Last weekend many college and university students came home for the first time since beginning school over a month ago. I can imagine a variety of scenarios played out across the country. Perhaps Mom and Dad picked you up at school and you prattled on nonstop the whole way home about all the fun you are having. (Oops, you meant to say how hard you have been studying.) College is light years better than high school.
This is a great read written by my daughter, Allison Clark. I love her style, naturally! Melda PUMPKINFEST! Fun on the Farm for the Entire Family!
A few days ago my right eye felt scratchy and itchy. One peek in the mirror confirmed that it was badly inflamed. Then I spotted the culprit on the rim of my bottom eyelid ― a stye. You may be scratching your head, asking, “What is a stye anyway?” A stye is an inflamed swelling on the edge of an eyelid, caused by bacterial infection of the gland at the base of an eyelash.
For years, my children and I flew Broom Express, I mean Air Canada to Nova Scotia just as soon as the school year ended. My husband,Glenn, worked at General Electric Canada and would join us for his holidays in July and August. I counted down the days until his arrival. Ever the optimist, I slept, listening with one ear, in case he should arrive earlier than planned. This pattern repeated itself for years.
Children all across the country began a brand new school year recently. Numerous first time Kindergarten parents had a big lump in their throats. Where did the time go? Only last year their children were babies learning to walk. Tears brimmed in the eyes of parents sending their final child to school.
I saved my all-time favourite for last. Dad used them like a weather vane and anemometer to tell the wind direction and speed as they blew back and forth across the field. During a telephone conversation Dad would comment nonchalantly, “I see the wind has changed. The buckets are blowing in the opposite direction.”
Mom and I sat on large concrete blocks outside the store but super close to the road. Blockhouse is a small community where everybody knows everybody. People driving past gave us some pretty weird looks. I have a feeling that when they got home they told their families that they had seen the strangest sight at the intersection. You’re never safe from surprises until your dead. They saw two hookers in Blockhouse in broad daylight.
I’m so old I can remember when the 8-track tape was cutting edge technology. Teenagers rushed out to buy them along with 8-Track players. The tapes worked flawlessly for a while. However, at some point, the tape would stretch or get tangled and the music sounded warbly. Their popularity was short-lived, but I am willing to bet there are thousands of them packed in boxes in basements. Do you have some?
Dad died in 2013 and I was determined to “clean up Dad’s clutter.” I filled dumpsters and my brother’s pickup truck with what I deemed junk. Dad’s blue twenty-gallon barrels and white five-gallon pails made up a large chunk of the junk. Then we demolished the barn and got rid of any that may have been hidden in it. I felt unspeakable freedom as the junk went out the driveway.