Oh hey.

South of our yard, and just past where the road turns from gravel to dirt, there's a driveway hidden in the bush. It's overgrown and pretty easy to miss if you're not looking for it. At the end of that lane is a large farmyard, with big metal grain bins and a big red barn. And one very old house.

I was cleaning out a drawer when I found a cd addressed to my Grandpa from his brother. Which was weird, since, y'know, he doesn't live here and stuff. I popped the disc into my computer to see what was on it, and unexpectedly found dozens and dozens of pictures of my Froc ancestors!

After my shift at work tonight, Benton and I made a midnight run to Tim Horton's. (He was hanging out with friends. We carpooled. It was environmentally cute.)
-Tu or Vous? A flowchart for Frenchies.

-Beyonce the Riveter

-This guy takes playing with your food to a whole new level. So rad.

-If Wes Anderson, Dr. Seuss, and Oreos had a baby, it would be this commercial.

-Morgan Freeman sucks helium. And is super unimpressed.

-Gangster Lorem Ipsum

-The speech impediment of the 21st century. (Guilty.)

-17 accents from the British Isles, 1 woman.

-WHOA. In case you ever forget what the radio sounded like waaaaay back when, plug a year into The Nostalgia Machine. 2004 anyone?

I'm in the Homeland!

Due to some circumstances beyond my control, I wasn't able to take my usual summer job in Lethbridge this year. Luckily, there's always work to be done at home, so I packed up my car, sent the fish to a friend's, and motored back to the 'Land of Living Skies'.

Before I came out here, there was great excitement at the homestead because our family got two cats. TWO! We've never had more than one at a time- which should tell you how desperate Momma Froc is to rid the house of little varmints. One of the cats is a grey and white ragdoll that we named Coco. She has a skittish sort of nervousness about her, probably because Clay tends to drag her around all the time. We see her the most, but never really play with her because all she does is hiss or try to sit on the table.

My mother named the other cat.
We generally only see her at night. Black and white, with half a Charlie Chaplin moustache, Catniss is our fat and extremely lazy cat. (She flops over whenever she gets tired of standing. Never lays down, just flops.) She's also currently the bane of my existence. Astute readers will notice that I'm typing this post at FOUR FREAKIN' THIRTY IN THE MORNING because this tub of lard decided she needed snuggles. Nothing says good morning like 12 pounds of cat in your face.

Lately she's been sneaking into my room in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with me. It's not too bad, unless she's hungry and your dreams are suddenly permeated with dramatic meowing.  Or unless you happen to move a little bit, in which case she suddenly forgets her role in this family as the lazy cat and does fifteen laps around the bed, hops over your face to look out the window, and then re-settles right on top of your chest.
I had the last laugh tonight. Approximately one minute after this was taken, she stretched out too far and rolled off the bed.