Pure wackiness
I’m just giddy to be back in my polluted, concrete environment. I can only take so much clean farm living before wanting to gnaw off my arm. But visiting the parents was grand fun—Dad and I had our ritual bonding, which always involves cigars and beer in his machine shop. And the Little Mom was in fine form, especially feisty due to someone at some government agency who did something to annoy her. Rowr kitty.
Ma and Pa spoke very little about my European excursion, mostly because of denial, I think. But that’s just speculation. However, I did garner a bit of insight from the carpenter guy who built my parents’ garage. Apparently, the Little Mom said she wasn’t too happy about it. And much like the Internet, if the carpenter says it, it’s true. Then again, I was a couple cocktails deep when I spoke to him, so he could have been talking about the drywall…
I have less than a week before I leave and my “to-do” list is multiplying like rabbits on a page. I need an intervention or, at the very least, a personal assistant—preferably a pool boy in a Speedo who will feed me grapes and carry my computer through Europe. Life is nothing without dreams…
By the by, I have farm photos, but I’m still trying to figure out how to place things on this bloody page. When I do, I’ll give more detail about my sojourn in Kansas.
Oh, to be technically adept…I’d like to add that to my pool boy’s qualifications. Anyone who would like to apply for the job, just send me an e-mail. Teeth and hygiene are mandatory; use of complete sentences is optional.
I’ll be back later.
