Monday, August 10, 2009


Dear Miles,

Something is wrong with the weathervane because I can't get it to go. Looks like the whirligig has rusted over and the cock's just stuck facing due Nothing. If you were here, I'd ask you to scramble up on the roof and fix it but you're not. You're all the way in Delaware with a mouth full of saltwater taffy watching the gays go by.

Anyway, I"m sure it'll be fine. I may take my oil can up there this afternoon and give it a little treacle--see what happens, but all that will have to wait till I've finished cleaning the traps and scraping the crow hides. Say hello to Samson and Eloise for me and let Eloise know that the cats are fine but they miss her, of course.



p.s. Darger rode out the leash yesterday for the first time. It was beautiful! Still, I think I better get his hood fitted a bit tighter. He keeps twitching like it's uncomfortable for him.


Dear Sandy-Bottom-Gal,

The crowds here hate me. If it weren't for Rehobeth and sticking my feet in the sand I'd probably skip Delaware all together. Widgets and ecolocation didn't go over--not even tesseracts have so much as raised an eyebrow. Delaware must be stuck in some kind of past I don't know about. They wanted me to be Jerry Seinfeld or Brian Greene or somebody, somebody else.

I don't mean to be a bummer, dearheart, just missing you just now.

Try kicking the dang weather vane and telling it to step up its game--that always works for me--talking down to appliances.

Eloise and Samson say hello back. They're out putting divots in the boardwalk with their sensibilities.

Love to you,


p.s. Glad to hear about Darger. How's the balloon?

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