Conversations on Trout and Life with Vampires

Vampire Maman

This morning Garrett (age 19) and I stopped by to see Great Great Great Grandmama Lola. Even as Vampires go she is old (born the same year as Geoffrey Chaucer), but she looks all of twenty-six.

In her living room was a large fish tank. Garrett immediately went over to check it out. “When did you get this Grams?”

“Last week. I caught the fish myself. Aren’t they lovely.”

In the tank were two rainbow trout, fresh from the river. I could have given her flack about catching wild fish but I didn’t. It would have been a waste of my breath.

Garrett held out his arm and an African Gray parrot landed on his wrist. Lola claims the parrot is over 200 years old but I never know what to think. She has had the bird for over 80 years so she could very well be right. But then I…

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Mr. C’s America

Excellent!

A Late Boomer's Guide to Life

imagesI never thought of him as a bigot. For as long as I can remember he’s been an opinionated old man. Half the time, I didn’t really get the specific issue he was ranting about. He was just my neighbor, “Mr. C”. It was not until years later that I was old enough to recognize the fear and uncompromising distain that tinged his political diatribes.

He never seemed concerned that I heard him swear or cast aspersions on a particular ethnic group or politician. If it was happening on his property, he behaved like he had a sovereign’s immunity from consequence. We’re both older now — he well into eighties and me in college. I still go over and talk with him. I tend to cut older people slack and excuse any outburst as a symptom of mental deterioration — a circle of life where an adult once again passes…

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ro·mance

Vampire Maman

ro·mance

rōˈmans,ˈrōˌmans
noun
1. a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.
“in search of romance” love, especially when sentimental or idealized.

2. a quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life.
“the beauty and romance of the night”

3. a stupid feeling of unrealistic expectations that makes one do stupid and potentially embarrassing things.

In 1988, the night before a business trip from Sacramento to Seattle, I had a dream about a man with sandy colored hair and a great smile. Yes, he was the man of my dreams. I called my brother Val and told him about it. We laughed.

The next afternoon, wearing a blue and black dress that hugged my lovely curves and black heels, I boarded my flight and found myself sitting next to the man in my dream. I kid you not. This is not a flight of fancy or fiction.

We talked…

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