A scrapbook of whatever I'm making, collecting, or just obsessing about
at the moment.

Monday, February 3, 2014

Flashback: Summer of 2009

Saving some of my old blogposts from Vox...It was such a nice community--still have a good friend I met there. But alas, it went away, and my posts migrated to WordPress but I never liked it. So now I'm bringing them back here.

Verbal Snapshots from our Vacation

 

Overheard: On a trail at Hartwick Pines forest, a young boy and girl rushing down a hill together: 
     Girl: "I don't want to run, but I'm running! I don't want to run, but I'm running!"
     Boy: "I know!  Our feet are running automatically!"

Overheard: At a craft store, examining t-shirts with Husky dogs on them :
    Woman: "Gawd, I'd love t'git Butch one o'them."
    (Me, unspoken: "Is Butch a boy, a teen, or your husband? Your brother? Does he own a husky dog? Would he really like a t-shirt with a husky on it or is it only part of your illusion of Butch that he would like a t-shirt with a husky on it? How well do you know Butch, really? Would you like a husky dog t-shirt yourself? Or are you actually saying that you wish Butch were the kind of person you could give a husky dog t-shirt to?"  My brain contains an extra nosiness nodule or two, apparently.)[Although now, five years later, what I notice about this utterance is the wistfulness of it. The impossibility of giving even so modest a gift to someone dear, a world of regret over many such chances gone.]

Observed: From a picnic table by a parking lot at the UP's "Mystery Spot," as I elected to sit quietly and knit in the sunshine instead of going inside.
     A sea gull walking along the road. He glanced about with rapid eye, like Emily Dickinson's bird, but he did not hop sideways nor hop anywhere. He walked straight on and on, with no visible emotion, the whole length of the parking lot, at least five car lengths. Then he stopped, looked both ways, and walked across the road.
     Well! I guess that's why it's the Mystery Spot.

And now, a real snapshot from my vacation, of an activity which prompted this essential question: When digging in beach sand, do fingernails get dirty or clean?

Ben at Lake Huron
Answer: Clean!  I can't help with the eternal mysteries of jaywalking sea gulls, legs that run of their own accord, or the true nature of Butch, but I'm glad we could clear up one question, anyway.


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