Still on the Edge in Sumas

I hear you can now get snippits electronically. It is a new age.

I am 2. One of us. What font would that be?

The point of a snoozing, snoring, dog. Is she here now. Luck. And curses. Duality and in between-three lists. Yadda yadda. Jean who's name is spelled Gene, and who has other names, who lived once where not 50 years ago cows literally blocked traffic cause there weren't nobody to make sure the east gate was locked and you couldn't monitor it remotely like now, duh. Cows crossing the road turning back to show a bit of udder to motorists slowing to stare--and to avoid knocking them off their feet like so much wet cement, and then into their lap.

Anyhoo, Gary and Penny the neighbors and how not to say what is not said to those you don't particularly want to talk to, but they live next door. Another friend Vinnie's a bit like that, distracted while talking to you--completely in charge of his time, and no apology.

The city where he lives has moved the pole. His view splicer he called it. Gone. Talk radio and how the gov't is the bvest that money can buy. Yadda yadda bing. Gawd watch over them sons of beeches.

Cities always get to rule over nature it seems. Why can't everything be lined up into neat little straight lines, evenly spaced, a stop sign at each intersection, predictable, safe. Who can question that? Man over nature, its the word of God we're told.

Enough.

There was this woman at Jean's funeral today who was her niece I believe. Reserved, kind, bored, kinda like the polar opposite of Jean. Peter spent the day quite puzzled I think. Peter's her son, only remaining child of four. Impish even now, and he's about my age. And I'm way over imp age. I'm approaching limp age. Hardee harr.

But she was a piece of work Jean was. I thought her name was Gene. Stout I guess, and always animated, with a body that in a photo would remind you of a fire hydrant, but in life she never stood still--certainly never her mouth. This far away Slavic accent. Always working in the kitchen, threatening to set her dress on fire. And what a great laugh, loving voice, loving mother of seven at least, all told.

Note to me--Blog entries sometime about squirrels and crows and sylexia nd death and etc. BLog entries about correcting all typing mistakes. Etc & Sometime.