Well, my Dear Husband has been nagging at me to post to my blog. What he doesn’t understand is that while I may have intesting stories to tell, I don’t necessarily have all the time to tell them. Stories, yes, like the scary neighbor, whom I have never met, who came to my door to ask if he could cut down some of my grass (a.k.a. weeds) to make a homemade broom. Now, that may not seem scary to you city folk, but, to me, who lives about a mile from most of my neighbors, ANYONE who rings my doorbell deserves to be answered with a raised eyebrow and a cocked-pistol in hand.

Soooooo, anyway, this older, rather large, SlingBlade-looking man rings my doorbell. Yeah, he wanted to make a broom from some grass clippings. (Go figure, Walmart sells brooms for like $1.00 and he would rather go gleening in the sheeves for some witchy-poo looking homemade broom.) I told him that he could do what he liked but that what he wanted, wasn’t part of my 9+ acres.

Unfortunately, he was also very difficult to understand. He’s what the local folk around here call a “good ‘ol boy”. (Born and raised and still living on the exact same property and has a terrible, very unflattering and barely understandable southern accent.)

He spent another 10 minutes or so telling me about this and that, and this person or that, and I spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure out what he was saying. He did turn out to be fairly nice and harmless. (I’m still here) But I can’t but help thinking that I could have made a better blog for y’all if he hadn’t stopped in and took up 15 minutes of my time!