I hold the medical profession in the highest esteem, by which I mean I avoid it at all costs, lest I be subjected to an involuntary colonoscopy. I have long believed that the only proper bodily portal for incoming objects is the aptly named pie hole, and the objects in question should be of an edible nature, preferably composed of sugar and/or fat.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been goin’ at a mile a minute, lately. Seems like there’s just so much to do, and not enough time to do it. All good stuff for the most part, but yikes! I’m all hepped up, and didn’t even realize it ‘til the other night.
Charlie and me went shopping for a new gas grill at Home Depot this weekend. The old one was plumb worn out, so it was time. I was on board with it.
But let me tell you, I was not on board for two hours of comparison shopping, debating the merits of this one or that one, different “features” and questions, questions, questions, like it’s some kind of fancy sports car or something. Honest to God. And of course, there’s a whole bunch of other guys there doin’ the same thing.
I try to be a law-abiding citizen. I don’t litter. I don’t spray-paint graffiti on buildings. I pick up my dogs’ poop (mostly). And I haven’t murdered anybody in forever.
I just love yard sales. I love going to ‘em, and I love having ‘em. ‘Cause the thing is, if you go to a lot of yard sales, you have to have a yard sale every once in awhile to get rid of the stuff you bought at the other yard sales, right?
Oh, I’ve gotten some wicked good stuff at yard sales. Like one of them crocheted toilet paper covers, only with a poodle on top. (I kid you not). And at Debbie Ledoux’s last year, a bobble head moose and a hand-painted wooden frog for my frog collection. Score!
In general, I like living in northern Franklin County. It’s peaceful, the neighbors aren’t too close and mostly behave civilly on those rare occasions when we encounter each other, and the general store carries an excellent selection of beer and an adequate stock of liquor (in case I run out before I can get to New Hampshire).
They’re back! Yes, I’m pleased to announce that blackfly season is officially underway here in Mahoosuc Mills. We got kind of gipped with mud season this year ‘cause there wasn’t much snow, but, believe you me, those bebittes never disappoint.
Allow me to offer a few words in defense of the humble plastic bag. This much-maligned, petroleum-derived item has lately been the subject of an effort in Windham to outlaw its use.
The Town Council, at the urging of a middle school student, passed a resolution asking the Maine Legislature to consider a statewide ban on plastic bags, with penalties for possession ranging from public heckling for a first offense to expulsion to New Hampshire for multiple convictions.
The other day at my Weight Watcher meeting something Sadie Dupris says catches my attention. Sadie’s town librarian here in Mahoosuc Mills, but mostly they keep her on ‘cause she’s a ringer for the town bowling team. Thanks to Sadie’s prowess, we’ve had one of the top three teams in the Franklin County Employees Bowling League for a couple of decades now. (Poor gal doesn’t know her Dewey from her decimal, but darn, she’s one heck of a bowler!)
As most Mainers know, you can tell tourists pretty much any absurd thing about a lobster, and they’ll believe you.
Lobsters that fly.
Lobsters that sing and dance.
Lobsters that shoot laser beams from their eyeballs.