PHHH #1087.9

Date: April 2, 2006

Place: Rock Hill Library to Waldorf School

Weather: Sublime

Time: 65 minutes?

Hare: Hand Solo

Hounds: Geezer, Hey YO! Paully, Speedbumps, Pyroman, Oliver the
Wunderbra, Ouipee, Delicate Psyche, Ksilent Pnight, Matt Muffelman,
Sjorn Dork, Windbreaker

Can't see the forest for the trees

Despite the hare's episodic fugue states that left us periodically
markless between checks, the pack got the big picture and followed a
westward trail behind a car dealership, across 206, through Montgomery
Commons, discreetly around the wireless IR motion sensors that keep
bipedal chemistry professors from frolicking down runways, to a
regroup not far from a couple handcuffed to a park bench, where
Ksilent Knight, then known as Justin Timberlake, did his virgin
down-down only 15 months ago, on PHHH #1022.9
(www.princetonol.com/groups/phhh/archive/1022.9.txt).

Thoughtfully ignoring the eyes that spoke volumes about their need for
help from the barking hounds, or Oliver, or Delicate Psyche, who was
stalking the bench from the other side of the pond, the pack journeyed
on, and on, Weapea thrashing through a deer necropolis in shiggy
intended for quadrupeds. After crossing yet another road (the
fourth!), we encountered, why--could it be?--snow-haired Mrs. Phinney,
the eggshell collector and wife of Dork's Professor Phinney, most
recently visited just two years ago on PHHH #983.9
(www.princetonol.com/groups/phhh/archive/983.9.txt)?

Well, no, she wasn't, leaving unclear her relationship to the elderly
couple, all the while plucking a nosegay from the Phinneys' wild
flowers.  The Phinneys were in Chile, or maybe Argentina, the
apple-cheeked woman said, somewhat vaguely. "I do know they're way
down south," she spoke with a winsome look and twinkling eyes. And,
yes, Mrs. Phinney still had those damn eggshells--"They smell to high
heaven," she muttered with some annoyance.  Perhaps she hoped we'd not
notice the two 7-foot-long mounds of eggshells between the beanpoles.
But that didn't stop us from asking that Dork be remembered to Prof.
P, who undoubtedly remembers fondly young Bjorn's insistence on making
his Mohs Scale go to 11.

After an all too brief jaunt on the relentlessly expanding Montgomery
Trail system, we came to a clearcut behind the Waldorf School off
Cherry Valley Road.  Yes, a clearcut, which those PHHH expats in
Oregon are all too familiar with.  Rare on the east coast, though,
there not being too many forests with good drainage in the first
place.  Unless you're an abandoned tree nursery, in which case you're
fair game.  And this was a nursery now heaped in symmetrical stacks,
behind the farthest one of which Solo had heaped his execrable Vienna
Fingers, dill pickle potato chips, licorice jelly babies, and two
snorts of Triumph's Olde Floor Mop Ale.  Being too close to them, and
they already downed, we overlooked the down-down to the trees.  So
here's a toast to land once gamboled on: we shall not hash upon you again.