Now playing: “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix.

I let Word Raccoon buy a hummingbird pin at the thrift shop yesterday to commemorate our outing, though she didn’t earn it.

She was supposed to sit quietly in the shopping cart while I hunted through the racks, but once she thought she spotted her favorite birb across the shop, she was impossible. Wriggling, squirming, pawing at the air. Decorum? What’s that? She wasn’t going to miss a sighting like this, she said. 

I tried to hush her, tell her that not everyone is interested in your favorite guilty reading pleasure novel, WR, and who cares that you just discovered those fun heart-shaped sunglasses? 

I’m afraid she made a pest of herself, as ever. To everyone in the shop, probably.

It took all I could do to get her to mind her own beeswax and leave others alone!

In fact, that’s how she ended up with the hummingbird pin. “See! It looks just like the hummingbirds out,” she said.

How could I say no after that? Also, it shut her up. 

The pin looks vintage, though I didn’t spot any markings. I like it regardless. 

WR nestled it into a pink depression glass mug and wheeled it around for a bit, considering. But we both agreed: the mug? Reproduction. 

It’s always nice to get a second, valued, opinion. 

Who wants a reproduction when you can have an original?

The thrift shop is a lovely place to find originals.

You can find used books and vinyl, or funky vintage clothing, if you know how to hunt.

And sometimes, you find a new-in-box kitchen gadget you’ve been quietly searching for for months: a potato ricer. Mashed potatoes are definitely in WR’s future. (Oh, but without butter. Sob. Still in the no-dairy experiment zone.)

Yesterday brought another happifying thing: I’m thrilled to share that one of my little darlings, Obligatory Cherry Flip, is being published by Macrame Literary Journal!
The poem mentions my precious mother-in-law, my Mawgy, so this one feels special, though it’s not about her per se. It is about her “cherry flip.”  

I miss her. She’s still with us but she’s not…with us. You understand. 

Four poems yesterday, me and Word Raccoon, side by side, though it took some birthing:

• I Looked Out For You
  
• You Done? 

• a betrayal of the universe

• Something in the Rumours (yes, spelled that way on purpose, love)
  

“Rumours” was especially fun to write. It explores the fascinating friendship-maybe-more between George Harrison and Stevie Nicks. I can’t tell you how obsessed I am with this now, because I didn’t know about it until yesterday, and now WR and I need the deets! All of them!

The others?
One has a lighthouse in it. Because of course it does.

One is about how artists have a responsibility to use their gifts. Unless they don’t. My opinion, honestly, is divided on this. I think I need one good conversation to hash it out. 

And one is… Let’s just put it in the freezer, shall we? 

And mortified as I am at Word Raccoon’s behavior at the thrift shop, I’m still smiling at all the treasures she found.

What if I hadn’t kept her on such a tight leash? I’m afraid to trust her, but what if she’s not as incorrigible as I fear? 

Maybe she would have charmed more than pestered and found (or given) even more treasure. She keeps handfuls of it in her pockets she delights in distributing. 

But she kept complaining about her throat being dry. 

From nerves, WR? Oh, please. Really? 

I didn’t notice that keep you from rambling!

Maybe I worry too much. Maybe not enough.

Am I actually worrying about not worrying enough?

Maybe I need to confine Word Raccoon to the page. 

Word Raccoon, let’s go make breakfast, shall we?