I’ve been off-radar these days. I’ve been working so hard that there’s barely time to be a Disaster. My highlight last week was a trip to a rheumatologist, and he wasn’t even hot. So I figured I should sit the blogging bench until I was inspired.
Fortunately “inspiration” hit on Sunday night. It came in the form of my mother, highly excited, in downeast Maine. Of course, I didn’t know all that when I answered her call:
“Mom? Are you ok?”
“I’m fine, just keep your voice down.”
“Why did you call me if you’re going to shush me?”
“Because. Your father and I are moose hunting.”
Now, to be clear, we may be from Maine, but my parents do not hunt. They don’t wear camouflage or John Deere hats, and they don’t spit tobacco into empty Coke bottles. They ride electric bikes. They grow basil. And they take their dog Wilson to puppy kindergarten. And while they’re not vegetarians per say, my mom has made it very clear that the only venison she feels good about eating is from a deer that died naturally: on 1-95 and collected by a state trooper or our family friend, Malcom.
So the thought of my mom at eight o’clock on a Sunday night hunting moose in her crocs was simply too much.
“Mom. Do you have a gun?”
“No, no. We’re in the car. In a gravel pit. But I really have to keep my voice down. People say moose have very sensitive hearing.”
“Why are you in a gravel pit?”
“Because this is where you spot them. We’re going to test your father’s new camera. We’re parked next to two women in a Subaru. They have a “This Car Stops For Moose” sticker on their car, so they seem to know what they are doing. They haven’t made a sound and just seem to be laying down in the back seat waiting. They’re much more patient.”
“But I guess I don’t understand why…”
“Whoop! Here we go again! We’re moving gravel pits!”
“Yep. I think your father got another one of his hunches. We’re now in another gravel pit next to the other one.”
“Mom. How many people are in the car?
“Just me, your father, Jerry, Mary Beth, and Wilson, of course! Your father took him hiking all day and he’s exhausted, but he’s the best miniature Australian labradoodle in all of Maine.”
“So you guys are just sitting in the car all night? Waiting?”
“We’re not just sitting in the car. We’re driving, too. We’ve been to four gravel pits.”
“Yes, well wish us luck! I… oh no. Oh no! …Wilson!”
“Wilson just up-chucked. I have to go.”
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