It's a Beautiful day in the neighborhood....won't you be....my neighbor?

It was a warm-fuzzy day today; I almost felt like sidling into an old cardigan and singing kiddie-show tunes. Last night about this time, I was stressing over the last two weeks being so slow I could've danced naked outside the store and nobody would have noticed. Okay, maybe a few truckers would have lifted an eyebrow. Today made it all better. Several of my favorite patrons decided to stop by and visit. We shared a lot of laughs, and some war stories. Talked about our dreams, totems, favorite pets, and I put a little coinage in the till. All-in-all, a good day. I even acquired a nice set of throwing knives from the local Paint Ball field owner and his taller half. The look on his face was priceless, yet brief, when I spewed, in my excitement, "Oh yeay....I can't wait to throw them at somebody!". Yes, even he, had to think for a second before realizing I was kidding.

It got us on the subject of survival training, not that I personally need any. Like I say, if I can survive one major mistake that left the residue of his last name intact, raising two kids, going to college, outliving a second mistake, working anywhere and everywhere that wouldn't fire me for having a family emergency (usually involving children, being ill, or doing something tragically wrong like trying to cook and accidentally catching the house fire whilest I'm at work),...well, everything else is small potatoes. Yes, if you were to leave me out on the top of a mountain, in the middle of nowhere, it would be reduced to a mole-hill by morning, I being no less for wear, then I'd gingerly step off the tippy-top of the highest peak as it sank into the valley below asking for directions to the nearest Waffle Haus.

So, getting back to what I was saying a million words ago, this friend, is thinking about starting another side gig teaching survival training. He'd probably be good at it.

Around here, you have to have more than one iron in the fire, if you don't, you're liable to end up with bread or butter, but most likely not both. Makes a good meal hard to come by. I guess I should count myself lucky, I don't run one of those bait-n-tackle-beauty salon-pizza parlors.I love what I do, all of it. I especially like that I don't have to have curtains on my windows for fear of voyeurs, like in the city. That's my favorite part. The cattle don't care much what I look like, with or without clothes. And after closing, it's me, the cats, and those nosey cows. Moo-baby.

9/23/2006 10:32 PM

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