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licking_suntan is going to be having a birthday! I hope it's a good one! :)
* * *
So, I went to work, today. And came home after working for about an hour and a half. :P
Yeah I know I've used this icon before. It's two years old, but I haven't changed enough to matter, and I'm actually wearing that shirt today.
My tummy hurts. Maybe I'm hungry.
Some of the odd random things from my past which Eor has handed me today, while doing his scanning project:
A purported genealogy of my father's family which relates us, through three distaff connections, to Miles Standish, done up by some professional genealogist.
A rambling genealogy of the other side of my family done by my grandmother, which probably takes no fewer sideways leaps as she followed whatever randomly caught her attention and goes back to some English trader who emigrated to Maine in the 1630es.
Newspaper clippings of a story on hippies in Maine, which I saved because it had a photo and short interview with a guy who was my math tutor, sitting in front of a house which I just barely remember the commune building.
Photos - of my cousin in her drum majorette uniform, of a friend from high school at her wedding.
Two checks. Add these to the one he found a few days ago and I could have been somewhere around $25 to $35 richer, if I'd ever cashed them. I feel bad, now, for throwing those people's checkbooks off.
Hey, The Humble Farmer's on the radio. I like listening to him, because he was a friend of my Dad's in college and I grew up hearing stories about this guy, who my Dad always referred to as Skogey. On his radio show he mostly plays odd old jazz music, which is kinda cool, and then tells a few Mainer stories. Just now he mentioned how he has been studying all these Nigerian letters he gets in his email. He thinks Nigeria must be a strange place, because here's all these people dying in car wrecks, in plane crashes, poisoned by their business partners, all of them with lots of money stashed away and no heirs. Here in Maine, when you die, the man in charge of selling your trailer will be mobbed by relatives you never heard from. Of course I've completely killed the pacing of that story by putting it into text and compressing it, because he draws it out and does the accent and all.
licking_suntan is going to be having a birthday! I hope it's a good one! :)* * *
So, I went to work, today. And came home after working for about an hour and a half. :P
Yeah I know I've used this icon before. It's two years old, but I haven't changed enough to matter, and I'm actually wearing that shirt today.
My tummy hurts. Maybe I'm hungry.
Some of the odd random things from my past which Eor has handed me today, while doing his scanning project:
A purported genealogy of my father's family which relates us, through three distaff connections, to Miles Standish, done up by some professional genealogist.
A rambling genealogy of the other side of my family done by my grandmother, which probably takes no fewer sideways leaps as she followed whatever randomly caught her attention and goes back to some English trader who emigrated to Maine in the 1630es.
Newspaper clippings of a story on hippies in Maine, which I saved because it had a photo and short interview with a guy who was my math tutor, sitting in front of a house which I just barely remember the commune building.
Photos - of my cousin in her drum majorette uniform, of a friend from high school at her wedding.
Two checks. Add these to the one he found a few days ago and I could have been somewhere around $25 to $35 richer, if I'd ever cashed them. I feel bad, now, for throwing those people's checkbooks off.
Hey, The Humble Farmer's on the radio. I like listening to him, because he was a friend of my Dad's in college and I grew up hearing stories about this guy, who my Dad always referred to as Skogey. On his radio show he mostly plays odd old jazz music, which is kinda cool, and then tells a few Mainer stories. Just now he mentioned how he has been studying all these Nigerian letters he gets in his email. He thinks Nigeria must be a strange place, because here's all these people dying in car wrecks, in plane crashes, poisoned by their business partners, all of them with lots of money stashed away and no heirs. Here in Maine, when you die, the man in charge of selling your trailer will be mobbed by relatives you never heard from. Of course I've completely killed the pacing of that story by putting it into text and compressing it, because he draws it out and does the accent and all.