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| Waves, frozen |
Emil phones me every night now for a chat.
"Did anyone come over today?"
No.
"Have you had any company this week?"
No.
"Rick and Faye came over to your place on Saturday."
That's right. They came for supper.
"Did you have a nice time when they came over?"
Yes, very.
"Rick's real name is Richard."
That's right.
"Dick is also a short form of Richard."
Mm hm; that's true.
Then he reels off the following, so fast the words run together:
"R-I-C-K spells Rick and that's a short form of Richard and you can just take the R away and put the D there and you have Dick, so that works! That's what Auntie Karen told me and she's right!"
He repeats this speedy spiel a couple times in spite of my acknowledgement and agreement, till finally I get exasperated and say I heard you the first three times!
He's coming out this weekend; Scott will pick him up when his working day near town is done. Emil is looking forward to the new Lorax movie that is being made. He still loves Dr Seuss.
Scott just phoned.
"Have you ever heard of blood oranges?"
I pause; the words "blood diamond" flash through my mind, but no. Why?
"I picked up oranges at the store and just opened one up; it's red inside."
We know nothing more but he says it tastes fine.
"Did Jenna go outside again?" he asks.
Jenna is our border collie/shepherd cross; she is 10 years old, and although she has long thick fur and an insulated doghouse with a flap of carpet over the door, we've invited her into the porch the last few nights because it's been so cold.
"The first thing she did when I let her out this morning was roll in the snow," he says.
For the past three days before rising (Scott gets up long before me and lets her out) she's sat on the south side of the house, howling.
