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Nov. 8th, 2002 04:01 pmA friend sent me this letter today:
"Burdened with an overabundance of sticks, S and I are renting a wood
chipper to reduce the very large pile of dead brush at the base of our yard to a
smaller, more manageable pile of wood chips. I'm also renting a leaf blower,
because even though all the leaves aren't down yet, an awful lot of them are,
and I figure if I get half of them now, that's half that won't need to be moved
around later.
So. Saturday (which is supposed to be gorgeous), from around 11 to around 4 or
5, do feel free to come over, hang out, and partake in the orgy of destruction.
Got stress ? Stick your troubles on a log and run it through the chipper !
Co-workers driving you nuts ? Take hold of the leaf blower and cackle madly as
you drive the teeming population before you like pathetic sheep. And for you
pyros, the firepit will be available, complete with marshmallows."
Gee, this reminds me of something. Some literary thingie. Moby Dick? No, no...oh, wait! Could it be:
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:
"What do you call work?"
"Why, ain't that work?"
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."
"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?"
The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the effect -- added a touch here and there -- criticised the effect again -- Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No -- no -- I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence -- right here on the street, you know -- but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and she wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done."
"No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme just try. Only just a little -- I'd let you, if you was me, Tom."
"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly -- well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it --"
"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say -- I'll give you the core of my apple."
"Well, here -- No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard --"
"I'll give you all of it!"
"Burdened with an overabundance of sticks, S and I are renting a wood
chipper to reduce the very large pile of dead brush at the base of our yard to a
smaller, more manageable pile of wood chips. I'm also renting a leaf blower,
because even though all the leaves aren't down yet, an awful lot of them are,
and I figure if I get half of them now, that's half that won't need to be moved
around later.
So. Saturday (which is supposed to be gorgeous), from around 11 to around 4 or
5, do feel free to come over, hang out, and partake in the orgy of destruction.
Got stress ? Stick your troubles on a log and run it through the chipper !
Co-workers driving you nuts ? Take hold of the leaf blower and cackle madly as
you drive the teeming population before you like pathetic sheep. And for you
pyros, the firepit will be available, complete with marshmallows."
Gee, this reminds me of something. Some literary thingie. Moby Dick? No, no...oh, wait! Could it be:
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:
"What do you call work?"
"Why, ain't that work?"
Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer."
"Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?"
The brush continued to move.
"Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth -- stepped back to note the effect -- added a touch here and there -- criticised the effect again -- Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said:
"Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."
Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:
"No -- no -- I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence -- right here on the street, you know -- but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and she wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done."
"No -- is that so? Oh come, now -- lemme just try. Only just a little -- I'd let you, if you was me, Tom."
"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly -- well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it --"
"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say -- I'll give you the core of my apple."
"Well, here -- No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard --"
"I'll give you all of it!"
