dognapper/tourguide
I've fallen in love with my brother's dog, Max and may kidnap him. Hopefully his cowshit eating problem will resolve itself in the city. This week I introduced an intrepid reporter friend to the charms of my stomping grounds. We attended a Barra McNeill's show in Ashcroft at a refurbished opera house with my grama and former choir teacher. Celtic music is not usually my thing but they reminded me of dancing around my dad's kitchen with the whole family at Christmas time. The valley is rimmed by a dusting of icing sugar snow and the trees look dark green/blue because of it.
My cousin, 'Mossimo', came for dinner and is doing great. Both sets of grandparents are feisty as ever. The puppy has officially put a hole in my jogging pants making me realize it's probably not a good idea to wear jogging pants for 80% of my waking hours. I will now reconsider renaming my little self employment foray from 'stretchy pants consulting' to 'bite free denim contracting'. The chickens are all still alive despite two cunning escapes. The water here is clear and drinkable - I'm not looking forward to returning to Vancouver. And I'm now addicted to the smell of wood fires and the hug of electric blankets.
Oh and thanks to my brothers' superior downloading tastes I've burned a CD called, "If I was 17 again" with tunes by these guys, this girl, this group. Once again I'm behind the trend curve. My brothers used to look up to me but I'm in awe of them now - just as the cool genes in me are withering, they're taking the torch and running with it.
posted by Miranda @ Friday, November 24, 2006
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