I found some cans of root beer in the fridge. I cracked one of them open and I’ve just been walking around the house drinking root beer. If I ever feel like going for a walk I can just walk around the house. The upstairs alone has six bedrooms.
I’m all set up with power, phone and dialup internet. Went down to the basement and turned the water pump on. The water ran a little rusty at first, so I left the tap on for a while and now it’s gone pretty clear.
I’ve just been walking around looking at things. Opening drawers at random. Here’s a bunch of pencils commemorating some royal visit in 1951. Here’s my dad’s physics exam from 1956. He scored a 95%. Smart guy.
You can mail me stuff at this address:
P.O. Box 463
4670 Rte. 123
Chipman, NB E4A 3N6
I went into the village to get a box set up at the post office. “Oh, this fellow lives just up the road from you,” said the clerk.
She introduced me to Eugene McGinley. Turns out Eugene knew my dad. And Eugene’s father was good friends with my grandfather, whom I never knew. Eugene said he was a “delightful man.” Even though I’m new to living in this part of the world, I don’t think I’ll be anonymous.
I found out later that Eugene is actually the MLA for the region. Go Eugene!
Mail me stuff. I plan on sticking around here for a while, unless something crazy happens and I get offered a well-paying dreamy job back in Halifax. I can’t wait until the weather gets nicer… the Salmon River runs right through the backyard and I’ll be out there in a canoe every morning.
I was joking with my brother about opening a bed & breakfast at the house.
“Except then, I suppose I’d have to cook breakfast for all these people,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just open a ‘bed.'”
I’ll put a sign out by the road that says “Philly’s B & B” with the second “B” crossed out. “Welcome to Philly’s B.”
…OK, we got ourselves a little situation here, I walked into one of the upstairs rooms and heard a mouse poking around. Then he stuck his nose out, and that’s an awfully big mouse, holy shit, there’s a squirrel in my house. God damn it. I need B.A. Johnston to come to Chipman and punch this squirrel in the face for me.
The squirrel ran to hide behind a couple of old TV sets. I pulled the bedroom door closed tight. That squirrel can just chill out for a while until I figure out what to do with him.
Now that I don’t work in a bar anymore I have this urge to drink. I was poking around in the pantry and found a nearly-full bottle of Rawleigh’s Anti-Pain Oil, “not less than 69% alcohol.” Yeah, that oughta do it.
What I really want to do is christen the parlour by setting up some speakers and watching a DVD in there. I have a parlour now. If you visit me I’ll make tea.
I just called my parents in Saint John. It seems there are three options with the squirrel situation:
1) I can try to rig up some kind of trap–bait it with peanut butter and catch the squirrel and then take him and chuck him outside.
2) My mom suggested I try to clock him on the head with a broom.
3) RAT POISON.
I’m gonna go think it over while I watch The Shining.