In Memorium

We’ve been away for two weeks.

While on vacation we boarded the dog at her favorite kennel and Flippers, my daughter’s goldfish, was left in the care of her 6-year-old friend, Anthony. A week or so into our trip, a letter arrived addressed to my daughter in crude handwriting. It was from Anthony.

This is the letter:

Dear Harper

fliprs got kild but the kage is stil ther. Roca [Anthony’s cat] nakt the kage down and he ate fliprs but we are gowing to bie you a nuthr fish.

Flippers, we hardly knew ya.

The Big Red Old Eye

When my daughter was younger I told her that she was born with a third, menacing eye. She called it her Big Red Old Eye. I told her the eye never slept, and stared at people, and because it made us so nervous we took her to the hospital and had it removed before her first birthday.

"You used to lie in your crib and poke at it," we'd say.

She does not believe in the Big Red Old Eye any longer.

"That's really bad for you," she said, confusing it with pink eye.

"No, the Big Red Old eye in the middle of your forehead."

"I never had a Big Red Old Eye. You and mom made that up."

She probably thinks I made up my friend Jonesie, who has a third arm and wears a bird in his top hat, as well.

Getting Ready for the 4th

The cherries are in, and it's a good year. I spent an hour picking yesterday; Lord knows I'll miss thousands of them which hang in large bunches from branches which are too high for my ladder to reach. I have no cherry picker.

The birds have been kind this year. Not as many crows as years past. What few we've had flapping about can enjoy the cherries high up, where my ladder won't reach.

Tomorrow my wife will present her first cherry cobbler of the season. She will also be putting up cherry preserves later this week. My mouth is already watering.

My daughter, six, taught me how to pit them today, and it's a messy business. But I managed to produced a quarter bushel of clean, pitted cherries. More to be picked tomorrow.

Picking is messy business as well. But the Bings are fragrant and succulent. I manage, when I am picking, to taste the ripest, juiciest ones right from the tree.

My daughter, as she does each year, made place mats for the three of us to use on the 4th of July. She does a good job with the American Flag. She's a little artist.

I started the ribs tonight. Thrice cooked. Braised. Baked. And tomorrow, the charcoal grill will finish them off. I can hardly wait.

Sci-Fi Channel is running Twilight Zone around the clock. That always means a holiday has arrived. Happy 4th!