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Category: Rural and small-town living

Life far from freeways, Starbucks, malls, and other benefits/distractions

Tuesday links

Whatever your view of their politics, this is a clever bit of resistance. Four things to spend your money on if you want to buy happiness. “Not everybody gets a cookie”. But every social-justice pecksniff can turn a gesture of kindness into an occasion for a display of vicious narcissism. The left. It had a miserable week. Bastiat’s goofy story and real-life folly in the solar-panel industry as solar power begins to become cheap enough for the masses. No wonder Comey decided to let Hillary skate on all those sloppy security violations. Creative lifesaving. Will this be the well-deserved ruination…


Weather, work, rest, and the damned dog

Ninety-seven degrees yesterday. We go from January-in-June to too darned hot. I reminded myself Joel had it worse. I could at least keep the inside temps down (and I see that as of today, Joel has some hope for that, too; yay, Joel). Not until after 8:00 last night did it cool to pleasantness. I hauled the computer outside and completed a long and overdue pair of emails to a friend. That felt good. It was already 75 at 6:00 this morning, and 80 on our morning dog walk. But that’s where the day decided to settle. Low 80s with…


It’s those little things

My cover gets blown The other day I was depositing the house-loan money in my local bank with a teller I didn’t recognize, a vacation sub who travels from branch-to-branch. We got to chatting, then when I went to leave, she said, “May I ask you something?” “Sure.” “Are you a writer?” I keep my professional life and my town life separate and try to avoid letting locals know what I do. If somebody must know I tell them I’m a totally obscure blogger who does “political and lifestyle” content. Then I change the subject. “Um … yeah. Why do…


Mm-mmm good!

One day while staying at the monastery, I left to run errands and came across this strawberry stand. That’s all it sold. Just strawberries — straight from the field behind the tiny booth. On the outward leg, I noticed the place was mobbed. Half the residents of the area seemed to be there, not just buying pints but flats and flats. On the inbound leg, all the local residents seemed to be there. It took five or six clerks crammed inside the tiny stand to wait on everybody. I stopped and picked up a half-flat for the nuns. When they…


And this, children, is why you never live in the country without a working vehicle

So. This urgent need came up for me to get to the Big City. I mean the Actual Big City (hereinafter ABC) as opposed to the place I laughingly call the big city (PILCTBC) or the cute little resort town (CLRT), the two places locals go to shop. I don’t currently have a working car. That has so far been no great problem. Yes, it’s been a gigantic grumple trudging on foot through the worst season the PNW has had in 30 years. But it’s not like I have to walk through Minnesota blizzards. It’s not like I even have…


Aaaaaand then the departure of the Monk

The Wandering Monk wandered in about 9:30. Limping, but not quite as much as I’d expected. He showed me pictures: three-inch gash; bone gleaming in the depths, but very little bleeding thanks to him having the good sense to avoid major veins and arteries while chopping himself with a machete. Good tool sharpening, too. The wound was as clean-edged as a paper cut. A very, very large papercut. But as straight as if drawn with a ruler. He offered to show me the real, live injury (which he has bandaged under tension but not stitched). I declined. Though he offered…


Am I a cold-hearted b***h?

Um … that was a rhetorical question. I don’t think I am, but your opinion may vary. I was just reminded in the last few days why people often view us INTJ/freedomista/rational/free-market types as having icy souls. —– The Wandering Monk likes to see himself as a person who helps people. And he genuinely does much good. He goes out of his way for people all the time. He specializes in clients who don’t have a lot of money and he charges accordingly. He often spends late nights counseling troubled acquaintances. He does little things for clients that are above…


Small-town life, 21st century style

Just returned from the morning walk to town. Where the owner of the nearest pot shop recognized me, stopped his car, and reminded me that today is 4/20. Discounts on bud, beverages, and bongs. Today only. Free munchies while they last. C’mon down. I rarely go by his shop any more. I never was that big on using his product, though I did like to support him and loved to view the wonders of his store. Now that it’s a very long walk or a short-but-PITA bus ride to his place, I don’t go there. But dontcha love the small-town…