Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, April 17, 1995                   TAG: 9504210015
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

IT'S NOT EASY BEING HOME ALONE

Didn't bother me. I've been there before and I know a thing or two about getting along in this world.

With a short refresher course, I can run a washer and dryer as well as any of the chickie babies in the commercials.

I know how to throw those sheets of stuff in there to make the clothes soft. We veterans know that a washer or dryer will eat a favorite sock from time to time and we know this happens to everybody.

One of those television women would go all to pieces if her washer or dryer ingested the argyle socks her mother-in-law knitted for her husband.

I can look a stack of dirty dishes in the face the same way John Wayne looked at some unfortunate he was about whip with the butt of his Winchester.

I don't want to get into war stories here, but I served more time on kitchen police during a lusterless, stateside military career than any man alive at that time. You don't get medals for duty like that, but I'm proud of it.

The Beagles were always taught to put the best face on adversity and not to let anybody see them sweat.

Sure. I cooked some cube steak that tasted like a wet sweater, but it was nutritious.

Hell, I even steamed some broccoli.

I made some instant mashed potatoes that had the qualities of a good brick mortar but a man knows these things happen. He smiles grimly and feeds such disasters to the cat.

I had my moments. I opened a can of pork and beans and boiled up a huge sausage and it was good.

Hell, I even had cole slaw.

I had beans and sausages three times that week. Once I heated up the leftover broccoli and ate it - which is not an easy thing to do.

Friday came. We needed dog food, milk, bread and a lot of other stuff.

I like my visits to the supermarket to last about three minutes, but you play the cards you get in the deal.

You know it's not going to be easy out there, pushing a cart with bad wheels and trying to find the pet-food aisle, but you suck it up and go.

Several ladies approximately my age ran their carts into my Achilles tendons, but I came home with a huge roast, pork chops, potato chips, milk, beer, dog food and what we used to call ``incidentals.''

And the young lady who left her name on the register tape had no idea I fainted, briefly and without falling down, when she totaled me out at $52.21.