I saw your "cracking corn, probably" status the other day and it made me laugh so hard. I was talking to my friend here and just lost it when I saw that!! :)
I'm with Jimmy on this one. Being out in nature. I get really excited when that first big snow comes thinking about getting out on the snow packed trails. Then again when the water finally freezes and it's time to pull the shanty and tip-ups out of storage. That's my prime-time right there.
You know I was scrolling down on the iPhone as I read your answer, which showed it one word at a time, so I got all excited thinking I finally had a shot. Until the third word appeared, that is.
Tease.
~
This post was edited by Randy D at December 14, 2016 9:58 PM MST
When I was 60 I decided it was time to learn to fly hang gliders. Unfortunately I didn't get my licence but during the lessons I managed to land in a paddock where a bull stood eating. He looked at me thoughtfully, I thought there was a glint in his eye -- and there was I strapped into a technicolour kite without no quick way to unstrap and get over the fence. Now THAT was exciting.
Your story reminds me of one by Hilaire Beloc: Some years ago you heard me sing My doubts on Alexander Byng. His sister Sarah now inspires My jaded Muse, my failing fires. Of Sarah Byng the tale is told How when the child was twelve years old She could not read or write a line. Her sister Jane, though barely nine, Could spout the Catechism through And parts of Matthew Arnold too, While little Bill who came between Was quite unnaturally keen On 'Athalie', by Jean Racine. But not so Sarah! Not so Sal! She was a most uncultured girl Who didn't care a pinch of snuff For any literary stuff And gave the classics all a miss. Observe the consequence of this! As she was walking home one day, Upon the fields across her way A gate, securely padlocked, stood, And by its side a piece of wood On which was painted plain and full, BEWARE THE VERY FURIOUS BULL Alas! The young illiterate Went blindly forward to her fate, And ignorantly climbed the gate! Now happily the Bull that day Was rather in the mood for play Than goring people through and through As Bulls so very often do; He tossed her lightly with his horns Into a prickly hedge of thorns, And stood by laughing while she strode And pushed and struggled to the road. The lesson was not lost upon The child, who since has always gone A long way round to keep away From signs, whatever they may say, And leaves a padlocked gate alone. Moreover she has wisely grown Confirmed in her instinctive guess That literature breeds distress.
This post was edited by Benedict Arnold at December 6, 2016 11:29 PM MST
Benedict Arnold 