September arrived on the tail end of a water-logged summer wind and I went from sweating profusely to suddenly freezing; can you believe that Mr. Frost has already came for a visit? I'm amazed at the abrupt change in the weather conditions, one moment it was so warm all I wanted to do was take a dip in the lake to cool off and now, I'm poking about the closet looking for a sweater to wear just to keep my bones from rattling loose in the mornings. If I were to divide the year up pertaining to the four seasons here in Fosterville, NB, I'd have to say that we experience 2 months of spring, 1 month of summer, 2 months of autumn and 7 months of winter. I have no idea why some people go to gyms to work out because all they'd have to do. if they moved here, is shovel snow during the winter and swat bugs the rest of the year to give them plenty of exercise and keep them in shape. You would think more women would be moving here because continually swatting bugs would enlarge their breasts and shoveling snow would tighten up their tummies; maybe New Brunswick Tourism should promote this idea.
My knees must have popped back into place or was that my ears I heard popping because of the sudden atmospheric pressure drop. Must have been a little of both because my hearing is a little clearer and I was able to kneel down and finish off the laminate flooring in our upstairs bedroom. All that's remaining to complete the bedroom renovations is build a wall to wall shelf along the window side, put the base-boards in place, a wee bit of painting and presto - she be done! I'm hoping the weather will be agreeable this month so I can begin shingling my studio and get it completed before the snow flies; probably wishful thinking on my part though.
4- Wheeler in Front of the Woodstock Farmer's Market
Bought myself a 250-Suzuki, 4-wheeler, a week ago from a friend of mine, Lydon Canam, who recently moved from Fosterville to Hartland, NB. It came with a few goodies, like a winch when I get myself stuck in a big old mud hole, a plow for pushing the snow out of the driveway and a bitch-seat for my big-bosomed gal, if I hunker down real close to the handle bars. I expect if I haul out my old black leather-motorcycle jacket that I wore back in my biker days, I just might turn an eye or two - people see me coming, probably think to themselves as I drive by, who's that lucky old fart with his head cushioned between two big hooters? My biking days have been over for quite a few years and when I climbed aboard the wheeler, although it looks similar to a motorcycle, it's just not quite rigged out the same. When I pulled up at a red light back in the day, tilted my head to the side, gave the driver next to me a Clint Eastwood stare and revved up the bike with a demanding wrist action, you knew rubber was going to burn but somehow pushing my thumb rigorously on the throttle seems a wee bit pansy-like; even women aren't interested in thumb-action.
Looks as if the sun has punched a few holes through the clouds so I guess it's time to stop my fingers from tap-dancing on the keyboard and get started on the bedroom once again, try and get it finished over the weekend. However, before I begin working, think I'll head on into the house, pour me a hot cup of java and settle down in my rocking-chair - hmm - might even give my wife a big frontal-hug - gotta love the cushyness of a big-bosomed gal - cheers, eh!
No comments:
Post a Comment