Y'know.
Since I have never jogged..I never really gave thought to how someone who does jog, would go about getting ready for their morning jaunt, assuming that's when they go.I can see getting on the sports apparel, finding the walkman, choosing that one cd that makes ya hustle.The warm-up excercises, the toe-touches, the squats, even.Yes,I do realize that "Squats" sounds like some genetic hip disease, but hell, I said it anyways.Ok, so, I can imagine all of this...even though imagining squats is slightly distasteful, what I saw this morning on my way to town, blew my every last concept of the pre-jog ritual.I myself was standing at the bus stop, heavily over-dressed for todays' glorious 54 January degrees, when one of the houses that's lawn connects with the bus stop turf flew wide open and a young woman, I'd say 19-22 in range,came flying out..just about literally as her arms were pinwheeling and her legs nearly as well.She didnt seem to have ANY focus in her eyes even though her blonde hair was neatly tied back from them..her feet thumping along the dirt and asphalt with no particular rhythm nor wish to have any.She moved along in this odd je.rky manner at top speed, absolutely no care given to the fact that she was crossing a busy arsed highway, feet thumped along ..whack whack thumpthudwhack...

Now, I was momentarily concerned,.that this individual was perhaps on fire, which is the only rationale my mind could placate itself with for WHY anyone would ever move in this ungainly fashion.I yelled "STOP,DROP AND ROLL!!!"Which is just what anyone should do, if they're on da.mn fire.She didn't hear me, because she had the obligatory jogger's walkman strapped to her head..upon further notation, she had on the velour jogger's apparel, and was NOT trailing any plumes of smoke.There went that theory.I watchd for a few moments..as this, strange, crabwise-flailing , twirly-gig of a person did not slow down once, until they were quite on their way to town.This aberration of motivation seemed to get one quite far, quite quick..but it not persuade me to give up my bus-waiting.Had I tried it, I'd probably still be lying in a heap on the sidewalk, nowhere near town and lolly-gagging about waiting for my crisp new body cast/straight-jacket combo.

Anyways.So,once the dust cleared and the bus came and got my more than cautiously-travelling self, I was on my way to the assessor's meeting at the town library.It felt good, I must say to strive to be a part of the goings-on that effect me,my people and our wallets.It felt good to be educationg myself ,to be holding a notebook,creating a plan of efficiency and personal democracies.The sun was bright in my eyes,it was slightly hard to see, and my leg was acting up only a bit, so all was well. I found my way to the "Amherst Room" where the meeting was just beginning, grabbed myself a folding chair, took a seat and looked up to realize I was the only one there under 40, and that I hadn't brought a brown bagged lunch, as the rest of this crew seemed to have.I saw all the meeting members were at least 60 yrs of age, and were nibbling neatly at ham sandwhiches,juice boxes and pudding cups.The assessor, Mr Burgess,was the ONLY male there and was in his forties by my assessment,hehh. One of the little old ladies introduced him and as he began to speak, I heard the most Irish of brogues I've EVER heard."Burgess" I mumbled to me'self, should've known!!GREAT.If i go to ask a question now, it'll be with HIS accent, and he'll think I'm MOCKING him.Soooo..I'll just email him at his website,should I have an afterthought.Blargh.

Well,he seemed to be on friendly terms with everyone who was there.I tried to promise Bree in the morning before any of us left the house that I wouldn't get myself arrested poonching an'e-One in the face.I tried to promise heartily.I probably mumbled as the Burgess himself was doing.He explained a lot to us, I learned much, I even learned how NOT to mock a town official in his own bloody accent. I also learned NOT to fall asleep in a sun-baked meeting room high above the town, because a siren down below woke me, and I my first reaction, when I realized where I was and someone needed help, was to nearly pop out a mullioned pane and excused my do-gooder-self, capeless out the window and over the rooftops.Wouldn't THAT have been a lark.

The talk was not only enlightening, but humourous.The good Mr Burgess was asked by one woman named Rachel why she had been sent a letter of impending home-inspection,when no one had ever breached her borders ,nor in her estimation had even tried to.
Mr B:"I wus thurr, Rachel,I did the inspuction."
R: "No..you didn't..not in this lifetime."
Mr B: I ded so, Rachel.Yer hoosbund Elliot, war the one who told me yer sekoond fahreplace wasn't wharking."
R: *blank look*
Mr B:"... and also yer liteel duggs had nooooo appreciashun of me!!"
This got a big laugh.
R: Well, then if I tell you that the second fireplace is working now, will my assessment go up again??"
Bigger laugh.No bigger assessment.Fun morning.

*~gahh i hate meetings but u make it sound cool lol,what meeting where u at if u dont mind me asking??~*

The town assessor, the guy who drives around to see if your property value has gone up, so he can judge your taxes for the year..was speaking about how the hcnages work...I learned a LOT, and fortunately it all went in my direction,LOL.I did not know..that it costs you $5 in taxes for every hundred chickens you own.No,I don't have chickens, but if I did, that'd been useful!!LOLOL Thanks for askin' Samster!