cool(ing) thoughts

Every year I cut a basketful of hydrangea for the neighbour lady who dries them to use on her xmas tree. And every year I think: what a lovely idea, and then don’t do it myself… being stuck as I am on the ancient Elmo and Fozzie Bear I gave single Peter a hundred years ago and which he still loves, and the battered white dove that used to be the top of my own tiny singlehood tree—and how could we not hang the hideous Starship Enterprise that no one knows where it came from but if encouraged will tell you to live long and prosper. Ugliest thing you’ve ever seen but it is a nice message.

You should be warned there’s no point to this post except to say the heat wave’s getting to me and thinking about winter has a pleasing effect. Frankly, I’m about one step away from doing a whole pointless wintery riff that could easily morph from tree decor to ice-fishing to memories of snow forts and pretending icicles are freezies and having my face washed on the way to school while wearing big brown rubber boots with buckles, boots so big you put your whole big shoe inside them, and homemade mittens and a scratchy wool hat with pompoms—and didn’t there used to be more snow when we were little? and wasn’t everything uphill? and five miles away?—and how our parents let us go toboganning on our own, at dusk, on Suicide Hill (which, if you didn’t hit a tree, landed you in a parking lot, screaming and laughing hysterically as you swerved past cars)… anything to forget for a single minute that it’s 248 humid degrees out there…

Alas, it’s too late. My fingers are already sliding off the keys and my brain is a fried plantain chip. (in which case may I simply say this: let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! if only for five minutes…)

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