A man is talking to the family doctor. “Doc,” he says, “I think my wife’s going deaf.”

A farmer and a farmhand were hiking in the forest when a bull moose suddenly appeared and charged them. The farmer climbed a tree, and the farmhand ran to a nearby cave. The moose stood its ground. About every minute, the farmhand would run out of the cave only to be met by the angry moose and chased back in.

By the time you read this, I’ll once again be walking the aisles at NCBA’s convention in Phoenix. I learned something last year at the convention in Nashville I think will prepare me for a better show this year and a better year beyond that.

Clichés we should drop from our everyday speech might include, “It is what it is.” I actually used that in an email today and thought, “That’s a stupid statement.” It’s a five-word waste of breath, a 16-character waste of keystrokes. Of course it is what it is – what else would it be?

Let me cast a little light. There’s a robot hall of fame (yes, who knew?) established in 2003 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

I have chickens on the living room wall. My husband is disgusted by chickens. “It’s a quilt,” I say, “Get over it. Why do you hate chickens so much?” I think his objection is “We are blessed” embroidered on the quilt next to the chicken fabric seems like an oxymoron.

Why is it a farmer can run a $300,000 harvester but can’t turn on a dishwasher? Why is it parents and kids can work nine months on a 4-H steer project day after day, but after six hours in the hot sun during the quality show at the county fair nobody cares who wins anymore?

I’ve been ruminating for awhile now on what is growing in my neighbor’s field. I’ve never seen plants like that before. I drive by it at least twice a day and it bugs me that I don’t know what it is. I tried an internet search with no results.

And then I realized something important about my son, my husband and the whole bloomin’ family – it’s not their fault. Their outrage gauge is broken.

Think of a time when you walked in someone else’s shoes. And I don’t mean when you forgot your muck boots helping a neighbor sort cows. I’m talking full-on “I’ve been where you’ve been” type of a thing.