;)
I went to the fridge to see what I could fix for lunch, but there was nothing appetizing there. I went to the cupboards - same thing.
Poor Margie! She lay miserable at the end of the couch, her leg with the broken knee-cap propped up on the ottoman, her broken wrist on the arm of the couch. She could do nothing to help at all.
So I told her that I would get in the new Escape and drive, until I found some hamburgers.
That is what I did. Along the way, I came upon a school bus waiting at a red light in the lane next to mine.
The windows were frozen; the poor kids trapped in the icy hell inside.
;)
Some say that we here in Wasilla are uneducated, that we are hillbillies - uneducated hillbillies who do not know how to talk right. Obviously, this is wrong. Look at the school bus! You don't have school buses running around communities where the people are uneducated!
What a crazy thought!
And look beyond the bus. Do those look like hills?
No! They are mountains. They are not hills. We cannot be hillbillies.
We are mountainbillies.
And I am a mountain Bill.
;)
After I bought the hamburgers at A&W, I met a raven.
The Raven's name was Fred.
Fred Meyer, to be precise.
Fred Meyer has his own building, among the biggest buildings in all of Wasilla.
Fred Meyer keeps a sign on his building with his name on it.
Fred Meyer wants everybody to know who he is.
Fred Meyer has a big ego.
I have never met a raven who hasn't had a big ego.
I have met many ravens.
;)
Fred Meyer looks to the left...
;)
Fred Meyer looks to the right...
;)
Fred Meyer looks straight ahead.
;)
Having eaten my hamburger and put Margie's in a safe place, I headed to the post office. These guys appeared behind me.
I was pretty sure they were going to follow me to the post office, where they would try to steal my mail.
But when I turned toward the post office, ready to fight for my mail, they continued on, straight ahead.
It just goes to show that Mom was right when she said, "Billy, don't judge people just because they are two men in a truck behind you and you are going to the post office."
As I was growing up, Mom laid this admonition upon me many times but, until this day, I never understood the wisdom in her words.
;)
I met this dog after I pulled in and parked at the post office. It's name was Bernard. Not St. Bernard, just Bernard.
Bernard begged me to take his sweater off, but I refused.
People have gotten shot for removing sweaters from dogs.
I did not want to get shot.
I left Bernard to suffer in his sweater.
If you should meet the humans owned by Bernard and they should dispute any aspect of my story, including the fact that Bernard is Bernard, don't believe them.
They might call him something else, but they don't know Bernard like I do.
Bernard is Bernard, and he resents it when people call him by any other name.