spirit of the wolf [among other things]

OH, I really had the loveliest of weekends.

There's just nothing like one of your childhood sweethearts coming home after two months of having very few playmates to romp about with.

So Friday, Miss Laura and I checked out artfest in downtown Coeur D'Alene, which, as expected, was lovely and artistic.

But probably the best art of the evening was the mural we accidentally discovered when we forgot where we had parked.

I really felt that I bonded with these warriors.

After all...I know every rock and tree and creature

has a life,

has a spirit,

has a name.

our star-crossed love spans across space, time, culture, and dimension [literally].

...and then came Saturday.

Oh! Saturday! Oh DAY of DAYS!

Honestly, a great portion of my 3-5 pms [pacific time] on Saturdays and 6-8 pms [also pacific time] on Sundays for most of my life have included looking forward to this very particular Saturday that happened to take place two days ago

on which

my Father and I

attended a live broadcast of "A Prairie Home Companion" with Garrison Keillor.

!!! I know, right?

And though the show often makes jokes about no one under 50 being aware of it, I have been a die-hard fan since a little girl and I already mourn the day when this, the last of the great radio shows, retires for good.

Seriously though, there is something so magical about radio acting!

And fake advertisements from the Catchup Advisory Board and Professional Organization of English Majors.

And hearing beautifully and sarcastically crafted tales [often primarily ad-libbed] about familiar landmarks in my ole' hometown.

And good, gritty bluegrass music that makes my heart soar and hands clap [despite my well-documented hatred of "the collective clap." This audience did pretty well with it, though]

Anyway,

the point is I was much too enthralled to remember to take any pictures. So there you have it.

But, on the way, we did stop at the very Taco Time that my dad went to on his very first date! In 1972. How precious is that?

this is his response to "Make a first date face!"

[also I believe our lovely cashier is posing jubilantly]

love, wolves, and nostalgic burritos,

Banana

All about the boy who came to stay

Once, not too long ago, a bearded man came and slept in our book room on pink sheets and a frog pillow.

He was a good sport.

We had countless adventures.

For example, we ate a funnel cake:

We got a puppy.
We frolicked and explored and got questioned by the police and rode rollercoasters and had picnics and watched sunsets and went to a play and cooked amazing pork tacos and swam and kayaked in a magical field of lily pads while a thunder storm brewed and walked through gardens and read things and went on scenic strolls and kissed in public and napped and ate SO MUCH and and and

My family loves him.
My friends love him.
My friends' families love him.
My dog loves him.

...And I like him an awful lot.

Come back please.

Banana.

Sorry, Shea

I'm sure this is some sort of betray of trust/ invasion of privacy to post a personal e-mail for the all-seeing internet universe to see, but...

will you just revel in how adorable this is with me for a teensy second?

Inbox
Subject: The glory of a dark and dreary rain
Shea S. Stott to me show details 5:52 PM (14 hours ago) Reply

It's raining and cold. That means I want to cuddle up to a movie with you. Miss you a whole lot right now for some reason.

Reply Forward

Okay, I mean....seriously?

I miss my little mountain man.

I am Scared

of:
people leashes

drowning
becoming like my favorite/least favorite heroine
bad grades
Nazgul

All-seeing wood grain faces
Falcor

moldy bread

being cooped up

Banshees
Rasputin

Velociraptors

growing up
Shriners clowns
and missing people...
...too too much.

....It's not even Halloween.

Packing...again

I wrote this poem just about a year ago, leaving for college for the first time. And now, a year later, I feel just about the same way. So, I'm reiterating the point.

Packing
"I guess it's time!"
said my childhood playmates
as I laid them in cardboard graves
and wiped a tear from their sightless
plastic eyes.

"Time to grow up",
sighed the clip-on earrings,
the fun old gloves from Grammy's world,
when people still wore hats and time
moved more slowly.

"Knew it must come"
nodded my purple parasol wisely,
the battered remnants of a forgotten
trip to disneyland, my faded cursive name
silently nodding in agreement.

So many pages filled with doodles and dreams,
boxes of days and years,
countless laughs emitting dustily,
but lapsing inevitably into
mournful coughs.

Drawers of memories,
prodigal socks, hair ties, and buttons,
dust accummulation of ages,
annoying but endearing.

Isn't it funny how dust,
on a good day, makes you
sneeze.
But when "it's time," all
it does is make you cry?

You know you'll miss that
dust,
The splattered hot chocolate on the
wall, never quite cleaned up,
the books always on the
shelf, but never quite read.

"Yes, it's time"
gently urges my blankie,
the embodiment of 17 years' worth
of pleasant slumber,
something I can't quite give up and
am relieved that I don't have to.

Anna