It is with a heavy heart that I announce the disappearance of our rooster, Chuck. Last week, I caught him hanging out at the end of our driveway, cavorting with a cute little hotty of a brown hen from across the street. They did look like a happy couple. She must be something special for him to give up premium scratch, fresh fruit, bread, and other chicken-delectables, not to mention the fun of tormenting the cats. I asked Ron if he'd had the talk with Charlie. He shrugged. So I suspect we'll soon see the little brown hen with a trail of tiny, fluffy chicks in tow.
Kope Kope closed this week! It's my favorite coffee shop in town. Now, we're left with just two independent shops (that I know of), neither of which is great for hanging out to read or write or listen to live music. One is little more than a drive-through kiosk. The other is Bear's, downtown. It's funky but tiny, with tasty fruit-topped Belgian waffles. The coffee, last time I was there anyway, was lukewarm. I actually asked the waitress if she would zap in in the microwave for me. The parking sucks, so I almost never go there. Seattle's Best in Borders is OK. Starbucks is Starbucks. None match up with Kope Kope. My neighbor Leonard was playing jazz guitar on their little stage just last week while I tinkered with a story. Their chai lattes and homemade granola bars are awesome. Were awesome. Bummer.
I received two more rejections from literary magazines last week, so have created a folder just for them. The nice thing about rejection letters is that it confirms receipt of the story on the other end. Otherwise, you really don't know where the manuscript has gone. It's just out there, floating, in either cyberspace or real space or languishing in some post office or at the bottom of some editors slush pile somewhere. It's better to know, one way or another, than to wait. Waiting feels like the theme song from Jeopardy playing in my head, over and over, for eternity. Du du du, du-du, du du du.... du du du du DU.... du-du-du-du-du....
The rain has returned to our neck of the rainforest. Drought over. Water tank full. Algae in full bloom on the driveway. Mold thriving. Kitties soaked with muddy paws.
Kope Kope closed this week! It's my favorite coffee shop in town. Now, we're left with just two independent shops (that I know of), neither of which is great for hanging out to read or write or listen to live music. One is little more than a drive-through kiosk. The other is Bear's, downtown. It's funky but tiny, with tasty fruit-topped Belgian waffles. The coffee, last time I was there anyway, was lukewarm. I actually asked the waitress if she would zap in in the microwave for me. The parking sucks, so I almost never go there. Seattle's Best in Borders is OK. Starbucks is Starbucks. None match up with Kope Kope. My neighbor Leonard was playing jazz guitar on their little stage just last week while I tinkered with a story. Their chai lattes and homemade granola bars are awesome. Were awesome. Bummer.
I received two more rejections from literary magazines last week, so have created a folder just for them. The nice thing about rejection letters is that it confirms receipt of the story on the other end. Otherwise, you really don't know where the manuscript has gone. It's just out there, floating, in either cyberspace or real space or languishing in some post office or at the bottom of some editors slush pile somewhere. It's better to know, one way or another, than to wait. Waiting feels like the theme song from Jeopardy playing in my head, over and over, for eternity. Du du du, du-du, du du du.... du du du du DU.... du-du-du-du-du....
The rain has returned to our neck of the rainforest. Drought over. Water tank full. Algae in full bloom on the driveway. Mold thriving. Kitties soaked with muddy paws.
A hui hou. Aloha!
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