I Shot the Sheriff

My mother was in town for a visit this past weekend. Dozens of kindly area residents did what they could to help me entertain the materfamilias, for which I owe many thanks. Notable among these were Sheriff Glen Meier and Tanja Fransen of NWS Glasgow.

Picture if you will: Your fledgling managing editor and his mama trotting down to the Fort Peck Marina with invites from both of the aforementioned Glasgow celebs, only to face a conundrum about which boat to climb aboard in search of good times on the lake.

More troubling still was the fact that both of my would-be hosts were waiting in nearly adjoining slips, meaning that I couldn’t, even if I’d been inclined, simply slip out with one or the other, undetected by the slighted party.

What to do? Common sense would lean toward Meier. Fransen, after all, cannot actually arrest me, even if she could likely summon a thunderstorm to punish this mere mortal for his inability to make social plans intelligently.

That said, my mom is more frightening when angered (to me anyway) than either Glen or Tanja, and I guessed that she might have more fun with a boat full of ladies which included the Courier’s Georgie Kulczyk, her daughter Jordan, and my fellow Kiwanian and local chiropractor Krista Hersom Sauer, as well as Fransen. Also, I had my handsome hound dog in tow and I already knew that Tanja and her husband cruise with canines aboard much of the time.

The alternative flotilla turned out to be an impressive mix, however, with Meier, a certain county commissioner with the initials B.P., and a state trooper who happens to be a virtual neighbor of mine within the Fort Peck/Park Grove/Nashua trifecta. And don’t forget their excellent wives and female counterparts (Stephanie, Sheila, and Sherri, respectively). This was definitely a pickle, and I don’t like pickles (they’re practically rotten vegetables).

In the end, as B. Marley would put it, my reflexes got the better of me, and I shoved my mama onto Fransen’s Lowe Suncruiser. We did indeed have a swell time (my aching arms can attest to the kneeboarding), but I was left with a sinking feeling that I had offended various luminaries among the powers that be.

It seems I shot the sheriff (so to speak). I did not, thank goodness, also shoot the weather woman. I guess it goes with the territory, but if anyone out there knows how to clone human beings cursed with inadequate organizational skills (sans said inadequacies, needless to say), I could really use an identical twin to help pick up the slack during the rest of the summer.

In the meantime, Mr. Sheriff, please don’t escort me to the county’s excellent new pokey. I’ll get my act together eventually.