The weather is making...
everything else more difficult. The air is like syrup. The front of the house looks like a police station with the all the 'no parking' paraphernalia. The 5 sq. meter lawn needs cutting again. And, it took forever for cocktail hour to get here.
Feeling kind of crabby, old and crabby, really. Tired too. So, I'll spare you nice people all the what fors.
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
I like rice. Rice is great if you're hungry and want 2000 of something. - Mitch Hedberg
SERIAL STORY Her Viking:
We left off here....
...like, seeing no evidence of jewelry and wondering if her Viking had ever worn any. Perhaps he was simply concerned that he might break a clasp while walking the beach. Once dropped, the widow knew, nothing could be found in the sand.
She asked herself if he might like a gold bracelet. It would go nicely with his tanned skin and strong arms.
Why her Viking stopped at certain spots, studied the waves, and then threw a coconut into the surf still hadn't been sorted out altogether by the Widow Mora. She satisfied herself with the idea that he was still just a little boy who liked to play in the water.
Then, she was completely confounded once more, the morning he passed by, in his usual determined gait, with a large, inflated, automobile inner tube slung over one shoulder. It could be, she thought, he had no confidence in his swimming stroke and was thinking of entering the water with the aid of the tube. What was even more exasperating for the hapless widow was that, this morning, her Viking walked right passed her house, around the curve, and out of sight. She could not imagine what he was going to do with the great rubber tube.
In three more days, her uncontrollable curiosity regarding the infernal inner tube was, at last, satisfied. Some distance up the beach, in the direction from which her Viking came each morning, the widow watched with her binoculars while he struggled to launch himself and the inner tube against the enormous force of the breakers.
Eventually, when he had gotten beyond the waves, he mounted the inner tube, sitting in its center, with his feet over the side and his arms in a position perfect for paddling. She remained glued to the field glasses as he maneuvered so his back was to the open sea, then, using his arms like oars, he stroked methodically far out from shore.
Once he had paddled to what seemed to be a pre-determined site her Viking stopped paddling and was content to just bounce along in the sea, buoyed by the inner tube. The distance was enough that even with the binoculars she could see little more than his tiny form, much like a piece of flotsam engulfed by the great expanse of blue.
At a different section of shoreline each time, her Viking repeated his curious routine for four days running. On the fifth morning he came sauntering down the beach as usual with his inner tube over his shoulder, the same kahki swimming trunks and a white T-shirt, but with something new. From afar the widow couldn't make out what this new piece of equipment was, but this morning she was to be rewarded as never before. Her Viking stopped directly below her house and threw down his things. Today his experiment was to begin from this point and it afforded the Widow Mora a birds-eye view of his whole operation. With the aid of her powerful field glasses she could almost count the curly white hairs on his forearms.
continued...
Feeling kind of crabby, old and crabby, really. Tired too. So, I'll spare you nice people all the what fors.
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
I like rice. Rice is great if you're hungry and want 2000 of something. - Mitch Hedberg
SERIAL STORY Her Viking:
We left off here....
...like, seeing no evidence of jewelry and wondering if her Viking had ever worn any. Perhaps he was simply concerned that he might break a clasp while walking the beach. Once dropped, the widow knew, nothing could be found in the sand.
She asked herself if he might like a gold bracelet. It would go nicely with his tanned skin and strong arms.
Why her Viking stopped at certain spots, studied the waves, and then threw a coconut into the surf still hadn't been sorted out altogether by the Widow Mora. She satisfied herself with the idea that he was still just a little boy who liked to play in the water.
Then, she was completely confounded once more, the morning he passed by, in his usual determined gait, with a large, inflated, automobile inner tube slung over one shoulder. It could be, she thought, he had no confidence in his swimming stroke and was thinking of entering the water with the aid of the tube. What was even more exasperating for the hapless widow was that, this morning, her Viking walked right passed her house, around the curve, and out of sight. She could not imagine what he was going to do with the great rubber tube.
In three more days, her uncontrollable curiosity regarding the infernal inner tube was, at last, satisfied. Some distance up the beach, in the direction from which her Viking came each morning, the widow watched with her binoculars while he struggled to launch himself and the inner tube against the enormous force of the breakers.
Eventually, when he had gotten beyond the waves, he mounted the inner tube, sitting in its center, with his feet over the side and his arms in a position perfect for paddling. She remained glued to the field glasses as he maneuvered so his back was to the open sea, then, using his arms like oars, he stroked methodically far out from shore.
Once he had paddled to what seemed to be a pre-determined site her Viking stopped paddling and was content to just bounce along in the sea, buoyed by the inner tube. The distance was enough that even with the binoculars she could see little more than his tiny form, much like a piece of flotsam engulfed by the great expanse of blue.
At a different section of shoreline each time, her Viking repeated his curious routine for four days running. On the fifth morning he came sauntering down the beach as usual with his inner tube over his shoulder, the same kahki swimming trunks and a white T-shirt, but with something new. From afar the widow couldn't make out what this new piece of equipment was, but this morning she was to be rewarded as never before. Her Viking stopped directly below her house and threw down his things. Today his experiment was to begin from this point and it afforded the Widow Mora a birds-eye view of his whole operation. With the aid of her powerful field glasses she could almost count the curly white hairs on his forearms.
continued...
posted by bbuckman | 4:42 PM
3 Comments:
Why am I afraid to know what daddy, I mean the viking is going to do?
Don't get ahead of yourself dear.
I love Mitch Hedberg...I have the "Mitch All Together" CD if you want to borrow it.
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