"there were little cartons of mashed potatoes and gravy in the bucket of chicken, but someone had forgotten the plastic forks. we scooped up the potato with chicken bones, which made us laugh a little. mom turned on the windshield wipers and out in the dark we could see the white of the breakers. we opened the windows so we could hear them roll in and break, one after another.
"'you know,' said mom, 'whenever I watch the waves, I always feel that no matter how bad things seem, life will still go on.' that was how I felt, too, only I wouldn't have known how to say it, so I just said, 'yeah.' then we drove home."
-Beverly Cleary, "dear mr henshaw"
-the little shit. she's lucky I adore her.
-head-butted by a dog at work. it's not bad. but what a silly reason to have a bruised eyelid.
-I inherited a ponderous metal corkscrew from my great-aunt: one of those ones with the arms that rise horizontally as the cork is engaged. well, it BENT, unfixably, on the gooey waxy jerk-cork this bottle had. I tried pliers. I tried a paring knife. I tried docilely pushing the cork INTO the bottle. and finally- fuck it, I have a badass cast-iron sink.
i have moved with this wine, from life to life and lair to lair, for the past six years. tonight, sitting under an open window, 65 degrees at 1130pm, tombs against my leg, thinkin bout shit... and feeling both comical and puerily jaunty, mostly BECAUSE of this very wine and its ludicrous circumstances... i'm finally drinking it, and it's not bad.
-my view right now.
through my open window I hear people laughing unabashedly in the soft night. and nearly directly overhead, the radio towers provide a visible pulse to silly, fickle seattle.
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