Hi. Past 10:30.
I just sent off my latest Frank Magazine column to my editor. I hope he likes it. I hope you like it when it goes live on Monday coming.
I had Toastmasters this evening. We are down to bi-weekly meetings. For those of you reading this who are from Yarmouth, that means we meet every two weeks. If a month has 5 Wednesdays in it, then we meet on that 5th Wednesday, and then a week later, and then two weeks after that. Make sense?
Only a few people showed up tonight. We would have canceled the meeting had it not been for two guests who showed up. At the end of the meeting, she announced an intention to join the club.
I did table topics tonight. This is where you practice impromptu speaking, speaking off the cuff with little or no preparation. My theme tonight was Valley terms. These are words and phrases people utter down there. People had to read those words and then tell us what they meant. The Cape Bretoner in the audience got nearly all of them right.
A couple examples:
Bob War - Short, twisted cable. An example in a sentence. "Boy, you stay away from that bob war fence!"
Bard - Past tense of "to borrow". "John bard my pick up truck."
Rats - Entitlements. Things enshrined in constitutions. "People have got to stand up for their rats."
Flares - The pretty part of certain plants. "When yo wife is mad at ya, you should buy her some flares."
Tar - A rubber wheel. "John bard my pick up truck and brung it back with a flat tar!"
Warsh - To clean thoroughly, usually with soap and water. "Don't forget to warsh behind your ears, John!"
There are quite a few more, but you get the gist of it.
After the meeting was over, I picked up Patricia, not in my pick up truck, but in my 2008 Grand Prix, the one with 154 000 kilometers on it. She was at the library, which has become her go to place for fun times. We drove home. I had a shower. We watched an episode of "Longmire" on Netflix. And then I came down here to finish my column and write this post.
Writing this post must make your day, because when I miss a day, I catch all kinds of friggin' heck from you. I do the best I can, folks. I am only one Bevboy. You have to accept that. Remember last year, when I fired all my ghostwriters? I can't go back to that model, because the quality was suffering too much, and I care too much about you to let things slip again.
Patricia will be away at the Becoming an Outdoor woman thing this weekend. Trying to find something to do that's fun and for which I will have to apologize if she finds out about it at a later date. Send me some examples. K?
On that fun-filled note, I guess I will call it a night. Another long day tomorrow. At least the weekend is in sight.