Sage’s good friend Emery returned for another country sojourn last weekend. The two have been friends since Sage was in the womb, literally. (I distinctly remember being pregnant with Sage and holding baby Emery in my lap, one child on the inside, one on the out. Fortunately for Emery, it was a warm, sunny summer day, so the outside wasn’t a half bad place to be.)
The two had an action packed couple of days. Here are the highlights:
After the wood pile had exhausted its entertainment possibilities, we drove into Augusta and saw folk singer Adam Miller at the Augusta Memorial Public Library.
One of Adam’s songs was about a faithful hound named Old Blue who dies from an indeterminate malady and is buried by the tearful narrator at the end of the song. Before the final chord had completely faded, Sage’s hand was in the air. “We buried three dogs!” he reported dutifully.
Embarrassed, I considered interjecting to clarify that they weren’t all buried AT THE SAME TIME, as Sage had seemed to imply, but Adam clearly knew how to handle children. “Well,” he explained carefully, “People live a long time, and pets don’t live as long, so if you have a pet, you’re probably going to have to bury it at some point.”
Emery’s hand was now in the air. “Not always!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You don’t ALWAYS have to bury your pets! Some you just flush!”
Adam seemed like he was trying hard not to laugh as he considered this pearl of wisdom. “I’ll remember that,” he said.
After Adam’s performance, he kindly allowed the kids to have their picture taken with him. Emery had just acquired a purple teddy bear from the Variety Store down the street–an investment paid for the contents of her little blue wallet–and she’d given him the highly apropos name “Mr. Grapes.”
Mr. Grapes had sat patiently in her lap through the whole performance, and she insisted that he be featured in the photo. Her initial inspiration was to have him balance on top of Adam’s hat.
However, that didn’t work out so well, so they had to resort to a more conventional pose, although Emery spiced it up by doing what appeared to be a spontaneous interpretive dance.
After we left the library, we went to the school playground. Emery had a hankering for a pet worm, and Sage claimed to know of a worm bonanza there. He had failed to account for the dryness of the day, though, so there was nary a worm to be found on the blacktop. They had fun anyway, though.
Emery had to go home not long after we returned (but not before she’d talked her father into delaying his supper to stay for an impromptu game of Kubb on our lawn.) If she HAD stayed another night, though, the scene probably would have looked very similar to the previous night. Two kids, a couch, and a dog after a long day of adventures: Fuzzies don’t get much warmer than that.