The cheery pronouncement isn't all that surprising, really, considering we also don't exist in the recently published, county Rural Directory -- Rural Resident & Ownership Maps.
Let me get this straight:
We don't live here.
We didn't lose power for several hours.
I wasn't sucking kerosene fumes all evening (and whining about it, as naturally I would).
I didn't stand outdoors and warm ham and beans on the gas grill.
Our acreage isn't littered with limbs.
Two branches didn't rock the house as they bounced off the roof and crashed to the ground.
The clothes pole t-bar didn't snap off.
We didn't lose power for several hours.
I wasn't sucking kerosene fumes all evening (and whining about it, as naturally I would).
I didn't stand outdoors and warm ham and beans on the gas grill.
Our acreage isn't littered with limbs.
Two branches didn't rock the house as they bounced off the roof and crashed to the ground.
The clothes pole t-bar didn't snap off.
Got it.
I won't be able to hang out laundry today. Rats!
Mrs. Piecrust told me not to plant silk flowers. Mrs. Piecrust is much more refined and has better taste than I. She grew up on Golf Hill, and I lived on St. Louis Ave. That says it all. Imagine, though, missing out on this. Sometimes it pays to be tacky:
Cool. Gotta love silk flowers in an ice storm.
We have enough downed limbs to fuel a fireplace for an entire season. Too bad we don't have a fireplace -- and that is a fact...she writes as the lights flicker again, as if on-cue to punctuate the fact that we do exist, we do live here, and it ain't over till it's over.
*more flickering*
Maybe I should perform a little operatic aria.
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. ~Psalms 90:12
1 comment:
I love your pictures
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