Hey! Some of you may have been wondering where our darling Lambchop is hiding these days. The answer is simple: Steele has returned from his fourth trip sailing around the Cape of Good Hope, and now they are off to Algiers for a very long weekend. She’ll return, languid, completely drenched in henna, and tease me with exotic tales of eating honeyed goat hearts. Le sigh. I’m having cold coffee. Not iced, just cold.
In other news, the second day of Yard Sale was even more terrifying than the first. My display of old goth jewelry was stolen by Irish Travellers! Oh yes. They cagily stuffed half-burnt votive candles and napkin rings into their pockets as their moon-faced children did a distracting stiff-legged jig. Then they hung around, asking people if they wanted their windows washed. We finally got rid of them between pulling out the hose and mentioning several times that the next door neighbor is a cop.
We have a new view from our bizarre hovel, as all the trees were cut down along the river. We can see all the way to the Lawrence Mills and the ball park, and sunsets are now quite the event. The other day, Mr. H yelled “Look, there’s some assholes in kayaks!”
“Won’t they get hurt when they hit that big rock ledge?”
“That’s what I’m hoping, get outside!”
In the end, they took on a lot of water, but managed to limp downstream. Man, do I know that feeling.