I am writing this on a Sunday and it turns out, it's sunny; it's a Sunday. Just heard the Sun is 500 billion years old. Must be the candles on the cake making all that heat. It's 93 million miles away from the Earth, and 100 times larger. Imagine the Earth as a golf ball and the Sun as a Mini Cooper. The Sun is an old giant ball of hydrogen gas.
After reading the first paragraph you might be thinking, contrary, if you're a regular Scrawlins reader, to what you've assumed until now, that I'm one smart full of information fella. Don't think that. I'm not. I just happened to hear those sun statistics on a television show I was listening to while I stretched earlier this morning.
Aren't Sunday mornings in Vermont fantastic? I just used my underwear to clean the tops of my heat registers in my bedroom, and had a great time doing it. It's so clear and cool and sunny outside that I want to clean all day. I want to clean dirt that barely exists, mostly just because, it's sunny, and it's Sunday. Can you relate?
Yes, it's Sunday and it's sunny and it's feeling more fall like as the moments pass. I want to stay at the house all day, sit, and watch my tomatoes redden. But I can't, cause I'm working at the fair, as I have been the past eight days and nights, and I have to leave my house to go sit inside an overly air conditioned large industrial building for 10 hours. I'm not complaining, it's my job, and it's a good one, I'm simply telling you I've been very busy the past 10 days at the fair as an excuse for this column being particularly bland.
The column is due Monday mornings. I like to start the new one the day after, if I'm able. This week with 15-hour days, I've not been able to keep up with all my administration work, say nothing of trying much creative.