Alarming Statement from a Waitress.
“Your food is getting ready to come out.”
Shoes are meant to be untied as much as tied. Belts are meant to be unbuckled as much as buckled. Buttons are meant to be unbuttoned as much as buttoned.
Celebration of the Full Moon of June, the Strawberry Moon.
A flute of champagne, a small plate of strawberries, a toast to Goddess Diana. “Ah, Wilderness!”
The sleep was a rare state of serene, sustained suspension, no lapse into deep sleep or slumber. A nap the next day was the same.
As I was reading under the shady boughs of the tree in the backyard, suddenly “Ka_SPLAT!” “Ka-SPAT-TER.” On my shirt shoulder and sleeve and splatter onto my pants, wet, warm, vile berry-stained bird shit! It was the first time I had ever been shit upon by a bird.
I was glad that cows don’t fly, and I was glad my shirt was the t-shirt from a Methodist church, not a dress shirt.
I was probably overdue. Twice in France I’ve been with those thus attacked.
A friend and I were walking down a street somewhere in the Midi on a hot summer day. We were both grumpy and tired. The room at the cheap hotel we had checked into had no air conditioning, and we were hot and irritable. SPLAT! Onto his shirt. Insult to misery.
And at Cannes, friends were on the beach. I was in a park writing. The French woman on a bench opposite said suddenly, “Ah, les excrements d’oiseau.” I handed her a handkerchief. She used it and started to hand it back, saying, “Merci, monsieur.” I said, “Gardez-le, madame.” As she left, she tosssed it into a trash container, as I did my t-shirt.
I will no longer block my week with a Wednesday posting. Posts will happen when they happen. Thanks in advance for reading when they do appear.