We went up to Greer, First Consort Gareth, Lynchpin, Hub, Mischief, RagDoll, and I; for to prepare the cabin for the annual storyfest that serves as an antidote to the saccharine goo of Xcessmass.
We chopped a metric boatload of wood, spandified the place, prepared and served a four-course dinner Saturday with paired wines, and then got snowed on while we re-packed the cars and headed downhill.
I finally found a subject worthy of spending the last gasp of my cellphone's batteries on--
--an elk skull FC Gareth's Uncle D found in the woods. Clearly the elk had dropped of natural causes, so Uncle D cleaned the skull, and arranged it here, on the back porch under the upper deck by the door of the Tunnel to Everything.
Prayers and good wished for Uncle D please--he's having some serious health issues. In my family, we'd cite the punchline to an old joke, and say, "He's on the roof."* Thanks.
*Guy comes back from vacation, asks his brother/roommate what happened while he was away. B/R replies, "Oh, the cat died." Guy is crestfallen. Tells B/R that when there's bad news to share, you break it gently. "Se, you should have told me that the cat was on the roof. Then a couple days later, mention you hadn't seen her for a while and you were getting worried, a little. Then tell me, oh, you found the cat, and she had died. Get it?"
B/R is nodding his head all through this diatribe. "I got it." he says.
"So how's Mom?"
"Uhhhhhhmmmmmm . . . she's on the roof?"
(rim shot--ba-dum-bum-CHING!)
