So I’ve never really followed hockey at all. That’s not going to change right now. Just ate a veggie burger and broccoli and lovely the kraft mac’n’cheese. I do not know what it is that cheese sauce packet actually contains but it is loved and lovely and wrong-colored. The Penguins might take it on Crosby’s shoulders. Detroit’s got a mean bunch of redbeards. Seriously. Almost every player on their team has a red beard–was this intentional–only to draft the untrustworthy? In high school there was a science teacher who had a red beard, a Mr. Durkin. He taught us about weather, what the proximity of meteorological lines on a map meant for change. We were told by a history teacher, a Mr. Kudrich, to never trust a man with a red beard. I always wondered if this had to do with the weather.
Well in the time of my speculation the Pens have made a slight return in the Stanley Cup. My money says they’ll lose in 6. (By saying this, I’m hoping they win in 7.) I could continue to write about things that are current and happening, but my life is contained in boxes and edged by cleaning products. I’ll leave off with another picture:
If anyone was wondering, while recovering from my wine after the Ubaldo festivities I saw what could only be described as a UFO–or as three symmetrical stars that were moving in a set pattern and then they dissapeared suddenly from the sky. There was another witness.
No one believes us.
So I’m trying to gather my things into some semblance of order. The leaning tower of boxes inhabits a hallway that will no longer carry my footcreaks a few weeks from now. It’s a ghosting. And good to clear the walls and doorways. What is the best way to forget things?
How the past can be dismembered easy or at least left alone a while. I’ve got a linking and a fence to walk. A planking, but the new water’s better than the rickety boat that I had boarded. It’s a gambol. No softened bones here, no. The woodchuck’s skull (or what I gather is this) carries less and less teeth, the elk vertebrae spills its gathered moss.
I put pictures into boxes. And glasses. And music.
What there is to do, is doing. And next is move. Next is moving and not movies. There are beeps loud and they come from the hallway. It has ceased to rain. It has ceased to rain. For some reason my messaging no longer responds. It has signed me away.
This weekend was spent back in the keystone state. My knees do not forgive me yet for it, but with a friend I raced in a canoe for a number of miles down the mighty Lackawanna. We wound up taking a couple sets of rapids backwards and without a full capsize. Water was up this year, thankfully. Water was cold as well (as water is many times wont to be). At the end of the race we numbly waited for times to be posted.
In two weeks is the race of the saints. My lady has not been witness to this spectacle. I’m sure many people in the world have also not been witness to this spectacle, either. I hope to refrain from jumping into any shrubs, though it gets to be very tempting later in the day when the sun has begun its rest and the hose company number 2 picnic has begun in earnest.
Soon there will be more photos and a new abode. Soon there will be boxes full of books and stones. And now I get to finishing up my teacherly duties. Adieu.
busy with trying
to keep things afloat. This month
came in on the lam
as last month’s lights went out.
Ok, so I know this is kind of lame-o, this redonkulous ass-o-ciation of words and pictures, but its kind of amusing. Admit it. Or at least it keeps me occupied when I should be doing other things. Speaking of which, there will soon be another book coming forward–we’re working on the cover now. So get ready, all six of you.
And the donkey goes: hee-haw, hee-haw.