It was starting to get at me like a thing–> buggin’ and thinkin’ on why we have so many stuffy’s. How did the acquisitions get so out of hand I wondered. Telling myself and that Grandma at the park who herself brought up the whole stuffy situation about our own mega-stash. I mean damn, we have a lot of stuffy’s. Really so many stuffy’s in this house. An overabundance of stuffy’s. Stuffy’s in that corner next to that pillow over there filling that chest and hooked to that backpack. Stuffy’s staring at me wherever I go.

Was edging on a complex about stuffy’s awhile back but since I’ve turned. Towards them.

They’ve grown on/with me. I know we are not rich but are rich and fortunate to have that many in our life.

We have so many stuffy’s in our rooms and I do full realize it’s too many for any one family

but

if we’ve got the space and love to give what’s the actual problem with stuffy’s? What’s my hardened deal? They’re cute and often meaningful and like hugs or team rebounds–> can you really have too many?

When I look at them I smile and remember the stuffy for that road-trip or that flu. The stuffy from that aunt or that book store and the stuffy that got at least one of us through at least tons of things. I look back on the stuffy meltdown when Nyla couldn’t remember the name of a tiny one and I feel something. The stuffy that went or purposefully stayed on sleepovers. The chosen stuffy(s).

Doug. Le Monkey. Avee the avocado and Snowy. Duke. Chip and Salsa. The hamster clan and their wild ways. Jerome the lobster. Lemur. Rabbit. Chaco. Chester. Connor. I honor you foxes and mice and elephants and owls and ninjagos we’ve had among us.

I’m hugging a black dragon right now and can’t remember its’ name. No complex–> No meltown–> just grateful now to have them all here.

So

many things.

It’s circu(s) acts but much lesser without the band. I find myself looking/listening to the band.

May the sky be your forever neighborhood T Hawk

Hey MOM I’m done with my segment.

For a so-called insider, he was often wrong. No matter. I spent many a weekend morning listening to whackos call into his radio show. He always let them talk.

Rest peacefully in the endzone Professor. Seattle will miss you.

We all have different definitions

for a slam-dunk.

And I saw him/Ladder Guy coming and wandering up Country Lane. Black jeans and black jacket his usual walking attire. And I waved him over and gave the open door of my space because I saw a man in need, but in retrospect maybe he saw that in me.

His name is John but we call him Ladder Guy because he always has a ladder propped up against some part of his blue house. We have names on Country Lane like Ladder Guy, Smooth Road Lady, Golf Cart Dude and “Hans.”

He said still stepping before he really stopped to talk, “I’m sure you heard my wife just died a few weeks ago” and on on on but mostly the last part I didn’t hear. My face changed and I said “I didn’t know–> I’m sorry that happened.” We continued

to Talk and exchanged mutual notes on Death and Music and Parkinson’s before Death and Intalco and God and Neighbors and a lot of stuff. He was actively grieving but maybe I am too just not acting like it. It was deep and I know that’s been said before but it was deep.

And at some point we both looked over at a little Halloween spot we have under our only apple tree with bones and lights and chosen rocks and we looked back at each other and didn’t say a word about it but went on to talk about what to do next when a love is lost. And sometimes we didn’t say anything.

He told me I’m lucky but everything’s not perfect and I told him to get a new laptop so he could keep doing karaoke online. And there was quite a bit we didn’t get and many moments on different pages, yet we saw eye to eye.

Don’t really know him after just that encounter, but I know the next time I see him I’ll call him John out loud instead of Ladder Guy in my mind.