I promise, PROMISE! that this post will be under 3,000 words. Because, as the long forgotten prophet Sweet Brown exclaimed as she fled the fiery flames cast upon her dwelling by Satan’s Bronchial Demons, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
The majority of my spare time this week was spent writing lengthy and unnecessary blog posts along with going down the ancestory.com wormhole into my Polish, Slovak, Austrian, German, and Irish roots. Jesus, with genes from countries like that, it’s no wonder that I think beer is one of the four food groups. Correction, IS the four food groups.
Wifey was off on Veterans Day (thank you, Vets!), so we drove out to the Sylvan Solace Preserve for a walk. Well, I walked and took photos; Wifey scurried down the trails like a panda on fire as I power walked, trying to catch up with her after taking photos of dead and or dying shit in the post-fall woods.
Michigan is in full-on ‘Taint Mode right now; it ‘taint fall, and it ‘taint winter, and it’s a struggle to find any hints of fall color left. It’s also a struggle to find any keepers on the SD card.
We walked 2.75 miles, I got a couple OK shots, and then we headed home. OK, OK, first, we headed to Ric’s for a few things, including some beers. I think great-great-great grandpap would have wanted it that way and probably would have done the same. Of course, he would have been dead tired and covered in coal dust from working a 12-hour shift in the mines as he sipped his beers, not sitting in front of a computer editing photos of leaves after a flat 2.75-mile hike, but that’s a whole lot more words for another post. In any event, cheers to you, great-great-great grandpap! Or Twoje zdrowie!/Prost!/Na zdravie! to you great-great-great grandpap! Whatever you want.
It’s a cold and wet Friday morning here in mid-Michigan, so if time permits, I think I might head back out into the woods again and then channel some of my ancestors via some beverages tonight while watching shitty International break footy on TV.