I just had it pop into my head that I should spend this year becoming “smashing” . . . in appearance, guys. Although I have to say I can’t blame you for thinking I was turning my violence level up, given my lousy moods of late. I think I should lose weight, dress well . . . oh, better stop there. This is already quite a challenge. So what would I end up looking like? I don’t know – guess I’ll have to consult our local seer, The Woo.
Woo says, How bout this:
Yes, there he is in Georgia, finding all sorts of cool links – like this one:
Oh, please, please, let it be true . . . and not staged. And if that honking jerk did anything to the lady, I hope those skateboarders laid into him.
How lucky can I get? Here I have an electronic site that is named after the cow leaning in the field down the road . . . and I find a homespun group that sums up the writing here: EMOOS. This is so great.
Way back when – when I was in my early 30’s and the 80’s were at their start – we lived in Palatine, Illionis and went to a lot of garage sales, that being the era of people still trotting things down from the attic and up from the cellar. Once we saw one listed in the paper as DISBANDING MOTHER’S HOME . . . and scavengers that we were, we went.
The whole house was open – you simply wandered around and got want you liked and paid a nominal sum at the door. I know I got a couple of good things, but I kept hearing the refrain disbanding mother’s home, disbanding mother’s home, disbanding mother’s home in the back of my mind.
It is there this morning . . . maybe because I found a can of really large – huge, in fact – ancient nuts and washers at the back of the top shelf in a little cabinet in the kitchen. Someday maybe there will be an ad: Disbanding Kooky Mother’s Home.
But, in the meantime, I think I’ll get them down and use them for paperweights here at the cafe and roadhouse – sometimes the breeze is fairly brisk through the screen door.