Our school district is the only system in the United States to have this week off. Since this has made travelling with the offspring or visiting with most friends impossible, I have decided to do yard work and clean closets. Although I live in a house the size of a postage stamp, the yard is almost two city lots riddled with evil rose bushes and long viney things that reach menacingly toward me whenever they hear the back door slam. (What if enough of them lodged themselves down your throat? You'd choke! What do you think your last thought would be? Mine? I always knew.)
So in the backyard I have a 3' by 5' area sectioned off with wood planks that was installed by the former owners during the Nixon administration. I have no idea what they planted back then, but currently it contains the greenest and most lush grass in the entire neighborhood, of which, I must admit, I am very proud.
A corner of the yard was once hoed, planted and watered by my best friend's husband. I am currently the most scared of that area, because it contains to large "burrows" that either house cute Mr. Bunny or large Norwegian rats. I was very close to poking the holes with sticks, but then remembered some wise words from my Uncle Clem: "Never poke holes with sticks."
What concerns me most, however, is that the hallway closet has the very same holes.
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3 comments:
Well hell child, you *know8 Unca Clem ain't been rhight in the haid since he went off to Vee-yet Nahhhm. G'on and poke them holes, poke, poke, poke.
--Aunt Erdena
Shut yer pie hole woman and listen here, them's good fer god-dang city holes and ya jes can't poke, poke, poke any old hole, Lord knows what you could pick up from such.
--Clem
You know Clem, all this talk ta pokin' holes...welll..get me mah Geritol...
--Erdena
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