Wednesday, February 09, 2011

The dog's name is Sila, not Beatrice

Chirp chirp goes the bird.  Best to start off simple. 
Rearrrrgggghhhhh! shrieks a Pterodactyl.
We crack ourselves up.  Our onomatopoeia’s are limited.
This is how we amuse ourselves cutting through the dusk air on rickety bikes with loud spokes purchased at Morley’s annual garage sale.  This year we also made off with a working 4 track recorder.  JR and I are starting a band.  There’s only the two of us so far.  I reckon we’re off to a fortuitous beginning.  He sings and I’ve got a recorder I’m teaching myself to play.  We’ve written one song together.  Not too surprising that it’s called “Pterodactyl”.  That’s the name of our band as well, at least for now.

Dear Rory,

I remember when we would ride our bikes to the town dances, hair slicked back, smelling like aftershave even though we weren’t old enough to grow facial hair.  Remember how we tucked our right pant legs into our socks so as to not ruin our nicest pair of slacks that mom bought us at the beginning of summer?  We spent that whole summer moving crates in the unbearable heat and cooled off at the end of every day swinging into the lake from the vine by the high rocks.  That was a good summer.  I miss you.