Wednesday, March 8, 2006

"I am going to beat you with a penny and eat your little dog."

Kendra is one of the irregulars (as in personalities) that frequent the coffee house at 810 Saginaw Street. Kendra is . . . special.

She learned rather abruptly last year that the bubble of my personal space is larger than that of most folks. Large enough to accommodate Glenda, Good Witch of the North. Hoopskirts and all. Kendra also learned that attempting to enter said space without a permit can be dangerous.

She plopped down nearby and announced that she thought her new shampoo made her hair smell like coconut. "Doesn't it smell like coconut? Here, smell," and she leaned forward to let me 'niff.

I said no and attempted to move a way, and she kept offering the top of her head. As she swooped forward again, I thumped her stiffly on the head with a giant English penny (c. 1798) that I usually have in my pocket and happened to have in my hand. She withdrew rapidly with her eyes watering.

Her head may or may not have smelled of coconut, but it certainly sounded like one. Kendra learned that, while most American airspace is still unprotected, some patches are simply not safe to cross unannounced.

She looked at me appalled and asked, "What was that?!" I told her it was a penny for her lack of thought.

I am pleased to state that we have moved beyond issues of smell and space and now chat amiably about the pieces of writing each is working on without incident.

The other day we sat on the stoop of 808 Saginaw Street where we use to when it was my stoop and played with her Chihuahua, Abbie.

While sitting there a biddy in drove up in a minivan named Montana and prompted a discussion on the topic of old ladies named after states. It was surprising how many are out there and interesting what effect being named after a large piece of dirt seems to have on the personality.

Also while sitting there, the UPS guy crossed the street toward the coffee house and us with a package on his shoulder that kept him from seeing that we were there. As he approached the curb he paused, giggled and hopped gleefully into the massive puddle of water caused by the warmth of the day winning out over the snow on the street. Then he went into the coffee house to deliver his package.

I played with a dog, met a minivan named Montana, and witnessed a grown man giggle and hop into a puddle. Such were the gifts of the day.

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