In which we meet some denizens of my little village and determine that cows are jerks...

Yesterday was largely uneventful, save a cow and her twin calves attempting to ingest my car.

Calf 1: (nibbles tire)

Me: (from the vantage point of my kitchen window) Stop that!

Mother cow: (gives a blank look and keeps chewing)

Calf 2: (wraps tongue around antenna)

Me: What kind of parent are you? Get them away from my car!

Mother cow: (eye contact is made and body language says "Screw you, human!")

Luckily I am a Chilliwack girl, born and bred, and have no qualms about chasing creatures of the bovine persuasion away from my house (I will, however, cop to having checked for udders first - I'm not stupid).

Today I took a break from organizing my classroom which is starting to look a lot less like the previous teachers and a little more like me. I had some things to do in town, so I grabbed my purse and jumped into my non-ingested car.

To get to town, you turn left out of the school driveway, head past the gravel pit and a minute later, you're there. There are around ten buildings in the central area, and I was heading to the general store.

Some Introductions:

The General Store is run by the Postmistress and her husband (whom I haven't met yet and thus have not yet ascribed a pseudonym). She is tall, grey, and sometimes stern. She was delighted to present me with mail, however, and laughed when I got excited. They seem to be easygoing and game for a joke here. It's a bit of a relief.

The Postmistress and her husband have a grown daughter, PK Tech Girl. I met her yesterday when she came to sort out a problem with the wireless connection at the school. PK Tech girl is a striking thirtysomething woman who looks very Italian but who I am told is more Scottish. She came in while I was filling out my mailing form, and I waved hello.

While I was chatting and filling out my mailing form (for General Delivery, an option I chose deliberately so that I would have an excuse to pop in and say hello on a regular basis), in came the local mechanic, a woman I will be calling Gypsy, after the mechanic from Gilmore Girls. Although the Gypsy on the show is hispanic and cynical, this Gypsy is actually more Teutonic. She reminded me that she has a couple of kittens that are just about ready to go, and assured me that if I needed a couple of weeks to get a litter box and some food, they would be waiting.

Then bid my goodbyes, grabbed my mail and purchases, and headed back to the school. More classroom organizing must happen before it begins to resemble a workspace.

There isn't enough time!