European architecture >>> Ted Roger's statue and Potatoe-esque "post modern design" world of Canada. Mountaineous regions and lakes are nice though... water. Hailing and raining a lot rite now. Thunder and lightning. Maybe some funnel clouds, then plus 20... down from 38... then down to minus 10 minus 20 and minus 40, with windchill (don't even worry about temp, just assume death is imminent). It's a dream.
Raven, lots of wet damp trees and leaves last time I was in London. That's nature, rite? Rain and cigarette smell. Virginia Water.................
I guess downtown not so much.
Driving to uncle's old house and other's uncle's places in NJ and CT was scary, like a race track in a rally. Random hidden valleys.
I used to joke, you could hear my uncle foraging for berries out there alone in the woods, like a bear, we called him "Chubby" (that's his CDN nickname).
I like GREY skies and light rain... wind blowing thru my hair...
Never cancelled school as a kid, now they do in minus 25(crybabies)... only did in like minus 50 when I was a kid, walking uphill both ways to school.
And the nuns used to beat us with salmon. Sometimes they used a curling rod.
Ah, but the heat of the curling rod, made the salmon taste so amazing. On "Holy Days", it was a side of roast beef. I remember one All Hallow's Eve.
Sometimes if our nails were dirty after "recess" (more accurately known as, fieldwork), they'd hose us down. If we hesitated, they'd beat us with the hose.
It was a different time then. Boys were not allowed to wear shirts that exposed their nipples. Everyday, before school you had to tape up your nips, so you did
not get in trouble changing for phys-ed. "AN exposed nip, gets the whip", was a favorite nursery rhyme amongst the youth.
Girls were to be addressed as "Mizz", and had to all have the same haircut and hair color. If you were left handed??
You didn't want to be left-handed back then. Children were to be seen and not heard.
Every teacher's name was Miss. Davenport. She had a troubled past. She was very hot. She passed on the cycle of violence she grew up with, back on to her students in the form of psychological and physical abuse. As I got older, I realized it was wrong what she was doing. But she never aged. She's still very hot, and her abusive ways made her all the hotter. Sometimes I drive by there, and think about what could have been. Alas, it was not meant to be. The school had been shutdown.
All records and traces of it had vanished. Miss Davenport died later that year, of syphilis.
Afterward:
Whenever I experience burning in urination, I think of her. I yearned for her.