I am trying to grow a beard. I've never had a beard. I think I'm doing an Al Gore. I had a goatee for a while. But that's not a beard. According to this entry in Wikipedia "In the course of history, men with facial hair have been ascribed various attributes such as wisdom, sexual potency, or high status, but also a lack of cleanliness and refinement, or an eccentric disposition."
I think a beard signifies a change for me. And not all that stuff above. But I'm getting ahead of myself - I've been growing this for 5 days now. We must give it time.
Soon you will be able to buy gifts and baskets online because of my gargantuan efforts to program in .NET. But honestly, do you really want to buy baskets and stuff online? I'd rather buy a book. Or camping equipment.
Speaking of camping, I am sure Jonesing for some camping. I've been falling asleep imagining canoeing, portaging and hiking in to a camp spot. I recall the last thing I thought about last night was arriving at an interior spot and digging a firepit, and making a shelter. I want to create a shelter out of tree boughs, pine brush and leaves.
I read through my old copy of Bradford Angier's "How to Stay Alive in the Woods" a couple of days ago. Made me want to fish and cook that big fat bass over a fire on a green stick. Hot damn. Trouble is, Monty the beagle ain't in the best of health at the moment. The vet's instructions say that he has to go on short walks for 16 weeks. It's been 8 weeks. He's still limpy. Recovering, but not able to go camping. Spring hasn't (yet) been convinced of the value and pleasure of camping. We must give it time.
Speaking of time, it's late and I need to go to sleep.