Monday, June 06, 2005

Fresh Air

Hello, everypeople. It's Monday night, seventeen minutes from being Tuesday morning, and I'm going to blog about my last couple of days. For starters, I'm in an oddly good mood just now--might be the fatigue, too much iced tea..one of those. Looking through other peoples' blogs, I decided that my posts have been somewhat impersonal lately, like I've been preaching or ranting with no...average thoughts or personal events. Well that's about to change, amigos.

Yesterday, which was Sunday in case looking at calendars on the Sabbath is against your religion, was a very nice day indeed. Saturday night I arranged to go fishing with my crazy snugglekins (Times Kulla Has Typed Snugglekins: 3) during a semi-cool storm of sorts. In reality, it never stormed in Audubon, but some would have it that there was hail. Alas. My grandfather tossed together a collection of fishing-related necessities the following morning (being Sunday) after finishing his tour of duty at the Flight Breakfast/Hicks' Tribute to a Century of Aviation. I bought a fishin' license so the Man wouldn't have to cramp my style later on, watched the black clouds roll by, and journeyed out to the very edge of the Black Land of Fiscus.

This may hold true in all cases, so I'm going to make note of it. Don't always assume that the front door of a farm house is the door that looks like a front door, because it sometimes isn't. In this case, it wasn't. Five minutes I knocked, hearing voices on the other side of the door...I embellished momentarily and had a lapse of insecurity, thinking that they were avoiding opening up because they knew it was me. Eventually, the sibling answered the door, let me in, and led me up a hill toward the site of a small camper and a fire used for Pagan offerings. I received a tour of the farm, saw several cats (one dead, R.I.P.) and two dogs, and some nice coniferous/deciduous trees. I am also absolutely confident whose house it was (inside joke).

And then the sitting in the tree. My pretty psycho (ooh, cool name for my own line of dolls for female children) and I always have mucho bueno conversations, but in the sunlight, in the breeze, with the boughs and grass waving and whatnot, it was great. The whole time was great, even though my ass became as numb and unresponsive as Mike's... When we came down from the tree we started throwing together ideas and kindling for that night's bonfire, and did so until roughly the time that it was good to go fishing. And so we fished, under a bridge a jont east of the farm, and I caught a respectible carp. She caught many small, chubby fish, to which she spoke with a level of kindness and affection any human child deserves--even as a hook was removed from one fish's eye. (Random Explanation: 'She/crazy snugglekins/pretty psycho' has not been properly named heretofore due to legal reasons, and that I forgot to ask her if she wanted her real name ((not an alias)) published on my blog) Fishing went on, and I discovered a fun thing to do with field grass. And then we returned, and then we visited a potential lakeside hangout, I straddled a wooden pole and reminded myself of my masculine limitations. Then the going back to the timber and rebuilding the fire, eventually pork was eaten, then marshmellows were 'marshed' over a roaring blaze. Good times were had fireside, good talks were had. Gays should be able to marry without guilt, so there. Monsters lingered in the dark woods, the Blair Witch made an appearance, and I played murdering hobo much to the joy of three adolescent people who talk too much (my mockery is friendly). And yes, all nights end.

Smelling of smoke and multiply-hugged, I left the grounds with a smile. God I love that girl...

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