Paul, Reilly and I dined last night at the home
of my sister Ann and her family. Gene had caught
a five pound cutthroat trout in Clearwater
(that's a big daddy!) which he grilled...lovely
pale pink flesh, mild and tender. Ann rounded out
the feast with baked chicken, a hot pasta salad,
corn-on-the-cob, and some lovely fluffy, thick-crusted
hot buttered bread. We lingered at the table long
past apple pie, telling some outrageous stories
from our (also long-past) youth, most notably
where Ann said they (not me, thank-you!) used
to play with mercury whenever a thermometer broke.
Rolled it around with their fingers, squished it,
all sorts of good, clean wholesome fun. Yikes!
We finished the evening listening to some selections
on the violin, performed by my nearly-fifteen-years-old
grand-neice, Karisa. (Or is that
great neice? I'm never quite sure,
although she certainly is a great neice!)
I did that too... the mercury thing. I remember being sick in bed, and playing with it, chasing it around the folds and curves of the white sheets. I remember my profound disappointment when it was finally lost, and the horror I felt when I discovered it had eaten the ring right off my finger. All that was left was a bit of metal and the pretty lavender amethyst.
ReplyDeleteEgad. As Paul says...."so that
ReplyDeleteexplains it!"