I am going to burn in hell. I read this in the paper a few weeks ago and choked from laughing so hard. It really isn't funny. (Okay. It really is.)

Blah blah blah

Right. Where to begin. There's been so many gosh darn things screaming for me to blog about them that I'm not sure where to start...

I was stopped at a light the other day and a man on a bicycle was attempting to do up his helmet strap on the side of the road. I glanced over and spotted him - and had to look again as something about it wasn't all together normal. When I looked back I had to seriously think about what was wrong with the picture in front of me. Then it dawned on me that the man was wearing a helmet about the size that a six year old would normally wear. Rather comical. Funnier still was that he was quite desperately trying to do up the chin strap...

stop and imagine this for a moment...

The strap wouldn't reach his chin - though not for lack of trying on his part. I watched and found myself kind of guffawing. He proceeded to do the strap up in his mouth - and clamp his teeth down upon it for extra safety. Then he - squished cheeks and all - rode off into the distance.

I think mayhaps it is too late for the helmet to be of any help to this poor chap.

When I was a child I remember playing in the backyard for hours in the summer. I remember thinking that my yard was as big as a Provincial Park when in fact, having returned to my childhood home the yard is rather small. We had all manner of fruit trees growing; apple, cherry, pear. plum and mulberry trees. The mulberry trees used to drop fruit all about the lawn and being children we often ran barefoot. Our feet were forever stained all shades of blue and purple. The sharp sweet taste of the mulberries takes me instantly back to being six years old running through the sprinkler with little blue feet.

Yesterday, I was in my backyard and on the ground I spotted a little purple berry. I reached down and picked it up - low and behold...a mulberry. I tentatively glanced around (wouldn’t want anyone to see me eat something off of the ground) and popped it into my mouth. I savoured the taste of childhood with my eyes closed and a warm breeze encircled me like an embrace. A little smile crept across my face and I glanced up... my own mulberry tree. Maybe being a grown up isn’t so bad all of time.

An email that speaks to me...

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult.
I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old again.
I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
I want to return to a time when life was simple; When all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care. All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible.
I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple again. I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.
So . . . here's my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my Income Tax Return.
I am officially resigning from adulthood.

Finally - A New Post

I have been remiss in my blogging duties as of late and for that I am truly sorry.... well kind of... anyways....

Frodo the Frog has escaped. It has been a month. I do not hold out any hope of finding the little fellow at this point. There is a good chance that there is a little beef jerky styled fire bellied toad
somewhere in my upstairs bathroom. I will miss Frodo.

Oh Frodo.

You were a toad
You liked to eat crickets,
liked your little abode

So I thought.

Till you escaped one night
and never came home
You’re not really that bright.

This I know.

So juicy and yummy
I had so many crickets
To fill your fired tummy.

But you left.

Now I have an empty home
sitting on a shelf
with no toad to call its own.

Goodbye Frodo.

Over and above that - a funny little story about a skunk. The other day our neighbour pops his head over the fence and in his Russian accent asks;
"Uhhh. You know anything ‘bout da skunk?"
"Um. I know they tend to be stinky from one end more than most. Why?" (turn to look)

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. WTF?

Standing there is Frank - resplendent is his garden boots and hat displaying a cage and inside said cage a wee skunk. The skunk did not appear to be amused. Frank, on the other hand, appeared not only to be quite proud of himself for catching him but also rather smitten with the little fellow. He was sure that the skunk was also rather fond of him since it was accepting the odd table scrap from him (but failed to notice that the second it snatched the food it aimed it’s "stinky end" in Frank’s general direction)
"Frank, this might appear to be just a baby, but it can still spray."
"You think?"
(then in the background from his wife... "OF COURSE IT CAN SPRAY. IDIOT. IT’S A GUNK. GUNK’S SPRAY - SWAT THEY DO....idiot.")
Frank turns and grins, "She crazy. Thyroid."
Umhummm. Not YOU that’s crazy Frank. That’s obvious.
***
This was several days ago. The area around our house smells like a "GUNK" exploded but Frank insists it wasn’t HIS skunk - it was someone elses’. Riiiiight. I also overheard him explaining to Mary that he intended to keep the GUNK as a pet. This should be interesting.