The Rural Voice, 1995-09, Page 6•
ARE YOU READY TO START
YOUR OWN BUSINESS?
If you are, then -
Business Basics, A Fast Track to
Starting Your Own Business
is for you!
5 evening sessions beginning
September 26, 1995
7 p.m. - 10 p.m.
at the
Kiwanis Community Centre, Stratford
Cost $160.00 (includes workbook)
To register or for more information call:
Women & Rural Economic Development
1-800-790-9949 or 1-519-273-5017
MICROMAN INC.
• Come and see
our specials
• All farm
291-
9633
j computing
l� needs
Also Stationery • Photocopying • Fax Available
135 Wallace Ave., N., Listowel, Ont.
519-291-9633 Fax 519-291-9634
Books
Books
Books
• Large selection of
books for relaxation
and study
• Artistic ceramic pieces
• Creative ink drawings
Gift Certificates
Available
Book Trader Etc.
Doug & Liz Coles
HANOVER
262 10th St.
519 364 7743
2 THE RURAL VOICE
Gisele Ireland
Super Wrench wins by miles
This column is for all those
people, like myself, who dream
about getting away from it all, talk
about making a change and seeing
new horizons, and don't follow
through unless
prodded
relentlessly.
I'll bet your
reason is
similar to
mine; I get
dreadfully
homesick. For
30 years,
Super Wrench,
the man who is
at home
wherever he
may be, has
been trying to
cure me of this
malady.
He's had some success. When
the children were young, the only
way he got me to stay away
overnight was to drug me, roll me in
a rug, and throw me in the trunk
until we arrived at our destination.
As the children matured, I would
sometimes last up to three days
before I found a phone and rang up
bills that equalled the cost of the
night's accommodation at a plush
resort. You have to give the
Wrench credit for patience. He
never gave up.
The children are now grown and
mostly nested on their own and
Super Wrench is at it again.
Several times during the past few
years I've had speaking
engagements in the Maritimes.
Flying was always my choice
because I would be gone less than
three days, before I went
mashukena. This time Super
Wrench, very wistfully, pleaded
he'd never seen the provinces, he'd
like nothing better than to drive me
there, and we could make it our
vacation. He promised I'd be so
enthralled and entertained I
wouldn't miss being home at all.
For some strange reason, mainly
guilt I think, I agreed.
The first day, I never thought of
home. The sending unit went out of
the motor of the car, spewing oil all
over the place. Luckily we were
visiting with friends who directed us
to a mechanic and lent us their car
until we got mobile again. Calling
home was the last thing on our
minds. The second day we visited
more friends, and I got little pangs
of queasiness when the
granddaughters were introduced and
I recalled where my grandchildren
were.
Super Wrench rapidly distracted
me by driving through Quebec and
trying to communicate with his long
forgotten conjugation of French
verbs. The look on the waitresses'
face as he ordered furniture with a
side order of grapefruit banished all
thoughts of home. His
interpretation of what the signs
along the highway said made me
realize why I had originally married
him. He was a lot of fun. He didn't
even get out of sorts when he ran
out of gas and had to walk a mile to
a gas station. His French was good
enough to get a can of gas and
funnel.
By day five, I had finished my
engagement in New Brunswick and
was showing definite signs of
unease. Super Wrench solved this
by his famous method of
"noodling". This is where you
abandon all traffic on major routes
and get lost in the backroads as
often as possible. Frequent stops
are required, usually at interesting
looking places and you talk to
anyone who will pass the time of
day with you. We got some
interesting information. You can't
pay for a new combine doing
custom work in New Brunswick, the
lobster fishermen get $3 a pound for
their catch and you pay $25 for a
one -pound lobster in a restaurant.
Now through all these interesting
little diversions, I tried to let Super
Wrench know that my homing
instincts were becoming quite acute.
He pretended he didn't notice until
day nine. At five in the morning, I
stood at the end of the bed, bags
packed, holding out his shorts and