I grew up in a rural area.

One Summer day, when I was teenager, my friend Chris called me and said, "Hey, come over with the truck. I just got a deal on a sheep."

I went to Chris' house, and we drove across town to another farm.

I was a late bloomer. At the age of 16, I was 90-something pounds and under 5 feet tall. I struggled to see over the steering wheel of my father's truck. When Chris called about the sheep, I think I had entered puberty earlier that day.

Chris was a little bigger than I was, but the sheep was bigger than both of us. As soon as we approached the animal, it panicked. When we tried to grab her, she spontaneously developed nervous diarrhea and started frantically bleating and flailing her limbs in protest. It took over an hour for us two kids to drag and push her into the truck, and she somehow never stopped pooping during the entire ordeal.

We drove back to Chris' farm and unloaded the poor creature. There was sheep diarrhea on my jeans, my sneakers, and in the truck.

It was possibly that very day that solidified my future plans, of moving to a city and going to university. And I did eventually finish puberty.

I went to a job fair.

My favourite part of the job fair was the local technical college. The woman staffing the booth did not want to be there, and made no secret of it. As I was approaching the booth, she was engrossed in something on a tablet. She took so long to look up from the tablet, that I seriously considered walking away. And when she finally did look up, it was only to tell me to apply online.

I thought, "Wow. She is not interested in talking to me, or anyone else here."

Props to her! I have to respect that attitude. In fact, I'm weirdly into it. I kind of want to be friends with her. Or ask her on a date. If only I could give her my number... and my email address. And my home address. And work history. And my educational background. And some references, upon request.

my good deed for the day

If I ever arrive at the Pearly Gates:

Saint Peter: It says here that you once helped a homeless man carry his heavy bags for several blocks.

me, beaming with pride: Yes, sir. For as the Bible says, in Matthew 25:40...

Saint Peter: ...and then as soon as you got home, you washed your hands for two full minutes instead of the standard 30 seconds.

progress

When my maternal grandmother died, my uncle Jim located my male cousins and siblings who had made it to her funeral and asked if they could be pallbearers. My cousins and brothers lined up on both sides of the casket.

Then my uncle Hugh called out, "Hey boys, it's the 21st century. How about we include Thea?"

I got to be a pallbearer, which was something I really wanted to do.

After the ceremony, I hugged my uncle and said, "Thank you for including me."

He hugged me back and said, quietly, "There was an odd number of people. It was uneven."

man cave

My father has a man cave. I told him I was envious. I wish I had a man cave! He said, "I'm pretty sure you live in one."

firewood

In my childhood neighbourhood (sidebar: we moved three times without leaving that neighbourhood), we had a really nice neighbour, Mr. Swan. He lived next door -kind of; I grew up in a rural area, and "next door" meant at least a kilometer away. A tree blew over on his property, and he donated it to us because our house was heated by a wood stove.

It was a lot of work to chop up the tree. Fortunately, my father got his kids to do it.

It was a cottonwood tree. Total crap firewood. Call us when a cedar tree blows over.

Daylight Savings Time

I wonder if Flava Flav has finished updating the time on all of his clocks.