Where’s dat wascally wabbit?

by Bella Rum

elmer_fudd11We’re supposed to close on the Boondocks Property on Tuesday. I hope I can see the dotted line for my signature. Both eyes are now a mess with conjunctivitis. This is the nastiest stuff I’ve ever seen or not seen. I think I’ve turned the corner, but those may be my famous last words. We’re going up to see the Grand Trio on the 31st so they can share another disease with us.

The buyer for the Boondocks Property is purchasing it for “recreational” purposes. He’s a hunter. Our Realtor asked us if we knew that someone had built a deer blind on the edge of our property and was “taking advantage.” No. The buyer wanted to make sure we hadn’t given anyone – a hunting club, etc. – written permission to hunt the property. No again. We have given permission to people, but nothing formal. Someone calls to ask and we say sure. H expects “NO TRESPASSING” signs to go up all over the place after we sign the title. We were very absent, passive and permissive owners.

The guy who owns the property on both sides of ours showed an interest in buying our property a few months ago, but we couldn’t agree on a price. I guess he figured if he was hunting it for free, why should he pay the going rate for land in that area. Who knows? It could have been someone else who built the blind. Besides, if he’d asked, we would have given him permission. People are funny.

In Other News

We received an email last night that our microwave was in the store. H just picked it up. I told him if he finished installing it before lunch I would have a Lean Cuisine. He said,  ” O, Ye of little faith.” So we’re in for an afternoon of macho chest beating and feminine brow lifting.

It’s still raining. H put my ferns on the deck a few days ago. They are positively jumping with glee. As soon as the sun shows its shy face again, they will sprout new growth like all git out.

We are still throwing stuff away. I won’t burden you with more photos of our junk. It seems excessive.


One more.

But only because you insist.


Do you know anyone who enjoys showing their junk to the Internet more than I do?

Meet H’s great-grandparents.


We kept the smaller copies of them and took these to Goodwill. When I was younger, I remember seeing things like this in yard sales and flea markets and wondering how anyone could be heartless enough to discard such family photos. Oh, where did that sentimental girl go? Nowadays, I’m like, Someone will buy them, spray them a “tasteful” shiny-gold and use them to frame dried flowers. God bless ’em. When enough time passes, they’ll find their way to someone else’s attic. Eventually some other industrious person will get them, strip them and restore them to their former glory. You can see where the silverfish lunched on Great-Grandma. I think that happened before they found their way to my attic.