Inside, it felt really chilly outside, but the news kept saying it was nice out. So I dared to venture forth in shorts, and I didn’t really regret my decision.
I strolled up and over the bridge to post office, stopped off and picked up a shot of afternoon espresso, and ambled on home. I like the rustle of dollar bills in the mailbox – it’s a comforting sound. The more I thought about it, though, I really like the rustle of checks in the post box better. Then, I followed that train of thought out as far as the rustle of lotto-type of check, and how that would be nice. Since that ain’t a-happened yet, then I’ll take what I can get and be grateful. All a matter of perspective.
Sister’s largesse and generosity is one of those gifts that “keeps on giving” as I’m stuck trying to remember passwords for sites that somehow all got thrashed in the transfer. Mail seems to be working, but I hate having to copy and paste the several dozen signatures I’ve got.
It could be worse, I suppose.
When I was headed home, I took a long way around the park, and I just knew that certain Virgo neighbor would be sitting outside, I just knew she’d want to chat. She’s got a new puppy and I’ve been coerced into “puppy duty” a few times already.
Puppy love ain’t free, she’s promised dinner in exchange for my services. And I knew she’d be outside in the afternoon. I was going to duck her, but the calm edge of the river, the gentle breeze buffeting the water, “Kramer, hey, come here.”
I was clutching a brown paper bag with a quart of Egg Nog. We chatted for a moment, she promised a birthday gift, and I warned her I might be pretty far gone into a coffee induced euphoria in a few minutes, with a little extra sugar loaded on top.
She brought me candy from LA, promised some boudin, crawfish pie and such. Nice collection of birthday cards building up, too.
I did spend a little time spin-casting into the river. Didn’t plan to catch any fish, but that one Virgo, she kept regaling me with stories from her T-day vacation…..
“See, it’s all about crawfish, catfish, and drinking Jack from the bottle while shooting at beer bottles lined up on the fence. No, look, a state trooper got shot, and this one preacher and his son disappeared into the (some lake’s name) – the deal is, that water’s not more than six foot deep, and then, this one deer hunter shot his own child. Just typical week there.”
