Hey, is that James Best out there? I hope so, 'cause I miss you lots.
And, yes, JG, Chan is Tanner and Berrett's (msp) brother. We LOVE the Warnicks. Tanner is the side picture. They're part of our pre-existent crowd, I'm sure of it. No, really, I'm serious. Otherwise how do we explain these deep, no-maintenance relationships we all have. In fact, if I push real hard against my brain cells, I can see Tanner singing one of Jame's or Jaren's poems, while Joe beats the black drums as Em, Greg, I dance around and through the fire with full hippie headbands (headbands made from snake skin for hippies, you cynical idiots.) Chandler is watching over all of us to keep the snakes away (or stuff them in his back pocket. That child is one snake-lover. But, I forgive him because of his deep sincere and constant honesty). Jen has cooked the frogs for our dinner in a special lime sauce; Emily Pew is late; Jaren, Josh, and James (the JJJ's)are already again by the river writing, writing, writing until the smell of crisp frog covered with bacon and lime juice brings them running. And the Lord approves and smiles. Then, we are all itching to get down here to our polluted earth-life ASAP. I must have been out of my mind to say I'd come down first and meet up with y'all during my PTSD from earlier nuclear bombs exploding in and around my humble domain.
Raccoons? I found a huge Rainbow Trout last night on the lawn by my canoe and threw it back in the river. I thought JG had been out fishing earlier and left it for my dinner, until I realized I'd interrupted a raccoon. Patch (my small dog, who thinks he's a St. Bernard) ran after him through the Sleeping Beauty-like hedge around my house (as in briers, cockle-burs, and rotted cottonwood trees; I build it up to keep the world away). I flashed a light and saw his eyes--red, lined with white--pure cold hatred. I called Patch back from sure-death but . . . wow. I've never seen a raccoon in my many midnight walks under the moon. Sigh, moments of pure remorse. I'm sorry, dear raccoon. Next time you flip your trout dinner on my lawn, I'll bring you ice cream for desert.
And, yes, JG, Chan is Tanner and Berrett's (msp) brother. We LOVE the Warnicks. Tanner is the side picture. They're part of our pre-existent crowd, I'm sure of it. No, really, I'm serious. Otherwise how do we explain these deep, no-maintenance relationships we all have. In fact, if I push real hard against my brain cells, I can see Tanner singing one of Jame's or Jaren's poems, while Joe beats the black drums as Em, Greg, I dance around and through the fire with full hippie headbands (headbands made from snake skin for hippies, you cynical idiots.) Chandler is watching over all of us to keep the snakes away (or stuff them in his back pocket. That child is one snake-lover. But, I forgive him because of his deep sincere and constant honesty). Jen has cooked the frogs for our dinner in a special lime sauce; Emily Pew is late; Jaren, Josh, and James (the JJJ's)are already again by the river writing, writing, writing until the smell of crisp frog covered with bacon and lime juice brings them running. And the Lord approves and smiles. Then, we are all itching to get down here to our polluted earth-life ASAP. I must have been out of my mind to say I'd come down first and meet up with y'all during my PTSD from earlier nuclear bombs exploding in and around my humble domain.
Raccoons? I found a huge Rainbow Trout last night on the lawn by my canoe and threw it back in the river. I thought JG had been out fishing earlier and left it for my dinner, until I realized I'd interrupted a raccoon. Patch (my small dog, who thinks he's a St. Bernard) ran after him through the Sleeping Beauty-like hedge around my house (as in briers, cockle-burs, and rotted cottonwood trees; I build it up to keep the world away). I flashed a light and saw his eyes--red, lined with white--pure cold hatred. I called Patch back from sure-death but . . . wow. I've never seen a raccoon in my many midnight walks under the moon. Sigh, moments of pure remorse. I'm sorry, dear raccoon. Next time you flip your trout dinner on my lawn, I'll bring you ice cream for desert.
9 comments:
I don't know how I do it, but I accidentally delete more comments than I ever mean to. Oh well, here is what the deleted comment said...I am so glad that you have added a comment section and I am going to write an actual post sometime (my sister, who I just discovered I had, is coming for the weekend, so maybe after that). In response, I am glad that I am part of your pre-existence crew...I definately think that I am the oddball of the group, yet I am probably the most normal...he he he. I don't mind my role as cook, however, I WILL NOT cook frogs. Gross. I think that the group will have to settle for enchiladas or broccoli chicken casserole or something more ordinary. Sorry.
Heeeeey, Jen. I'm so glad to hear from you. Emily promised to tell me what sort of a mother you are tonight when I get home. She's hanging out with the raccoons and Patch, while I slave away at work (slight lie). And the frogs are Em's fault completely and totally. But I'm sure if anyone can make them eatable, you can. Remember the army men you two stuck (in varying acts of death and dying) in the cake? Hey, good luck on meeting your new sister. That's really . . . different.
Has anyone seen Greg Fox? And Chaaaaandler! Are you out there? What are YOU having for dinner tonight? I don't think you should get to know Em; forget what she says; she's a very bad influence.
Sharon, tis I, your urban amigo. I like this scenario. We'll gather the crew and get this music agoing. Oh, what great happy lyrics my poetry would make. I figured out the other day why I'm obsessed with images of dying. I'll have to tell you about it. Maybe I'll write a post about it.
That sounded a little too offhand for the subject, I suppose. "Hey, Sharon, I bludgeoned a law student. Remind me to tell you about it."
I like the topics of your page already. Conan O'Brien, pain and writing, raccoons, butt tacos.
By the way, I don't blame you for backing off that raccoon. In Michigan there are raccoons a-plenty, and I steer clear. Have you ever heard them during mating?
My gosh, I wrote that before I even thought how that would sound. I was just going to say that raccoons mating sounds like a car wreck and the world's largest pieces of paper being ripped simultaneously into a megaphone. It's the scariest sound I've ever heard. Hence my distrust of raccoons.
Whew. I hope no one thinks I'm a sicko.
Glad to see you're writing, Sharon. I promise to start posting on my blog and make it interesting again. Once again, you inspire me.
I didn't put the army men in the cake. In fact, I am sure that I shook my head in disapproval as Serena and Emily shoved them into what was probably a perfectly lovely cake.
"Have you ever heard them during mating?"
James, no one thinks you're a sicko. Just distracted. A word of advice: when mating, rather than worrying about the local fauna, try focusing on the task at hand.
Okay, FIRST of all, the frogs were all JAREN'S fault. He dared me to do it. And I never pass up a dare. EVER.
Secondly, I support Jaren's comment that James should not be listening to raccoons while mating because his wife is going to get pissed off or depressed after some time. I mean, I'm still a virgin and I'm not sure how it all works, but I'm pretty sure I would be peeved if I was all up in love and the guy says to me, "Darling, wait....do you hear those raccoons?"
I am also glad Jen is our pre-mortal cook, but how come I only get to dance around while everybody else is writing and drumming? I think I should get a real responsibility, too.
sharon:
I haven't seen greg fox lately, but i talk to him often.
Well, JG, when you talk to him again, please remind him of the many old friends he's dropped from his life without even blinking. I love his girlfriend. She's beautiful and good--a true earth woman. Please let them still be together? Does he sound well? Hmmmm.... let me rephrase. Does he sound as well as Greg Fox can sound?
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