First crack at internet access that hasn’t been entirely consumed by uploading sound files. So I have a true story for you.

My folks come from an island in the Bay of Fundy. Island folk are rather insular, sometimes even xenophobic, and they have their ways.

Some of them are quite the characters, colourful like you don’t see everyday for sure.

One of these was Poopy Small. My uncle told me how Poopy got his nickname. I’ll leave those schoolyard details to your imagination, but it stuck even after he was all grown up and a grandfather to boot.

One time when Poopy was not feeling entirely like his nickname if you get my drift, he was so uncomfortable that he visited the crusty old island doctor for relief.

The doc told Poopy to take some suppositories and come back in a week.

Doc: How’d those suppositories work for you, Poopy?

Poopy: (whiny old man voice)You know doc for all the good they did me, I might just as well have stuck them up me arse.

My first puppy love boyfriend (as opposed to having a boyfriend just for the sake of it) used to tell stories to entertain me.

He had some crazy friends. Horny McSlutty and his sidekick, Stoopid, were visiting a fellow who had a small blacksmithing operation going on in his yard.

They watched the man as he heated a horseshoe in the fire, then dunked it in water, and placed it on a stump. This was done outside. Very small operation.

Stoopid wanders over to inspect the horseshoe, picking it up. He drops it immediately.

The blacksmith guy grins at him and asks: “Hot?”

Stoopid: “No. It just doesn’t take me very long to look at a horseshoe.”

I emailed The Big V asking about the fabulous dollhouse she created. She didn’t get anyone to buy it, so she had a local realtor list it, which I thought was downright resourceful. The story made the news here, and she got her 15 minutes of fame. Way cool.

The realtor has a page with information and thumbnails that are clickable, which is much more manageable than loading about 10 images in one post. Just enter preperty ID# 3542 in the box that is just below the fold. On the page that the link takes you to, of course. Duh, you knew that, didn’t you?

Do you know anyone with a couple thou extra who wants to buy an heirloom dollhouse? This is a true work of art. Everything has been handcrafted, and the lights work, and whole bunches of stuff works. I got to play with it when I visited her. It was awesome. But I didn’t wreck it or nuthin. Honest.

The Master Bedroom

The Nursery

Did you notice that the nursery has a dollhouse?

The Kitchen

In the olden days, kitchens were for the servants. Nothing fancy. But authentic.

Do I have cool friends, or what?

My long suffering younger brother, Dizzee, father of Wild Child, still speaks to me after all the torture Mr. Trick and I put him through. I’m grateful for this because he is basically kind and quite funny.

We had a period of estrangement in our adult lives that we decided to put aside when The Papa got really really sick. I think we did it for him, although I believe The Papa didn’t care much for Dizzee’s decision to associate with a Tool of Satan.

When we were kids, we lived the military life. No disobedience, no questioning orders. The Papa may have been a corporal at work, but he was the General at home.

When my parents separated, the kids went with The Papa. There were periods of time that we were only supervised by our older sister. This would be the one that made us smoke when she babysat us so we wouldn’t tell on her for smoking. I love her, really, but people? That is messed UP.

So older sister became the queen bee. Dizzee was around nine by the time he really started acting out because he missed his mom. We all did, but I think it hurt him the most.

He would have temper tantrums and Mr. Trick and I would fill a tub full of cold water and throw him in to “cool him off”. We really just wanted to shut him up because he was an annoying little brother. And because it was one thing we could get away with. We totally wanted to smack him, but we weren’t allowed.

He must have marvelled at what great parents we would be someday.

Our fun-loving favourite uncle visited often, and regaled us with what I now realize were inappropriate stories. We figured he could do no wrong.

One of the stories involved a friend passing out drunk, and to punish him, Unk and his other buddies painted the guy’s willy red, so he would have a lovely surprise when he woke up all hungover.

We thought that was the best story ever. We laughed and laughed.

And schemed how we could have that kind of fun without access to alcohol.

We secured a supply of red paint, and the next time Dizzee had a hissyfit while The Papa was at work, we held Dizzee down and painted that puppy red.

I still remember how gobsmacked we were when The Papa was furious with us over this particular stunt.

“But, Dad! We didn’t smack him!”

Oh, the injustice.

Like I said, it’s a wonder Dizzee talks to me at all.

(Dizzee didn’t mind whipping it out when it wasn’t red.)

And? He’s such a good sport, he gave me permission to publish this picture.

It’s been a long winter. I think those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, more specifically in Canada, can agree upon that. Any signs of spring at all are most welcome to my eyes. I’ve been especially eager to see a crocus, but it appears, there are none to be had in my yard. I hadn’t planted bulbs last fall because I wanted to see what came up and where this spring. Now I know. There appear to be irises, chives, forget-me-nots, and yarrow coming up so far. The Big V concurred with my identifications. Laugh not at the pitiful chives, for they will be wondrous in omelettes. Besides, there are more, and the Big V is bringing me some garlic chives to boot.

I also spotted what I believe to be columbine, but that is out of frame. Just imagine it for now, please.

To spot these two lonesome crocuses, I had to take a hike around the neighbourhood. I needed to see them in bloom. I need visual proof every spring, that yes, there is a God. After a long winter, I deserve that gratification. Behold the mighty crocuses (crocii?) in their God-affirming glory! I needed that. Thanks.

And? This little car has been out on this stump all winter long. Please forgive my pitiful camera skills. I would blame it on the sad little Kodak Easy Share I’ve been using, but it’s a poor workman who blames his tools.

And by the looks of things, I should have cleaned my glasses first. This shot was overexposed, so I played with it in Photoshop. Obviously, I suck at Photoshop. But hey! Give me a database, and I will kick some butt.