Ah, the memories.
Holidays at your parents’ house. At your grandparents’ house. Maybe family friends? Relations of some kind or other?
Christmas was always at our house.
My god, the food.
Sicilian delicacies (I’ve learned to cook a few), Italian pastries from Piantedosi’s (haven’t had their like since), and laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.
Thanksgiving was at the Campbell’s in Middleton, Mass. My dad and Al Campbell knew each other from way back before I was born. I remember the food was amazing, non-stop, and the pies…oh, my god, the pies! As the day wore on, Mrs. Stocktin would play piano.
I can’t say she was my first piano teacher. She did teach me how to play Chinese Checkers (is that still around? Probably under another name…) and Blanche taught me how to play Dominoes and Scrabble.
But mostly I remember the day at our house when I moved from the Kitchen to the Dining Room.
Almost burst out singing “God has made a Man today!” from Fiddler on the Roof.
Pity it wouldn’t be written for another ten years or so, huh?
Following up on last week’s closing line of “Actions speak louder than words”, we have an…umm…display.
Yeah, that’s right.
A display of…how to get things done.
I don’t often catch The Wild offering such demonstrations. I definitely don’t go looking for it.
And in some cases, being around when it occurs in The Wild can be downright dangerous.
But how dangerous can bunnies be?
And any who answer “None at all” have never ventured to Caerbannog
Ah, the young ones.
Still too new to be given names.
A young boy once asked me how I knew the names of the different wildlife in our yard.
“How did I learn your name?”
“I told you.”
“And so do they.”
“The animals tell you their names?”
“Yes, and then I have to translate them into English.”
“How come you have to translate them into English?”
“So we can understand them.”
“What do they speak if they don’t speak English?”
“Raccoons speak Haccoun, Opossum speak Pezami, Fox speak…”
And so it goes.
And it doesn’t really matter.
Actions speak louder than words, you know…
Meal time at Chez Carrabis.
The ways of The Wild delight and amuse.
Yes, we feed those in The Wild.
And why not?
The pleasure they provide, the sheer joy of sharing with the Old Ones gladdens my heart and lifts me in ways interactions with own species seldom does.
If ever does.
It’s not that I don’t like people.
I’ve often told friends “People are wonderful! Lightly salted they’re delicious.”
A great joy for us is our yearly rendition of Raccoon kits.
This year has been no exception.
They run, they scamper, after a bit they recognize this Two-Legger has food and they run and scamper over my feet (be sure to wear thick sneakers or shoes. they’re apt to nibble randomly until they figure out what tastes good and what doesn’t.
Raccoon mothers quickly teach their offspring the joys of the baskets/trays we’ve placed on the trees.
It is a delight.