[lit-ideas] Re: Hereabouts
- From: "Donal McEvoy" <dmarc-noreply@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> (Redacted sender "donalmcevoyuk" for DMARC)
- To: "lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Mon, 24 Oct 2016 16:16:21 +0000 (UTC)
Since everyone else in the world seems to be discussing Trump, I thought I’d
try the name out.>
If you try out several plates of beans, you may find yourself trumping for
hours to come.
DL
From: david ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sent: Sunday, 23 October 2016, 20:01
Subject: [lit-ideas] Hereabouts
Since everyone else in the world seems to be discussing Trump, I thought I’d
try the name out.
“What do you think, girls, Trump or Clinton?”
Mimo, “Trump.”
Appenzeller, “Definitely.”
Pecornio, “Yes, yes.”
Rocky, “Clinton sounds too…too…what’s the word?”
Appenzeller, “Squirrely?”
Rocky, “Squirrely, exactly. Trump sounds solid and reassuring. Like the word
‘Coop.’”
Mimo, “Is it something you can eat?”
Me, “What?”
Mimo, “A Clinton? Because that would alter matters. I mean if it’s a kind of
biscuit.”
Appenzeller, “Or squash?”
Cheddar surprised me again, “Clinton Eastward.”
“Whaaaat?”
“Whaaaat?"
“Nothing squirrely about him,” I offered. “Unless you count the episode with
the chair.”
Cheddar, “What was that about?”
“He chatted on stage with an invisible person, President Obama.”
“Oh, I do that all the time. Maybe he knows Wensleydale?”
“Who?”
“Clint Eastwood’s invisible Irish friend."
Though Hamish sometimes seems stupid about squirrels and being left alone, no
herding dog is actually stupid. It’s matter of finding out why he thought
chewing a pencil and a bit of wire was a good way to pass time while I was out.
On the plus side, yesterday morning he seemed fully aware-- like Miss Clavel
in “Madeline”—that, “something [was] not right.” In my case it was not
appendicitis or anything dramatic. Just a cold. Where I work everyone comes
and goes through the same door; everyone touches the same elevator buttons. I
open the door with my elbow, walk up three, four or five flights, and wash my
hands umpteen times a day. I still woke with a cold.
Hamish and I toddled at old man pace up to the school and enjoyed the best of
autumn sunshine. The squirrels chattered at Hamish and Hamish tried to reply.
He yips in their high register, tail wagging all the while. I believe he
thinks he can communicate with aliens.
I came home and slept on the couch so that he could lie beside me—he’s not
allowed upstairs to our bedroom. And then I drove in search of dinner. Took
the plastics back to the recycling bins outside the fancy store, went in and
bought chanterelle mushrooms and bread. The closest equivalent to an idea I’d
had all day—illness seems to dull my brain--bubbled up: I could try for the
best hamburger ever. Did I mention that the other gods are scattered to the
winds?
Of what does the best hamburger in the world consist? Very good meat, check.
Chanterelles, check. Comté cheese, check. Onions with barbecue sauce, check.
Old potatoes that can be fried up and improved, check. Tomatoes that have a
few grains of salt soaked into them, check. Lettuce. Baked beans. Glass of
Syrah. People will tell you that alcohol lowers your resistance to bugs. No
doubt they’re right, but—see above-- they’re not here currently, so a glass of
S. it was. Excellent route to an early night. Woke feeling better-ish.
Earlier in the week, while I was unloading the car the chickens tried to
escape. It’s difficult with your hands full to open the gate, open the back
door, direct the dog, discuss the weather with chickens.
“Rain later?”
“May we help?”
Me, “How good are you at carrying groceries?”
“By ‘help’ we mean 'eat something.'”
“Nothing for you to eat.”
“Well then, we’ll just take an exit stroll. Thank you for leaving the gate
open.”
I put bags down, walked briskly over to where they were exiting, herded them in
with outstretched arm and leg.
“But this seems interesting!”
Me, “It may not seem dangerous out here, but take my word for it, it is.”
“Really?”
They looked around. And back they went.
“Did we mention we’re thinking of forming a dance team?”
Lordy lordy; chickens dancing in October.
“Go for it,” was the best I could manage.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
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