Saturday, April 25, 2015

Those Good Ol' Days

Mistakenly I assume that those of you reading this have also seen anything I post on Facebook, so I don't often post the same photos here that I've posted there. At the risk of boring any of you who do connect with me on FB — and because it's 2 a.m. and I'm sitting up eating toast with peanut butter (you know how that goes: you finally realize, after lying awake for hours, that you aren't going to sleep unless you get out of that nice warm bed and eat something) and want something to do with my hands while I chew, here's a picture I snapped one afternoon while walking around the yard on a day too windy to venture beyond the bush and buildings.

There is something about these old unused vehicles that makes me want to go sit in them. I don't do it; they're probably occupied by rodents now. But I think the urge comes from sitting in the farmyard in my friend Kim's parents' vehicles, smoking Number 7 cigarettes stolen from her mother and listening to AM radio when we were stuck-home teenagers, before we got our driver's licences. Oh those good ol' days! I don't want them back, but I love remembering how they felt.


  1. Your memories are so much clearer than mine. If I haven't already told a story about something, it's gone.

  2. Hey, I used to steal my mom's Number 7 cigarettes too only I'd go chase the pigs out of their huts and sit in their to smoke them. It's a wonder I never burned one down with me in it.

    1. Ha! I'm sorry you only had pigs to share your stolen cigarette with! I had Kim, and her mom was a doll ... she knew damn well we were absconding with her smokes, but never let on.


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