Drs. Doolittle!

This morning, Ben showed up early at the trailer, to drink some coffee with us, and visit. Thirty minutes later, when John arrived—he came to the trailer, too. We all said our howdys to each other, and then I asked John if he was interested in a cup of coffee.

“No thanks, Nancy,” John said. “But thank you for the offer. I’m afraid that I am suffering from a hangover.” And, then he laughed, and we joined him in laughter.

“Did you drink a little too much at the bar last night?” Ben teased.

“Well, yeah. I did—sorta,” John said, smiling. “But it wasn’t my fault. And, I didn’t get drunk.”

“At Mulligan’s?” I asked.

“No,” John answered. “Jon and Sandy came over to my apartment last night, and they wanted me to go with them over to Center Point—for dinner and a few beers. And, I really had a good time with them.”

“So, it’s Jon’s and Sandy’s fault,” I declared. “Do you need some aspirin? We’ve got some.”

“No thank you, Nance,” John said. “This bar, that Sandy and Jon took me to had these gigantic turtles that must’ve weighed over a hundred pounds. It was a really cool place. We need to all go there sometime.”

“Were the turtles walking around in pairs?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“Seeing double,” I teased. “Just checking.”

Tony then got up from the chair at the kitchen table, went to the refrigerator, and opened the door. “John, we’ve got some kind of magic health juice, that was sent anonymously to us, the other day, and I’ll bet that it will help you feel better fast. Here. Take some. You can be our guinea pig.”

Tony carefully handed John our small bottle of—’cures everything,’ along with a spoon. John squinted to read the directions, and then he unscrewed the cap, poured himself a heaping tablespoon of the miracle concoction—and then he swallowed it down—fast!

Tony stayed for ten more minutes, just to make sure that John was okay from drinking the stuff, and then he left us three inside the trailer—to go to Medina, so he could get some hay for the dog’s dog houses. And then— I had a light bulb moment!

I went to my ‘pantry’ and returned with my little black medicinal case—containing pharmaceutical quality— essential oils! I then unzipped the case, and told John all about my oils, and how potent they were. “John,” I said. “My, ‘Feng Shui for Dummies’ book say that this brand of essential oils, is the number one recommended brand to use. And, there’s another book, I’ve got...”

“Yes,” Ben quipped. “It’s true, John. In fact, I read about this company producing the highest quality of essential oils in the world! They’re great!”

“I took out one of my bottles, unscrewed the cap, “John, take this. It’s Frankincense, and it will cure everything. It’s real expensive, too. Just put a drop or two on your temples.”

John, dotted his temples with the Frankincense. Then Ben picked up a bottle, unscrewed the cap and handed it to John. “Put a drop of this under your nose and inhale it. This will fix you up, I promise. John put the bottle to his nose, inhaled, and then placed a drop of oil under his nose.

“What oil is that?” I asked.

“Peppermint,” Ben replied. “It’s good for everything that ails you. I use it all of the time.”

“I can’t stand that Peppermint oil,” I said. “John, one day I put a drop of that Peppermint oil in my shopvac, and after I had finished vacuuming the trailer—I was buzzin’ like a beehive! I don’t know if I overdosed on the stuff or what, but you couldn’t pay me to use it.”

“Oh great!” John said. “I just inhaled it, and put it under my nose! Are y’all trying to kill me?”

We all laughed, and then I pulled out another bottle, unscrewed the cap. “This is called ‘Thieves’ guaranteed to restore your body. Take a drop and put it under your tongue.”

“No. I don’t think so, but thank you,” John said. “Y’all are crazy! I’m going outside to work, before I overdose on one of y’all’s ‘proven’ home remedies.” And, then he zipped up his thermal coveralls and left the trailer, with Ben following right behind him.

As soon as they left the trailer, I turned on my iPod, cranked the volume up on my Bose iDock, and heard Arlo Guthrie singing, ‘I Don’t Want A Pickle.’