nonamedufus

Ol' P.J. tested our creative abilities in June with the prompt "vehicles". Nevertheless I think I've risen to the challenge (pun intended) with this collection of photos. This is Big Red, used every week to deal with our acre of grass (the kind you cut). I took this shot coming off the local Highway 50 at the Des Allumitieres exit. Can you tell it's rush hour? This little vehicle carts my son and I around the golf course every week. It was a great day for a round last Thursday. This old relic is at the entrance to the Gatineau Golf Course. There were three of us playing last week. I though they might rent us the truck so we could travel the 18 holes together. The Beast. It's a 2006 Mitsubishi Outlander. Eight years old and it still runs like a charm. Drive on over to P.J.'s blog where you can discover what the rest of this month's participants came up with.

He wasn't an easy guy to track down. He was good at getting away, blending in, hiding. Like that time in 97 after the Bank of America heist. His accomplices were easy enough to find, one ofter the other. But the leader had easily slipped the flailing reach of the long arm of the law. Without a trace. It was like he had just evaporated, like he...well, you get the idea. Thus it was a day for celebration in Precinct 79 when Captain Morganstern triumphantly paraded him from the squad car, through the Division and into Interview Room 5. Detectives and and beat cops alike knew the story. They'd heard about the elusive reprobate for years. He was almost an urban legend in the cop shop. And yet here he was in the flesh on the other end of Captain Morgenstern's handcuffs. The interview took hours. Cigarette smoke, and the stench of stale coffee and body sweat seeped beneath the locked door. By the time all was said and done the sun had long since sunk low in the western sky.

He thought long and hard about the best way to handle things. The impersonal stuff would be simple enough to deal with. A garage sale, perhaps. He could list the larger items on eBay, But the items that meant the most to him he wanted to leave to family and friends. His car he'd leave to his son. His record collection to his music-loving brother. His books to a good friend who loved to read almost as much as he did. The list was long but that was okay. In his hospital bed he really wasn't pressed by other things to do. After he'd gotten over his initial shock of the news from his specialist he was now actually happy to know roughly how long he'd have to put his affairs in order. Just like his life. He was what some would call a neat freak. His wife would jokingly say he had OCD. His view, however, was order in his life resulted in order in his mind. And so his motto had been 'a place for everything and everything in its place'. And now it had come to

Tears continued to drip from his moist eyes, rolled down his cheeks and fell to the pages below.  He loved to read. He read several books a week. But never had he come across such a text as was currently before him. It was such a sad tale, about a woman in the last throws of cancer. The funny thing was she was strong while all those around her were so broken-hearted and weak. Page after page reminded him of her. And his heart ached all over gain. There had been happy days together, sure, but at the news of her fatal disease his sunny skies had clouded over. And she had been the strong one not him. She told him how he'd manage when she was gone. And she was sure he would be just fine. He didn't believe her. "I've got to get a grip" he thought. "It's been five years now." Determined to accede to her last wish that he go on living, a wry smile crossed his lips as he chucked the unfinished tome through the passage way. And with that he took h