Had a lovely day at the lake with my parents and BrilliantEditor's parents. As had been promised, there was pasta salad with tuna, but there was also some without.
I skipped the tuna version.
The next day BrilliantEditor's mom cooked lovely food for lunch--pork loin and tasty food. Yum. And wee lemon cookie straws. Straws they were called. There was no hole in them. You couldn't drink from them. Neither could you use them for bedding for an animal. Nevertheless, they were long cookies rather than round. Straws, I suppose, is an appropriate name.
summer
It's been hot. Only eighties hot, but hot. And it rains a little every day, so it feels hotter. Sprocket doesn't seem to mind, but Spring comes in the house with this mad look in her eye and her mouth open and her hair all screwy. I bet she could write some astonishingy good poetry when she's like that. There's be all kinds of insanity and violence and food. There's be rapturous verse about the allure of cool basements, the rich, velvety taste of puddles, catching flies with chopping jaws, and the rapid refreshment of the water bowl.
Perhaps I will attempt to capture the dog powered poetry. When she breathes it in her sleep, I will be there to record and then translate her snorts and whines and nose twitches into the powerful, strong verse that most certainly inhabits her cone-shaped skull.
Posted by dotty at July 23, 2004 01:05 PMWow, you must have gotten some really good stuff if Spring is writing poetry.
Posted by: BellyRub at July 23, 2004 03:21 PM