Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Thursday, June 22, 2006

    Unpacking the Suitcase


    Little things, brought back from home Illinois:

    Lunch with Popeye. Despite the awkward circumstances (mainly an overprotective mother) this was the second-highest point of the trip. Oh, and the fresh shiner, courtesy of Thomas, the Motherfucking Toddler-Propelled Tank Engine. I think now of how the Blogosphere turns things inside-out, and that the biggest secrets we had to share with each other are those anyone else can see; our faces, our everyday lives.

    The retired pianist who lives in the house behind my parents' house. I'’ll get back to him when I find my damned notes. But the short of it is, he'’s always mowed his lawn wearing white gloves. This year, he did not, as if he'’s settled in.

    Going through security in Milwaukee, my carry-on was randomly tagged to be hand-searched. I'm so glad it was. Because I got to meet a giant. I'’m not kidding -- a real, live giant. He even introduced himself that way. Four ten meets seven four. I could have stretched out across his chest, my head on one shoulder, my feet on the other. I was eye-level with his navel. His voice boomed, low and slow, yet it surrounded a high note in the center. And the best part, the thing that so thoroughly delighted me --– he wore earrings! Diamond studs the size of my thumbnail. And eyeliner. He wore eyeliner. I'm smiling with his memory tucked behind my eyes.
    "Now you can say you met a giant," he said, zipping up the bag.
    "I will. And you can say you met a family of Hobbits,"” I answered back. "See? Barefoot even."” I held up my foot and wiggled my toes at him. He clapped, and everything in the airport stopped; including time, I think.

    And the boyos. The fact that not less than seventeen people stopped to comment on their beauty between the gate and baggage claim. Two women offered to be their agents. Sometimes I feel like I'm just the handler for a couple of celebrities.

    7 people left me a love letter:

    Blogger Irrelephant wrote in a love letter...

    A real life giant, and an almost-hobbit. It's funny how magic can be found every day, if you only know how to look through your eyes.

    Thank you for the delight!

    7:39 PM, June 22, 2006  
    Blogger Schmoopie wrote in a love letter...

    Once again I read your blog and I laugh out loud. Thanks for the image (Giant meets Hobbit.) You are one, truly talented writer!

    8:13 PM, June 22, 2006  
    Anonymous Anonymous wrote in a love letter...

    The "pianist" (tee hee) is still wearing the gloves, just not on his hands...

    -Stucco

    9:00 AM, June 23, 2006  
    Blogger Julie wrote in a love letter...

    The boyos didn't get so beautiful on their own...I'm sure you and O are equally striking!

    11:47 AM, June 23, 2006  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    Ir: Your welcome. Thank _you_. :-)

    Schmoop: Thanks! As are you. :-)

    Stucco: Heh heh heh...gives new meaning to hand job...heh heheh

    Julie: Oh no. They just inherited my recessive genes, dear. But thanks for the thought, you gorgeous thing.

    3:09 PM, June 23, 2006  
    Blogger Popeye wrote in a love letter...

    Oh, I think got some of your good genes. . . It was fun to meet you two. Was your Mom relieved you came back in one piece?

    4:05 PM, June 24, 2006  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    Popeye: Naw, O's the real beauty in the family. ;-) But thanks.
    Yes, she was relieved. Though she did play it quite cool; I have to give her that.

    5:06 PM, June 24, 2006  

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