Wednesday September 14

The Lost day.

I wake up a few miles away from my vacationing cats, still unhappy with my two tour Brushes, and decide to never comb or brush my hair again, than to be disappointed. Crazy cat ladies are not to be crossed with. Even if we cross ourselves.

Woke up the hotel staff in order to not let them pack and load the car, and off we go in search of the first ray of sun to touch the united States each morning. We miss the first one, but caught the fifteenth thru twenty second rays of morning sun, and continued further North and East than anyone in their right minds should go.

If you drive long enough in Maine you start to figure out why they call it the Pine Tree State. We saw a couple of trees. Eventually we needed to stop and feed the dogs, they were tired of pulling the dog sled without any snow. We stopped in Bangor, (I hardly knew her) Maine and I had the best Hash ever. It was no Texas Cream corn but it was close. Opted out of the hair cuts offered during breakfast, but I did notice some people’s hair looked better that they had a few days ago, hmmmm. The rest stop is near the airport, does one fly to Bangor for hash and a haircut? I might someday, that was great hash. And we drove and drove and drove, and saw another pine tree, and a hemlock, and a spruce and a maple and an oak tree. And we went thru towns that had no name. Finally we reached the border, and the most remote location for a Walmart ever, right near the border crossing.

Love the questions we were asked. Thank goodness I left the weaponry at home with the missing hair brush and safety pins, or else who knows what would have happened.

We quickly pick up the lingo, and start reading the road signs in Canadian, and wonder where all the people have gone. They must have gone south to Walmart.

So many signs for Moncton, I just might end up there some day, but today we go to Nova Scotia. New England was named in English, Why is Nova Scotia latin? Are they better than us? The answer is yes. Lovely rolling hills, green corn fields, happy cows and boats. All I need is a man in a kilt and my life is complete.
My wish was granted, there are plaid people everywhere. Turns out they are tour guides, but doubt they can tell me what I want to know.
I find a pub, with real fish and chips, and guiness, I drank so much I forgot to unhitch the dogs from the dog sled, but that is what I have my minions for.

My money is no good here, so I have to go get some that is, and the face on the bills is familiar, I think she was at a recent televised wedding.

There are a lot of people visiting here, with luggage. Mine still smells like clean laundry, I suppose it will start to smell different soon.

And so far, no igloos or ice bergs.