Dead Mr Johnson, you won’t regret hiring me


It’s 8:23 am. Even though I have a day off, I’m up and at’em.

It must be the sun. It’s been a perfect week and sunny days are forecast for another week. (Cue contented sigh.)

How can I complain? I have a day to myself. A whole day. Sure I have cover letters to write for September, but I have a whole day to do nothing. Nothing at all.

I could cook! Write! Rearrange my basement rooms! Blog!

The possibilities are endless. (Except they are because pay day isn’t until tomorrow.)


Finally, the school board has posted open round teaching jobs for September. There are a few permanent positions, which these days are like Holy Grails. I can’t imagine I would qualify for one of these gigs given my dearth of experience. (Though occasionally, I can use words like dearth.)

Thanks to my extensive university education (AKA avoiding adulthood for a decade), combined with employment droughts, I can write a mean cover letter. (Well not mean. I’d get no jobs then. I’m terrified of the typo that makes “Dear” actually “Dead” because I am quite sure I once did this in a rough draft. Thankfully, I caught it before some poor employer got a letter that started “Dead Mr. Johnson: Please hire me for this position. You won’t regret it.”)

I have until Friday to apply. Stay tuned.


My vegetable garden is in. Better late than never. (With the exception of planting it in October.)

It’s a small patch. You could only bury about two or three Mr. Johnsons in it.

Over the weekend, I bought me some cow manure (I feel citified having actually paid for composted cow poop when there’s free cow poop just down the road) and started planting.

Lettuce. Beans. Radish.

Dill. Basil.

I’m hoping the skunks won’t dig up the seeds, the raccoons won’t eat the seeds, or the deer won’t discover the produce once it’s grown. Stay tuned.



Moth balls have fixed The Skunk Problem. (FYI, when I use the word “our” I’m referring to me, my mother, and my cat. I’m underemployed, if that explains anything.)

Yes, toxic naphthalene seems to discourage skunks from digging out all the trees to find the tiniest scraps of bone meal. While many people prefer to use lead to get rid of skunks, I think moth balls are much safer than me trying to learn how to use a gun when I still haven’t mastered the DVD player.


I missed my calling as a wildlife rescuer (or roadkill chef). On my way home from work yesterday, I saw a critter in the road, paws pointed to the sky. I drove for a kilometre or two before turning and going back.

Yes, the patron saint of roadkill strikes again. I will toxify the yard to get rid of the evil, smelly skunks, but by gum, I’ll move random animals from the road so they aren’t pulpified by cars.

Yesterday, it was a ground hog. I felt especially bad because the ground hog looked pregnant.

I wish Lunenburg County had a roadkill crew that purposely went out to move critters so bleeding hearts like me wouldn’t have to.

Obviously I can’t move every single critter every single time; I wouldn’t get anywhere. And there’s enough drivers who go 20 under the speed limit during the “rush” hour to help with that.


Finally, I hope you enjoy my site redesign. Again. I can only imagine what my blog looks like while I’m test driving all the themes, red ones included.

Bleeding heart #1.
Bleeding heart #2.
Bleeding heart #3.*

* Never trust photographs. This one has been altered. Only because my tank top was really low and I looked like I was moments away from a wardrobe malfunction. Bless you Photoshop. Bless you.


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