A toilet paper Barbie has come to live in my house. She arrived yesterday. I found her waiting on my kitchen table when I arrived home. Someone seemed to think I needed her.
I sat on the porch this evening in the early summer twilight and thought of how soon the days will stop lengthening and start swinging back in the other direction. BAH.
I unwrapped my Amalfi Coast travel journal the other day. I haven’t opened it in a year.
I love that travel has an after life.
That lives on and on and on in the fertile soil of the imagination.
Today after lunch the little punks wanted to hear a story. A real story. Not from a book. I dove in head first and didn’t hesitate. Not even a little. Paragraph after paragraph came tumbling out of my mouth. Little tribes of mice and other animals that lived on the rooftops of the city all around us. Rats on one, Mice on the other, Cats, Monkeys. They all wore clothes. Some were good and friendly. Others more menacing. They ringed the tops of the buildings and watched as people passed by on the sidewalks below. The tossed balls back and forth across the street from one tall building to the next. You think people are in charge in the city, but they aren’t. It’s the little animals that watch from the roofs. Next time you’re outside in the evening look up super fast and you might catch a blur of a tail or paw or hat. Or a ball. Eyes grew rounder and rounder. No one made a sound. Finally I found the end. A little mouse with a dress and umbrella came to live at my house.
Can you bring her tomorrow?
Can we pet her?
What do you feed her?
What about your cats?
She has a special saddle and she rides them around the house. They like it.
Even the big cat?
No, not him. He’s not saddle broken. She rides him bareback.
Miss Moss is all that true?
What about the part about the rats with flashlights that chased you?
The hard to believe parts are the truest.