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Well gang, thereâs good news this week. The Texas Parks and Wildlife Department has lifted the ban on meetings at our facilities, and those of you on clubhouse and range committees should contact your chairmen and start tidying things up for a soon to be held meeting. Right now, it looks like things should be ready by about the second week in May.
This past St. Patrickâs Day, ignoring a promise to his wife, Timmy Callaghan stopped into Seanâs Pub on the corner to have a couple of pints.
Well the couple of pints turned into four and then six and so on, until finally, holding on to the bar for dear life, Timmy asked Sean the bartender for one for the road.
Sean smiled his kindly smile and quietly told Timmy that heâd had enough and should go home.
Timmy nodded. Then he looked at the front door just a few feet away. He gathered himself for the effort, and shoved himself from the bar, grasping wildly for the big handle on the front door. Which he did indeed grasp, with both hands.
His momentum swung the door outward onto the sidewalk, taking Tim with it. There his hands slipped off of the door handle, and Tim was deposited on the pavement. The door swung closed again.
After a moment to collect his bearings, Tim, who only lived around the corner, started crawling home.
When he got there, after going through all of his pockets, he finally found his house key, and stretching with all of his might, reached the lock and let himself in. After that it was a simple matter of crawling upstairs and pouring himself into bed.
He was awakened by his wife Annie. She was crying her eyes out. "You promised that youâd stay away from the alcohol." She wailed.
"I swear on my motherâs eyes, I went no where near the pub last night!" Tim denied stoutly.
"Oh stop your foolishness," said Annie. "Sean just called from the pub. You left your wheelchair there again last night." And she stomped out of the room.
Till next week
Helga Biermeister
Secretary