Andre, Elvis and the Neighbors
Glowing Embers. That's where we are tonight. A village of 308 vagabond vehicles inhabited by who knows how many beings. Because we're almost in Edmonton, we have decent tv reception—just roll up the antenna. But the real entertainment is the neighbors. Or watching the newest comer trying to back his 5th wheel into his tiny spot, with cars, trucks and vans parked on both sides of the narrow little street.
The way to meet the neighbors is to have a dog with you. Or three. To our left is a golden retriever; on the right, there's a giant puppy who looks as if he could star in a shaggy dog movie. Regardless, they are all conversation starters. A diminutive white dog guarantees at least a few hyperbolic exclamations as to beauty, cuteness, etc. And most dog owners love to watch their dogs meet other dogs, or vice -versa.
This evening I don't have much energy for meeting people, although the neigbors with the retriever are interesting. Two factors contribute to my not going out into the cool air to socialize: we have been blessed with wi-fi; I'm still recovering from finding the potato salad I arduously made last night, for today, frozen. We have to monitor the fridge because it will either run too warm—causing one to be fearful of using one's mayonnaise—or suddenly freeze the lettuce and cucumbers. Last night I put the hot potato salad in the freezer so it wouldn't raise the temperature in the fridge. I discovered it this morning. When I tested it this evening, still partially frozen after being out all day, I had to concede that it was...disgusting. Texture.
Now there is a cacophony of barking. Phuphuu is up in the front window yapping fiercely, the retriever has picked up the beat, and Elvis is thinking of starting up his querulous old man barking again.
Here is scene 2: a young red-haired boy has come from the circle into the doorway to see the cutie, Phuphuu; his reason to gain entry here and see what this place is like. (I admit to a similar curiousity regarding the other vehicles.) In a bold move, when he started asking me what I was sure would be a series of endless questions, I referred him to the guy outside with the bandana. I'm just not in the mood. Oops, here he is again. And now again, ask the guy out there with the bandana.
Because they're all out in a circle talking dogs. In here, Elvis paces, gets underfoot, paces. Outside, Sam, awes the crowd with his wide range of urgent, tremulous evocative barks. Oh, me? Someone has to document these things—and start microwaving the macaroni and cheese...
The way to meet the neighbors is to have a dog with you. Or three. To our left is a golden retriever; on the right, there's a giant puppy who looks as if he could star in a shaggy dog movie. Regardless, they are all conversation starters. A diminutive white dog guarantees at least a few hyperbolic exclamations as to beauty, cuteness, etc. And most dog owners love to watch their dogs meet other dogs, or vice -versa.
This evening I don't have much energy for meeting people, although the neigbors with the retriever are interesting. Two factors contribute to my not going out into the cool air to socialize: we have been blessed with wi-fi; I'm still recovering from finding the potato salad I arduously made last night, for today, frozen. We have to monitor the fridge because it will either run too warm—causing one to be fearful of using one's mayonnaise—or suddenly freeze the lettuce and cucumbers. Last night I put the hot potato salad in the freezer so it wouldn't raise the temperature in the fridge. I discovered it this morning. When I tested it this evening, still partially frozen after being out all day, I had to concede that it was...disgusting. Texture.
Now there is a cacophony of barking. Phuphuu is up in the front window yapping fiercely, the retriever has picked up the beat, and Elvis is thinking of starting up his querulous old man barking again.
Here is scene 2: a young red-haired boy has come from the circle into the doorway to see the cutie, Phuphuu; his reason to gain entry here and see what this place is like. (I admit to a similar curiousity regarding the other vehicles.) In a bold move, when he started asking me what I was sure would be a series of endless questions, I referred him to the guy outside with the bandana. I'm just not in the mood. Oops, here he is again. And now again, ask the guy out there with the bandana.
Because they're all out in a circle talking dogs. In here, Elvis paces, gets underfoot, paces. Outside, Sam, awes the crowd with his wide range of urgent, tremulous evocative barks. Oh, me? Someone has to document these things—and start microwaving the macaroni and cheese...
posted by Susan at 10:22 PM
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