The rattle of the dirt road jalopies have only been drowned out by the annoying drone of four-wheelers and a dump truck mysteriously delivering dirt to our neighbor; such is July in Columbia County. Thankfully, the summer thunder storms have arrived and the transformation from dust to dirt is complete. The absurdity never ends though. While I'm on hiatus between albums Charles has been laying down the latest tracks for his second record and Cymande is beginning her bathymetric quilt all whilst wearing our pedometers. Call David and Allison for an explanation of the pedometer wearing.
My parents visited and then left us, but only after we enjoyed a creationist birthday cake (apes and dinosaurs cohabiting the cake surface) that somehow incorporated backwards g's (giving the appearance of 666); truly a sight to behold. Buckley, the dog, has continued to grow and grow and grow, but let me repeat, "he is not long for this world," as evidenced by his need to cross the road and bark in the face of canine mortality. Speaking of mortality, we lost a couple chickens and rooster to two pitbulls, but such is the life of free ranging poultry. Buckley and Lula attempted to stop the slaughter, but it was too late.
David, Allison, Cymande and I all celebrated the end of our NHSC contracts with wine and sangria and food food food. Of course, I was on-call and I attempted to manage my supreme grumpiness with minimal success, but...ahh, more rain.
