Stumped

Wayne took his farmer’s cap off and used his handkerchief to mop the perspiration from his forehead and balding pate.  He stuffed the kerchief into his back pocket and shook his head.

“I don’t know Miss Lydia.  This sure is a puzzle,” he said as he set his cap back in its place.

“There has to be something we can do!  That thing is ruining my plans.”  Miss Lydia lamented.  She was definitely in a sour mood.  In all of her 86 years, she hadn’t let a little problem defeat her.  This one would be overcome as well.  As they stood in Miss Lydia’s yard, a crowd was starting to gather.  In a small town such as Sinippi Cove, anything could serve as an opportunity to congregate.  Each new addition looked the situation over thoroughly before passing judgement.

Harvey, who was a member of Sinippi Cove’s volunteer fire department, offered, “Fire might do the trick.”

“I was thinking we needed some chains,” Tug from the hardware store suggested.  Clyde Parks had seen the group and felt he should be present at any gathering being he was the mayor of Sinippi Cove.

“What is going on here?” Clyde’s booming voice questioned.  Miss Lydia gave him a look that would have turned the average man to stone, but you see, Clyde had survived much worse during the Great War having lost his right leg.  A prosthetic was secured to his stump, and he was proud that he could keep up with all the young whippersnappers who had collected in Miss Lydia’s yard.  Miss Lydia just pointed her finger at the offensive object.

“Dynamite would take care of it,” Clyde asserted.  As mayor, he felt he could offer solutions that others might not have the authority to suggest.

“What?  Blow my house to kingdom come and back?   Humphf!”  Miss Lydia started to mutter which was definitely not a promising sign.  There followed a display of throat clearing, head scratching and shuffling of feet as they waited for another morsel of wisdom concerning the current predicament.

Clarice Travers carried a tray of moisture covered glasses containing cold lemonade handing them out to the conclave of citizens.  Murmured thanks were given for the kind contribution.  The sun was getting higher in the sky, and the temperature was going to reach the triple digits soon.

Suggestions included horses,  chemicals, and Pinterest.  “What in blue blazes is this Pintfester?  Don’t waste my time,” Miss Lydia threatened.  “Humphf, Pinterranets.  Bull puckey.”

“No, Miss Lydia, it’s P…”  The speaker was elbowed and shushed.  No one wanted to get on the wrong side of the octogenarian.  A group of Red Hat Ladies, heading for a luncheon, stopped.  It looked like a party, and anyone familiar with Red Hat Ladies knows they love parties.  It is the whole reason they exist.  The noise escalated to ear drum rupturing levels as the females bestowed their combined knowledge on the assemblage.

The tree stump would have to wait.  Miss Lydia wanted a nap.

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