News (F)

Peter Horton set the rolled maps on the floor and dropped his keys and wallet into the small basket next to the table lamp in the foyer. "Kim!" 

"Pete! Pete, you're home?" Kim came toward him with a floral throw pillow in her hand. "What--"

"Sorry, Kimmie. I should've called. There's a two-o'clock to Denver I'm trying to catch." He stooped a bit and kissed her on the cheek.

"Denver?"

"Yep, Larry called. Three of their relocation crew are in quartantine and the pack is being flown in from Vancouver within the next 24 hours or so." He opened the closet and took out his parka, and wool cap, and 2 sets of winter mittens. 

"What about your birthday?"  

"Well, I guess, when I get back."

"Your sister and your parents?"

"I'll call them." She looked at him. "I will, I will."

"How long--"

"Can't really say. Worst case two weeks. But if the weather holds and the collars work--I'm going to need both frame packs."

"I'll pack your clothes--six of everything." Kim stood on the bottom stair.

"Underwear, socks, t-shirts. Just 2 sweatshirts, two sweaters." He kissed her again. "Won't need outdoor gear. Larry says he has snowshoes. Thanks, Hon."

"Do you want me to drive you?"

"Uh, yes, I guess. Or, maybe not. I'll just leave the car in long-term."

"Toothbrush and--"

"Yes--no shaving stuff. I need to get some stuff from the garage."

"You want your sleeping bag?"

"That's in the garage, I think."

Kim shook her head and laughed.

"What? Think I can't pull this off? I'll be out the door in 20 minutes." He smiled. "Something else?"

"I'm pregnant."

Lyman 2024

Joe Lambert (F)

Joe set the box of momentoes on the floor and dropped his keys and wallet into the small basket next to the table lamp in the foyer. "Lanie, I'm home."

His wife came out of the kitchen and stepped up to him. They hugged for a bit longer than usual. "Oh, Joe, I'm so sorry. What a way for it to end." She kissed him on the cheek.

Joe shook his head. "Some luck, huh. Thirty-seven years and this is how it goes." He followed her into the kitchen.

"Want a beer or--"

"Stronger." He sat on a stool at the kitchen bar. 

"Poor Molly."

"Poor Stephanie."

"The intern, right?"

"Yep. We were all in the dining room. They were just about to cut the cake when her call came in."

"Poor girl. What is she, like 21."

"Twenty, I think. Third day at the holding paddock. Molly dragging that carcass around. Queenie and little Tosha were in there too. All the others started trumpeting and rushing around outside the paddock gates. Of course people were upset and kids were crying."

"Pretty horrible."

"First stillbirth ever in 73 years. The very first." Joe took a sip of bourbon. "Cheers."

"Oh, Joe. I'm sorry." She came around and hugged him around his shoulders. "Did they go in, did they get the baby?"

"No, Tim and I decided to let Molly grieve as long as she wants. Unless she stops eating for more than a day or two. We did get Queenie and Tosha out of there."

"Well, not your problem--oh, I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's okay. I guess it's not. Not really. Tim will call. That poor kid. Welcome to the world of caring for animals."

"What a terrible thing. Sorry the send-off fell apart. It would have been nice to finish up with your friends."

Joe set the empty glass down. "Well, I'm going back Tuesday morning to try again. You could go with me."

"I would like that. Wonder if you'll get a fresh cake."

"Hah--yes. Not even Bob is that cheap."

Lyman 2024

Spring Thinking

This morning I had a notion to get something done. It happens, sometimes.

Most of the drawers of the cabinet closest to the back door were at that point where I had to push and pull at the contents in the hope of putting my hand on the object of my search. And as for the rhyme and reason of what went where--forget about it. 

Sure enough, the first drawer yielded several rulers--including an old-fashioned foldable 6-footer--twist ties by the dozens, two magic markers, two small flashlights, plant labels, a lens cleaning cloth, and tools. Screwdrivers, pliers, an all-purpose tool, a compass, and a small hammer.  Oh, and several short pieces of rope cut at some point for some important task. No doubt. 

More to my liking were the daffodils blooming out back. The Texas quince were flowering as well. So, that whole hope thing. Eternal or not, I could not say. But the return of flowers to the landscape means a lot to me.

I am no fan of winter. I don't want it cold. I don't want cold rain. I don't want a cold wind. Wuss or wimp, perhaps so. But I lived through eleven Minnesota winters, so I don't care what the verdict may be.

By the end of the month I will start pruning. Kneecap the knockouts. Shape up the tea olives. Take a little off the top on the nandinas. Work on crapes, the maples, the elms. The hollies, too. Maybe a week or so later, I'll take the butterfly bushes and the Roses of Sharon down hard. 

Each spring's approach I take to heart even closer Housman's insight that "fifty springs are little room". I do wonder, will I see my cherry trees bloom this season. How many more springs ahead. 

The Yoshino buds are swelling.

Just after sunset two dozen robins hopped about out back.

Another good sign, or so I think.