Hey Scott,

You know how people sometimes get mad at people for dying? I wish you could have seen me yesterday. I was pissed at you. I couldn’t believe you didn’t reach out to me. I couldn’t believe you didn’t ask me for something or warn me but you did all of those things and that that’s what makes my anger so hilarious.

If you were here I bet we’d laugh about it. You were laughing at me yesterday, I think, when I tried to make you a crystal and toss you into the ocean. So solemn, too soon, skipping over the feeling part, trying to put you away. The crystal stuck to my hand and the surf doubled its reach to get my boots wet and I saw you shake your head and say, At least you’re pretty.

I thought briefly about making a list. Memories about you, I guess, but the idea repulsed me so I went to a diner and wrote about the people there instead, interrupting myself here and there with things like fruit stripe gum shooters and oyster shots on the Virgina Beach boardwalk.

My favorite memory of you that I tell everyone. Your favorite memory of me that you mostly only tell me.

Isn’t this something we do together? Watch friends die? All of the concerts I dragged you to just to watch me cry. All of the times you rescued me. I didn’t reply the last time you texted me. I’m sorry. I have not been a worthy friend lately and I won’t pretend that I was now that you’re gone.

I love you, though. I hope you’ve known that this whole time. I think I’m mad at you, mostly, because there isn’t anyone else like you. You left us without a single you. We needed you. I needed you. How ridiculous for me to complain. We would laugh about that, maybe.

More later, not here.

 

Remember a few days ago when I wrote about a thing that happened that day and the thing that happened was a completely mundane thing about a plastic owl? I didn’t mean to leave you with the owl. I anticipated recording a thing that happened the next day and the day after that and presumably the day after that. What happened was the next day something good happened and the day after that something interesting, and then today I woke up in a completely different set of days.

A thing that happened today is that today was the longest day.

A thing that happened today is that I tried to throw a crystal in the ocean and couldn’t.

A thing that happened was that I ate a California Scramble at a cafe across from a man who looked sort of like Eddie Money and then I blared Two Tickets to Paradise and screamed at you.

The sky looked green all day.

I gave most of the California Scramble away.

I need another day.

The owl fell over.

Amir told me that a plastic owl, if moved around the yard twice a day, would keep hawks from carrying off the chickens. The owl doesn’t get moved twice a day. He gets moved more like once every three days, partly because I forget and partly because there aren’t but so many stable places for him to sit while not being obscured by trees.

Once, I put him on the edge of a planter that I bought to keep the chickens from getting into the upper part of our yard, which the kids have started calling the upper loft which sounds both uppity and like we are the chickens. (It only encouraged them to find another way up but my friend @Bloom Bloom Design is on the case.) When I went looking for the owl four days later, Aubrey pulled him out of the planter.

I noticed that the owl was on his stomach on the center of the grill this afternoon when I was sitting on the balcony over the backyard. I’d just left the backyard on account of my Bamboo Hour* being interrupted by quick, loud children. I knew if I didn’t go back down, the owl could lie there for days. If it’s advisable to move the owl twice a day, I can’t imagine it would take the hawks long to deduce that the owl was no longer a threat.

Just as I was preparing to go down and move the owl, the children rushed back into the backyard. They disappeared into the small section of yard that they call The Art Gallery and I call My Future Outdoor Shower Space. I managed to creep past them, upright the owl, and relocate him a few feet away.

That’s a thing that happened today.

*Bamboo Hour = office hours for receiving creative inspiration aka “being the bamboo”

So you know how it’s not cool to have a favorite child and no one ever does? (I actually don’t but if you do, I see you and I feel you.) I’ve decided that it’s completely cool to have a favorite chicken and I’ve come to this decision because I definitely do.

Veronica was everyone’s expected favorite. As a Bantam Silkie, she’s smaller than the rest and her breed is notoriously friendly. They’ve even been called “lap chickens.” On top of that, our girl was born with two backwards facing feet and when she was a week old I had the privilege of pulling dried poop out of her butt with my bare hands under the bathroom sink. What a bonding experience that was!

But Edie! Named after the kitten I almost had, Eddie who was named after Eddie Vedder. Edie has proven herself the head hen since the flock was living in a cardboard box in our living room. Edie is the only one who ever escaped from the box, and she did it regularly. Edie was a pain in my ass the same way I was in my mother’s ass. Edie challenged me.

When I bring out the bloodworms, the flock give Edie the first (and sometimes only) taste. At first, she wanted nothing to do with me. Then we started doing the delicate dance of two creatures hopefulness attracted to one another but unwilling to admit it. We were like a high school romantic comedy. Something was brewing.

