A comment popped out of my brain this morning and bounced around the kitchen table. One of those things that after they are said my brain goes: "DOH..did that come out of my mouth." What I said was: " You know it dawned on me that advertising is only talking to my ego." Well duh. Jo-Ann pointed out that's why it doesn't have to be real or even make any logical sense. It can be blatantly false, totally unrealistic but wholly effective. If that's the kind of food my ego eats I think I had better get on a different diet.
We've put off the wood gathering venture for today as its pouring rain. This mornings walk down to Savory road will be using 'brollies.
And then a cat door in the shop, and the installation of two six volt, deep cycle, gel cells in the Boler.
Yesterday we paused the wood gathering to take a refreshing "Barb".
Sounds vaguely Australian. But it isn't. We named the practice after a friend of ours who enjoyed listening to loud country western from the shop stereo while knitting and training the dogs. It has nothing to do with a "Barbie", although, come to think of it, that wouldn't be a bad idea. To avoid confusion for our Australian friends we are thinking of renaming the practice to "Taking a Bubba". I believe that is Vince Gill in the background, loud enough to be heard a kilometer away. We didn't get any phone calls as the only neighbor that close is Mabel the Moose. She prefers Tchaikovsky and Beethoven but will fill her baser musical instincts with Country Western and CCR. Just trying to squeeze the most out of the last days of summer. Well technically I guess it's early fall. The air is filled with the sweet, earthy smell of poplar leaves starting to form a winter bed.
The dogs have been going nuts lately chasing a packrat around the place. I don't know who is crazier, the dogs or the packrat, who definatly didn't get the message. After the dogs trampled the stuff tucked by the Red Shed in their quest to capture the beast, Jo-Ann presented me with the only fire-arm she trusts me with and the beast has now gone to the great pack rat midden in the sky.
Peace has returned to the homestead.
Well except for those two pesky Red Angus Bulls that have shown up that cross the doggies imaginary line in the sand, and get too near the fence. The dogs loudly, clearly and sharply - citing past precedence in doggie law- explain to the Bulls the ramifications of crossing said line and it doesn't sound very pleasant at all.
The Bulls do the only sensible thing and ignore them and carry on munching the pastures early fall greening.