It's come that time of year when even the most dogged of bloggers clear their noggins by heading for the country. Southern Vermont, if you must know, in a valley without cell service from ANY company. The internet is available in the old town hall, which I'm parked outside of, trying desperately to distance myself from the need to communicate with y'all. Deep breaths, unplug, unplug. No one here gives a darn about NYC, except what they read in the papers sometimes. It's amazing how City-centric we get. People live the whole year with nothing but the change of the seasons to get riled about. We're renting a tiny farmhouse from the 1820's, when people were short - I hit my head everywhere. It's owned by Junior Bentley, who just turned 90 but takes a ride with Sue and Valerie out to the hill to "hay" the cows off the back of a flatbed. Last night we went to an Oxen Show and ice cream social. My daughter riled one of the Oxes, and he riled her right back. Guess what that ox's name was. Blue. Blue Ox. As Sting sang, "synchronicity." Dang that record blows in retrospect. "I'll Always Be King of Pain?" Yuch. Worse than Coldplay lyrics...
I actually don't fish, but I do love the above sign. And craziest thing...the cat's all fish here too!
AND send me any tidbits you'd like amplified by this most odd of megaphones and I'll do my best to get it up here. You know where to reach me...mines the kitty on the left by the way. Quite the angler.
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