I'm leaving the old intro here, but adding this- it appears the doves have taken over my blog for their fiction. Just as well, I was doing a piss poor job of updating. They're doing much better.

This blog is infrequently updated, full of incorrect spellings, misused words, and general bad grammar. It started when I was trying to use google+ (which I've since given up on) and discovered there was no character limit for posts. If you've known me a long time, a lot of these stories will be old hat. If you plan to know me for a long time, you'll no doubt hear many of them in person. But, folks seemed to enjoy them, so here they are.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

the thirty eighth story

takes place right after the thirty seventh. In the end, we did not have what I would, as an adult, call snow. We had an icy covering on the grass, with maybe some hail pellets to make it look a little white. My brother and I, htough, were snow kids. We loved the snow. We loved snow men, and sledding, and the whole deal. Sadly, in addition to not having real snow, we also didn't have hills. My grandfather was in town, though, and while I have a lot of negative memories of that grandfather, this was one of those times when he put aside being an asshole for long enough to be one of the awesomest people on earth. He got my brother and I to put on our snowsuits, walked us down to the park, and spent the entire rest of the day- many hours- all the way to full dark- pulling as around the flat park in our sled. It couldn't have been any easier to pull than it would have been on a summer's day, but we were calling it snow, and wanted to go sledding on it, so he did it. It was fantastic.

Monday, January 30, 2012

the thirty seventh story

I was born in rural PA, but we moved to Florida when I was four. I missed the snow something fierce. The following winter, when I was in kindergarten, we got snow flurries. This had never happened. My teacher took us all out into the hallway, to  a big picture window, to watch the snow. I promptly walked back into the classroom, grabbed my (bright pink, faux) fur coat. Imagine, if you will, the tiniest girl in the class, the shy one who has to be badgered to so much as participate in saying the ABCs out loud with the class, and now imagine this bitty thing marching up to her teacher and announcing that she is going out to play in the snow. At first my teacher said no- school policy was not to let the kids out in the snow, for fear of colds. I held up my (pink faux) fur coat. Then she pointed out that she had to have her eye on the whole class, and couldn't let me out by myself, nor could she leave the class alone. I promised to stay by the window where she could see me. And then I walked past her, out the door, and caught snowflakes on my tongue while trying to make snow angels in a flurry.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

the thirty sixth story

another story from Mali, this one very short. The Dogon country features some remarkable gorges. We stayed part of a day and two nights in a village located inside one of these, with very very tall, very very steep walls on two sides. There was a donkey in this village, too. He would bray, and, with the echoes, the sound simply never left the valley. It would bounce back and forth, the echoes echoing each other long after the donkey had brayed again, harmonizing with himself.

Monday, January 23, 2012

The Thirty Fifth Story

The Tornado Show:

A few years ago (maybe quite a few years ago?) I did Falcon Ridge Folk Festival as a vendor. Business was slow, but I was having a grand time, so that was ok. Two of my friends were along, helping out, so I was able to go see some music, and we were very near the main stage, so even while in the booth, things were not bad. Falcon Ridge folk festival is four or five days long, and the kinda thing where you camp on site and no one has any access to any information from the outside world (also, no one has soap or running water). It is grand. On the last day, while my friends were off at a contra dance thing, the wind picked up really suddenly. I stood up and grabbed the upper horizontal pole on the backside of my tent. Immediately, I felt the whole thing start tugging. Being the contrary person that I am, I dug my toes into the mud and held on- this put my face to the back wall, so when the hail started falling, there I was. I heard someone in the front of my booth. I was never able to let go long enough to turn around, and thus, have no idea what pronoun to use, but for the rest of the story we will go with "him" for no apparent reason. He shouted back at me (yes, it's only ten feet, yes, shouting was necessary) and asked if I wanted him to hold the front. I, naturally, said yes. He held the front of my tent and narrated as everything else started going down- first other vendor tents, then the cafeteria tent, then parts of the main stage. As the storm passed, he complimented me on my tent staking skills, said he thought things were good, and left. The friends came running back with information. A tornado had touched down at another spot on the farm, and more were expected within 15 minutes. I figured we could get out of there in ten. I sent one of the friends for the car, and the other and I packed everything up. Turns out I sent a person who can't drive stick to get my manual transmission car, but it did make it back, and we were, in fact, out of there in 7 minutes flat. I still think that's impossible, but as it is also impossible that my little ten by ten pavilion stood up to a tornado, you'll just have to  believe it.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

The Thirty Fourth Story

There is nothing like being in a zoo after it closes; without the crowds, the animals can all let their hair down and relax, and you can hear their beaks slide through their feathers as they preen, and all their other subtle sounds.

There is also nothing like walking back to the front gate of a zoo and realizing you've been locked in for the last half hour.