Now, Edie regularly approaches  me and lets me pick her up, with or without bloodworms. I respect her status as head hen and she seems to respect my status as the person who hoses her poop from the patio and doesn’t pull her tail feathers. Please don’t tell her, though,  that I have one of her feathers laced through my hair. I don’t think she’s quite there yet.

 

A painting on the cave wall of the tenth century C.E. Churchof Abreha and Atsbeha in Ethiopia. The church is named after two kings— Abreha and Atsbeha— who ruled the ancient kingdom of Axum in the fourth century C.E. The murals were added in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 

A tattoo on my inner thigh by Barham Williams

My California King Snake is named Yves. He’s a Leo (born just eight days before and many years after me.) He bit me the first time I tried to handle him which was around the age the internet had advised me to. He mostly hides beneath his water bowl.

I haven’t tried to pick him up since. His infantile bites were slight but I couldn’t find a way to soothe him and now I think it’s too late. We feed him curled, pink mice and sometimes he lets me watch as his jaw unhinges and he takes them, honestly.

I wanted to get the snake tattooed on my other inner thigh but getting tattooed there makes me feel something not unlike how I feel in a Yin posture that compresses my stomach which is to say nauseated and sad about something I can’t name.

Even my kneecap was easier.

Here is a poem I like.

BECAUSE WOLVES ARE A PROTECTED SPECIES, THIS ONE IS MERELY INTERROGATED
Ron Koertge

Show us on the map where you often lurk.
Don’t be afraid. It’s just the two of us.

Would a cigarette help? A soft drink?
Start with the woodsman’s hut? These places

here and here and here—what are they called?
Take your time. I can offer you money,

and a new identity. Why even hesitate?
Look, this wristwatch belonged to my father.

It’s yours if you tell the truth.
Those sites I asked you about earlier—

your favorite was Bridesmaid’s Dress.
Don’t embarrass us both by pretending.

Name your most frequent visitor.
That’s right. Now we’re getting somewhere.

Pretend I am young and innocent. Say to me
exactly what you would say to her.

Do you think you can fool me? And we were
getting along so well. I’ll ask another way.

This item of intimate apparel is called
a galvanic bonnet-with-blue-cornflowers.

Put it on. Now point to Grandma’s house.

I lost Soleman (the plant I love) but I found him again.

Lunch:
veggie dogs (in buns!) bananas and chips for the kids
leftover veggies, hard boiled egg, and tuna pasta for Quan

Romanian French potatoes for me (cooked by a friend) and cupcakes from Babycakes. I also supplied the not quite yet expired sour cream. My friend lives an hour north and I heard She Will on the way there and the way back.

The kids saved a doomed bee.

Dinner:
I don’t eat dinner.

poetry (great news)
tired legs (by Kai)
Lego guilt
TV probably

 

 

Duolingo.
Maintained my position as #3 in the diamond league and watched the other Alison and Jens trade places like sexy lady wrestlers. Today I completed a 100 day streak.

Dressed for yoga even though I could tell the rain was going to permit and lying to myself about how I’d do something else physical later.

email
legos
books

Made my kid spend his first break writing his name on bug themed Valentines but absolutely no first names which, trust me, I get, but shouldn’t we just ditch the holiday at this point?

Lunch:
Leftovers from the actual meal Amir prepared last night
or
Peanut butter and jelly/honey/raisins/bananas
or
veggie chicken nuggets for one and dino shaped nuggets for the other

Fell in love with a plant

(tbc)

Woke up to punches from the small dog I’d fetched from between my legs around 4 and brought  into a spooning position for warmth.

Admonished him with my eyes closed while ultimately finding it fair

Struggled to let the dog out amidst kid hugs that threatened to topple me or, at the very least, encourage Quan to pee on the floor.

Soft heads, kissing. Soft lips, kissing.

Breakfast, hastily made:
Eggs with cheese and veggie sausage
or
grapefruit and a hard boiled egg
or
a banana
or
yogurt with fruit, granola, and sometimes honey
or
cottage cheese with fruit

Returned to bed for warmth, being followed by children, letting them rearrange me, letting them press against me before I don’t think I do that enough.

*Costar and The Skimm*
CNN
Duolingo

(tbc)

My Loungewear Matches my Dog

 

Amir Up High

 

Alison Explains to Michelle Their Friendship Using Chickens

 

17th Street Surf Shop Forever, Again

 

Boobs, Colors, Lego Bracelet, Dog