Moving Backwards

This post brought to you by Rural Route 1 'ip Balm and Popcorn, The Popcorn I'm Eating Right Now

So this is what a horse camp looks like. I see, it's a plug and hitch. Is the outlet for Electric Horses, or possibly Electric Sheep? Which picnic table is for the gastrically challenged? Do horses picnic?

Where is everyone?


(Flashback)
The same creature which horse rumped me in Sparta, man handled (horse handled) my friend's smooth coated fox terrier. After a long weekend on the Sparta farm, his owner brought him in for canine acupuncture.
One of the funniest images I can picture which I haven't actually seen, is Chico the terrier, super snout and all, getting cranial acupuncture ("I've only had cranial acupuncture." Place the quote and win a postcard. Really, I'm on a pc hunt. You should like that, James, "Be vewy vewy quiet, I'm hunting hippies." ).

This horse, picnicing somewhere near the campground, reminded me of those downtown squirrels. Bastards. It was all hooves and bad attitude. A neighbor and I had a theory that the squirrels which terrorized us outside of our Ingersoll apartment, had a stash of lost socks and laundry next to a pile of weed and government cheese. They stored it in the yellow garage next door which no one seemed to enter.
Or more significantly, leave.

My Rural Route 1 caramel corn and cashews dipped in creamy fudge, originally meant for my parents, would have been squirrel jacked before I reached the stoop. The little freaks would have snatched the bag, then taunted me like I was sitting in the back of the Park St. bus (childhood trauma).
My mother has been more critical than usual since she's been sick, and I didn't want her slamming my C.C. Winkle. Somewhere between Montfort and Verona I'd become protective of the fudge corn, and decided to keep it for myself. They got the Rainbow, which she didn't like.
Sigh.
Let me put that first statement in perspective, saying my mother is more critical than usual is like saying Cub's fans have been less tolerable than usual. No? Okay, the tornado was breezier than usual. Darth Vader seemed in a worse mood of late.

So I kept the C.C. Winkle and am still eating it a week after my birthday (two days after my Steven's birthday party). God I'm fat. Chomp, mmffph. Use the fork, Luke.
The popcorn itself is smooth coated, only with fudge, not fur. There's a sunny crunch of thin caramel just a breath after the lavish first bite of cashew and fudge. The fudge compliments, not over powers, the brittle layer of caramel, and the soft nuts (ha) only make the experience more decadent. I got two large bags of RR1 corn (and a post card) for something like four bucks, and the cashier seemed to apologize for the price.
Still sampling their wares during the bagging of the corn, the swiping of the plastic, and the heading for the door, I was like Beatrix Kiddo in the back of Buck's Pussy Wagon willing my big toe to leave the store.

Considering I spent the day tromping around the likes of this, I guess I deserved a little sugar.
Now, "Wiggle your big toe."
Photo of Gabe and me by Tammi