Shannon Lee Mannion
I have not had to wear a bra for the past three weeks. Never mind those instructions
in the sixties where it was said if you could hold a pencil beneath your breast, you probably should not go braless. Might scare the neighbours. Ha! I could put the entire pencil case there and it would be perfectly fine. Could throw in a few ballpoint pens, as well. Who’s going to notice? We are in quarantine.
This just happened in the past day. Scads of motorcycles, mostly Harleys, tooting out
the highway. Not sure where they are going and I can bet that they don’t either. They are just happy to be able to wear their leather vests and not sweat like pigs. Uh, wrong comparison. Sweat like dogs.
And the geese. They’re baaack and my house is under their flight path. Whereas they all got together last November, formed their V formations and hit the road for someplace outside of Baltimore on Chesapeake Bay, coming back, they are too dizzy with the prospect of a fabulous Canadian summer and they appear to be flying around in circles.
Something tells me that those geese never did know how to spell.
And finally, nosing about in the back forty, someone else’s not mine (thank-you for letting me trespass), I discovered the spot where Christmas trees go to die. It was a veritable Christmas tree cemetery. It made me think of how happy I am that that season, fraught as it often is, is past.
Now. If we can make it to Easter and then to the summer holidays, we’ll be home free.
