Nature Bingo

I sar' a muskrat the other evening. Maw made me make soup and I made that soup good. Then I called her up for supper (oh how the tables have turned) and we ate it in front of our big windows. Then, to my delight, I sar' the little devil. I shouted "Lookit!" Maw ran for her glasses. I got the binoculars. He was gathering a bunch of grass in his mouth. He swam with it. We went for a walk later that night, maw and I, and scoped out the muskrat holes.

Chukar and/or Rock Partridge

I sar' one of 'em on my street. I chased it. It ran. Made my days.

Mr. Joe King

Some people have that animal. That one animal that people can reliably decide you'll like in mug, pencil, pillow, box, ornament, calendar, and/or throw form. Over Kelsey's, Donna and my Mother (between weight and age jabs) discussed this. My Mother (my Maw, as I affectionately call her) has pigs, hundreds of them. Donna has cats.

One Christmas, much to my surprise, I had ladybugs, as though I had always had ladybugs. I had never had ladybugs. They filled my stocking in chocolate and notepad form. I had to correct the dear old women responsible for this error in order to prevent myself from receiving lady bug paraphernalia at Christmases, Birthdays, Easters, and Graduations for years to come. This backfired.

Since then, which was maybe 5 or 7 some odd years ago, I've gotten ladybugs as a joke: remember-the-time-we-thought-you-liked-ladybugs--wasn't that funny?--gifts.

Go West

I'm moving to Vancouver in September.

There are things that I have that I imagine I won't need there, like my fur hat and all those Steinbeck books I own, and there are things that I imagine I will need there, like a raincoat, and some pals.

Maybe I'll bring the Steinbeck anyway, for company.

Countdown

I am an undergraduate student until Tuesday. Until then, I will write late, wake early, and spend my days and nights in the ugly (always humming) library that has been my second home for the past 3 and a half years. I will drink too much coffee, write approximately 5,000 more words, and neglect my growing laundry pile for just 3 and a half more days. I will wear the pants with the loosest waistbands for the most comfortable sitting. I will stretch and that will be my luxury. My hair, artificially out of place at the beginning of the day, will be genuinely out of place by the noon hour. Bangs back, books out. Half-priced day-olds. Two day overdue fines, going on three. Four more sleeps. Only four more sleeps.

You & Yours and Me & Mine

Summer's coming.

Remember the white, blonde-haired woman, with her leg up on the lawn mower, her black polka-dotted white halter dress, her repeated desperate tugs at the cord, and her hair, shoulder length and bobbed, hitting her face more violently with each pull? She looked like this.

On a sweltering day, wearing a thick wool skirt, with a cigar and iced-tea in hand on our way to see West Side Story. I say you'll get tongue cancer. I smoke too.

The woman beckons us from across the street. We direct ourselves across the patch of grass separating us from the road to her aid. Just as soon as we decide to help she gives one last yank and the machine starts. She waves jubilantly, thanking us for our intentions.

After the show we can't decide where to get ice cream.