Tuesday 10 July 2012

Whacked Out, Drug Addled Bees

Buster and I got out a little earlier today than we normally do, because it is supposed to get up above 30° C. I don’t particularly like the very warm weather, unless I am walking from one casino to the other, but I can live with it just so long as it lasts only a few days. Buster doesn’t do too well in the heat. It is his own fault since he insists on wearing a fur coat winter and summer even though I have told him over and over again not to.

We walked past a field, somewhere between the first fifteen “number ones” and the second “number two” when the scent of clover enveloped me. It was wonderful! I can remember sitting in the midst of a field of clover with my mom as a child. I was doing kid things I suppose and mom would be looking for four leaf clovers. She always managed to find them and of course, they mean that the finder will have good luck.

Three leaf variations are the norm, but the fourth leaf is good luck. The first leaf stands for faith, the second, hope, the third is for love and as I said, the fourth leaf is luck. That is quite a load for a tiny clover to take on. I still have a couple of clovers that mom found, one is in an envelope and is really just pieces of a four leaf clover, but the other one is in a small frame. I should dig it out; I could do with a little luck just about now.
I can remember one time when we went to a family picnic at High Park in Toronto. It seemed like our whole family was there, all of the cousins, uncles and aunts and whoever else is needed to make up the family. There was lots of food of course, and games like sac races, three legged races, bobbing for apples and scavenger hunts. There were other games, but since they were all activities that I wasn’t any good at, why would I remember them? It sucks that no one wants to do the three legged race with you. I always got to race with my uncle Alex and he would pick me up and just run to the finish line. He was often first, but the judges disqualified him because technically I didn’t run. That’s Okay, there was watermelon to eat and I was pretty good at spitting the seeds the farthest.
One particular year, the picnic was in the middle of a field of clover. Not only was the picnic fun, but it smelled like fun too. When we went home that day, I got a snack from mom to tide me over until dinner time. It was honey and toast. Not just honey and toast, but Clover honey and toast. It tasted just like the park smelled. I guess you can get all sorts of different types of honey; it’s important what kind of flowers the bees get their pollen from. Most of the honey I buy now is from the Superstore and they don’t advertise what kind of plant the bees harvest the pollen from. More than likely it was from the “cheap, crappy, stinky bush”.

People that smoke a lot of grass will buy pretty much anything if they think they will get a different kind of high from it. Years ago a guy approached me and offered some blackish looking syrup. He told me that it was honey that had been harvested from hives located in the middle of a field of marijuana. He went on to say that the high was one of the mellowest stones that I would ever have. It made sense to me. Mind you, at that time of my life I was stoned most of the time and almost anything would make sense.

I bought the honey. I paid about twice the going rate for an ounce of grass.  I didn’t get stoned and it tasted like the bees had eaten tar and then crapped it out. I never saw that particular guy again, and I am hoping that he was eaten by his whacked out, drug addled bees.

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