The PNE is Overrated

But I knew that going in.

I haven't been in 15, maybe 20 years, if not more. It always struck me as silly. And guess what? It still is!

I spent far too many hours walking. I hurts all ovah!

But I now have blueberry jam.

You heard me.

BLUEBERRY JAM.

Fuck yeah. Pain? WHAT pain? I have blueberry jam!

(Groans) (Dies)

WAILING: Bloooooooberrrrriiiess!

(A sad note: My all-time favourite fortune teller was this old lady, 82 at last count, who would make her homemade pies and serve you tea and blackberry pie and ice cream and tell you your fortune -- and she'd charge only $5. It was worth that just to see her. She always made me laugh and smile. She loved, loved, loved my mother. "A wonderful woman," she would say. "Simply wonderful." Anyhow, she is a woman named Freda. She's gotten dementia and broke a vertabrae in the last few months. She's in bad straits in the hospital. I think it's unlikely she'll ever make it out. My last job, doing captioning, about a month before I got it, she said, "You'll be getting a new job! You'll have, my, it looks like two televisions in front of you. Maybe one of them's a computer. And sometimes you'll have to explain to people what it is you do, but you'll be good at it." I never cared about the fortunes. I always thought they were just fun. The light's going out in another of the world's spectacular people, and I'm a little sadder for it tonight. Sigh. Godnight, Freda, hey?)

Somebody's baking apple pie. I can smell it in the wind. Beautiful. But I have blooberry jam!

I have awesome pictures from today. Really. I'll share them tomorrow. My photo bug has bit.