Life of the Loon

Dears, I have an announcement. As much as I love and honor the majestic Bathynomus Giganteus, it is time I bid the isopod farewell. Because I have found a new passion: Loons. The triumph of birds and a gorgeous specimen with an otherworldly call. They soar through the heavens dipping their tails in the night sky’s ink. The winds carve out invisible pathways for their earthless wanderings. Loons live in marshes and commune with one another in perfect harmony. Theirs is bird paradise; a beautifully sculptured social system of order and understanding, in which loon and loon live together.  

My dear friend Julia introduced me to their divine call, and I have since not been able to satiate my desire for this feathered wonder of the world. They are a wholly otherworldly animal.  

My consulting work is slow right now, so I have planned a rather impromptu trip to a bird sanctuary in New Hampshire. I wish to live and breathe these birds, understand their lives and how they think, feel, love.

 

Sadly, the Yamaguchi’s daughter is now pregnant. What happens when you go to private school, I’m afraid to say. She and the father will be infesting my small apartment in a month’s time. Rather than suffer through another apartment search with a view of the river and adequate sunlight, I have decided to extend my trip to the bird sanctuary. Perhaps it will provide sanctuary for myself as well as my feathered friends.  

Life is never an easy road. Mine has been full of twists and turns, dead ends and murky fog. But I have triumphed and now I find myself at another crossroads. You, my dear readers, are my new chroniclers of this next step in my journey. I have found a small rented room near the sanctuary into which myself and my three life companions will follow.  

May the road rise with you
May with wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
May the rain fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you
In the hollow of his hand

In Which the Rain Does Not Cease

My dear friend Julia just gave me tea at her house, and I must say it was lovely. She certainly knows how to make a pot of tea, despite the fact she is half-Indian. Though I suppose her ancestors had plenty of practice under the British Empire. We were commenting on the rainy weather and how it wreaks havoc on our sinuses. She said something to the effect that she was rapidly becoming like those elderly women who keep bunches of tissues in sleeves and in huddles by their beds. I responded that I had already become one of those ladies, holding the firm belief that one should never leave the house without an umbrella or tissues.

With the rainy weather—it is spring, after all—I am forced to bring huge clumpfuls of tissues to the grocery store and library. I’ve even taken to untangling the messes of Kleenex in a private corner or even the bathroom just to avoid stares.

Julia agreed such sinus problems are a great burden and reminded me that we had been talking about Sudan just a moment previous. I clasped my hands and apologized: I’m just such a scatterbrain! Begin on one subject and my mind naturally gravitates toward another. My creativity can be a burden.

Julia showed me some lovely little measuring cups she got at this store Anthropologie that were so quaint. But now I am afraid they are too much like something an old cat lady would own, so I have declined her offer to visit the store some time later this week. One must have boundaries.