. I diffuse only the best, Super Pure Oils for Life. I know my oils.”

“I’m sure.”

“What’s that?”

“I said I’m sure.”

“That sounds a bit condescending, don’t you think?”

She sat her coffee cup on the end table and gave her brother a half hug.

“Paul, you know me better than that. I’ll see ya later.”

He followed her to her car. “Do want to take any eggs with you? Not to brag or anything, but I’ve got plenty and they are even better than Egglands Best!”

Her back was to him, so she rolled her eyes. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“They are better for your brain than any other egg. Rich in omega 3’s and healthy protein. You know, some doctors say eating egg yolks will raise your cholesterol, but that’s just not true. Especially if you choose whole grain toast to go along with your eggs … well, not just any eggs. My eggs.”

She rested her hand on the car door. “Thank you, Paul, but no thanks. I’ve plenty of eggs from when I stopped by a few days ago.”

“Sounds to me like you’re not eating enough. You need at least 1,200 calories a day. Be sure you’re getting your protein.”

“I’ll head home and make an egg sandwich on rye as soon as I get there.”

“You be careful now. Your car is in need of a tune up. I could hear it when you drove up. And these tires … looking a bit low on air.”

Sarah buckled up and waved farewell.

He watched her car maneuver the long, gravel driveway. He remembered the day he had the rock delivered. He sure was glad he was there to tell the driver the best way to unload his order. Had he been late, he was sure his driveway would have been ruined.

The dogs ran up with tails wagging. Each stood waiting his turn for an ear scratching. They sat and looked at him with adoration and loyalty.

“Pay attention, boys. I expect Sheriff Crum might come by later this afternoon. I saw him yesterday at the Donut Hut. After I bought him the best donut flavor in the house, I told him to be careful out there on the road. I told him the latest string of burglaries were taking place on the west side of town. He sure was glad I let him in on the info, he just looked at me and grinned. I guess I left him speechless.”

His thought’s took him back to the beginning of his conversation with Sarah.

I don’t know what I’ll do the next time Stu tries to tell me the right time of year to plant zucchini or how many hours of sleep I need each night.

Seriously, who does he think he is? I’ve spent time with him in hopes of helping him understand the inner workings of running a farm. Offered to take him under my wing. He doesn’t think there’s anything to learn.

I called him the last time I picked the perfect watermelon so I could tell him how it’s done. He had the nerve to tell me to check the color of the bottom of the melon. Crazy. I knocked until I found a hollow sounding melon. That’s how it’s done.

He walked to the barn to begin the roof repair.

Seriously though, I hate it when people think they know it all.