in remembrance of peter π I am reblogging his last blog –
The Long Fezzle
My wife Clara died five oβclock this mornin'. It took me half the day to fix a box for her. I run out of nails twice, bruised my thumb with a hammer, and split three covers before I got the fourth one nailed down tight. I pulled my back liftin' Clara to the wagon, and the halter broke as we come out of the barn, so we had to drive into town with Bessie pullin' crooked.
Down the last hill, we got out of control, like, and Clara just slid off the back and shot straight through the post office window. I ran into the post office to see that no one was hurt, and found Tut Tuttle, the postman, peering at me through the stamp window.
βLucky I had the gratin' down,β he said.
βSure was,β I replied.
βDid you pass the preacher and theβ¦
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