Tuesday, June 26, 2007

AH, THE SOUNDS OF BOGS AND DISGUISES

I am thinking to myself how much I like summer as I make my way from the mailbox to the house, passing along the side of Mrs. Lung's house, where she is busily preparing some sort of tort or tart in the kitchen. I can see her through the window, framed by her summer-weight curtains, pounding some piece of dough in that satisfying, aggressive way that housewives pound things. My hands are full with the mail: notes from my comrades--dispatches from their exciting lives out there, sent back in homemade envelopes that smell strongly of catalog paper and scotch tape. While I am not treading around the world while it revolves underneath, I am experiencing my own brand of excitement right here. I wear cut-off shorts and watch re-runs of Flipper well into mid-morning before disentangling myself from the wallpaper samples all over the house and finding another activity. Often, I systematically search all of the ashtrays around the house to collect enough change to buy a hot dog or a rocket pop at the Maverick. On Fridays there is free swim, and when the evening movie on TV isn't anything worth watching, there are always billiards in the O'Connells' basement if Chet is home. The nights are the most magical. When everyone goes to sleep, I climb out my window and lay on the grass on the side of the house. Something chirps, a welcome breeze rattles the wooden lattice just so. I wake up to the sputter of early morning sprinklers. And throughout all of these quiet adventures, I collect treasures. Periodically, I empty my pockets to find such treats as: a Kinder egg figurine, a 5 inch length of barbed wire, a ticket stub from the Gravitron. Memories are made of small things, too.

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