I may renege on my offer. If you ain't too stupid, or No like seaweed, or can't count waves, or ear too much mush-chowder...One of the the smartest/dumbest things I ever did was buy ocean front land in N.S. Canada. It was to salvage a person's wayward life.

I knew anti-war boat builders who never came home, even after, President Carter offered amnesty to draft-resisters. Americans met lovable Canadians. One associate, dropped out of med-School, and makes boats. He even writes for a Boat-builders Publisher's magazine in the style of "Fine Woodworker." His scrapers, chisels, and wood-shop is exquisite. I hate to visit him and his wife because the home-brew beer is so good and my chisels are rusty-dull. I am embarrassed I've spread my interest too broad. Nothing gets done perfect. Perfect is one of my favorite words. I love saying, "peeerffeect!" very slow.

You like seaweed salad? The News Hour's, Jim Lehrer, even lives a short distance away at "B"-bay. His wife can be found shopping at the best pastry shop that uses good sweet butter. Not bitter butter, but white butter. In America, a Food/Drug, armed-agent, may bang on a Mennonite door, if the home made butter maker ain't dyed the butter with Fed's yellowy food coloring.

If you, L.W.M., know of anyone one else who can count miscount waves, I'll cook and someone else can count waves, and haul some compost able seaweed mulch. It's a place one can write a love letters to the Pat Boone in the sand-Talon or to a -Salon...and another walker can transliterate the sand-letter and 'cut-paste' e-mail the sand-letters to the American Salon?

Andy Goldsworthy has me wanting to pack my luggage. Ever see his nature work? He's worth spending 'thought' with. He did some art work at FOX POINT, Nova Scotia, and collected nearby wood, and rubbed-ice and wood into ice in 1999. Goldsworthy is a innocent kinda goofy guy, but has something to say. He gets into reputable museums. He will spend hours, TIME, trapping bubbles in large sheets of ice. He's got some good 'stuff' to 'goof' think about. "My" (not really mine-just a temp--deed holder) land is isolated, mild, quiet, and near a walking distance to the bay...

I know where some outlaw tavern dwellers hang out. I know where you can get double-yoke duck-eggs, etc....There is not a neighbor in site, but when you wish to enjoy Canadians fellowship and hospitality, I know the back roads. Put a "I Love Canada" Canada bumper sticker on your tin-Lizzy.

The tide must change in America. Write letters in the sand on a beautiful walking beach, then watch the incomming tide wash them all away? Wow, the sun rises there too. The Canadians watch the moon come up upon the silver crystal sea. They seem to hate less than America. They aren't perfect. Who is? Bush isn't. Neither is any politico's Prime Minister.

Don't take the golden or silver moon pathway, unless you can swim. Ice creaks. Spring birds sing. The sky may get overcast, but O, Woe...it departs when you see the sun rise. Stay calm all day until the sun sets. Wow, Ah! Watch the moon rise over and over and over....drink rye?

Rest in the dissipating fleeting Time. Life. Stay Woke. It's a shame the haters accuse lovers of hate....Love. Do that each Day and all Night. no sorry. am I off topic, yes, maybe. okay. I go to the dump, now. I don't know?

katekate? huh. just curious. Can't hurt for wondering? maybe no, maybe not sure..'an you em'..... covers a multitude of infractions....

If I can make it to the dump before it closes, I decree, I want to be nominated for The Saddest Man At The Dump.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow is only a day a way. Tomorrow.

The song goes something like that. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow...is only a day away..."See" you lovable rascals tomorrow.