Lake Jordan looking west toward Crystal Cove
In all fairness to the young geezer, I should say that she doesn't like the word monster. She prefers to say creature and believes the animal to be a mother whose only concern is taking care of her offspring.
I did get a nice shot of the lake in the early morning. I'll post some pics for you to enjoy later. Where was I? Oh, Lupe's monster.
Please tell me that you haven't forgotten Lupe. Twelve years old. Short dark hair. Wears her clothes like a bench in a department store dressing room. Looks like a cross between a tall pixie and one of the Morrigan sisters. Oh, don't make that face. I'm not being harsh. It's the look she's going for.
As I was saying, she's proven the existence of the lake monster mathematically, so the thing's got to be hiding there somewhere. Lupe is seldom wrong when it comes to numbers.
I have pressing concerns in Crystal Cove this week and I arrived at the Inn of the Three Sisters yesterday afternoon. I thought I might as well check in with the aunts before meeting with the old ancestor, Uncle Gus.
It was mid-afternoon when I arrived and there's no time like 2:00 to 4:00 on a Tuesday afternoon to find nothing going on in Crystal Cove. I entered the front parlor to find Lupe practicing qigong. She was wearing the baggiest pants I've ever seen and a fedora. A fedora! What's that about?
"Good, lord," I said. "Where'd you get those pants?"
"Hello, sir," she said in the middle of the movement that she assures me is called White Swan Spreads Her Wings. And in case you're wondering if I'm having a go at you, let me assure you, she said those exact words. I know! I thought it strange too.
"Where'd you get those pants?" I said again.
"They're Thai fishermen's pants," she said. "Don't you like them?"
"Very becoming," I said. I'm sure you would have thought of something better but that's the best I could do on short notice.
"Did you find signs of the creature?" she said. I told you she doesn't like the term monster. She plans to make a pet of it, I'm certain.
"No, I did not. And I'm exhausted from the effort. I'm here to see Uncle Gus and have a good long rest. No drama, please. Don't start any of your stuff."
She stopped the qigong routine and gave me a look with cocked eyebrows and a pout.
"Have you seen Gwyn lately?" I said.
"Yes, sir. Lady Gwyn is out on the grounds looking for Constable Mason."
I'm sure you've noticed the formal bent in her conversation by now, and if not, then pay attention for heaven's sake. I'm not writing this for my own amusement. I noticed the formal motif right away and I didn't like it. I took a breath and prepared myself to pry under the lid even though something told me it would come to no good.
"Alright," I said. "Take five, you little racketeer. Since you insist on pressing the issue, just what is it with all this medieval stuff?"
"Sir?" she said.
"Exactly!" I said. "What's with the sirs and the Lady Gwyns and the Constable Masons. Why not just Genome, Gwyn, and Mason?"
"Oh, that," she said. "My mom, says I need to show more respect for my elders." She said it with a scowl and it all became clear to me in an instant.
"Oh, that's the story, is it?" I said. "Well, we Genomes have lightning-fast brains, Tinker Bell, and I can read between those lines. You've gotten your little blue coat with the brass buttons caught in Farmer McGregor's fence again, haven't you?"
"Have you been out in the sun without a hat?" she said.
She was pushing it, don't you think? I drew myself up to full height and looked down on her with a stern whatisit. I forgot the exact quote but I'm sure you can fill in the blanks.
"None of that, thank you," I said. "The reference was Peter Rabbit. I'm sure you've heard of him at some point in your career. But that's not important," I said with a wave of the hand.
"I know why you've adopted the lingo. You've given someone some backchat, probably Aunt Maggie, and now you're paying the price. But you're not showing respect, you're being whats-the-word."
"Resistant," she said. "Obstinate," I said.
"Defiant," she said. "Seditious," I said.
"I'm glad you're back," she said. "I've missed our little chats."
Well, I melted of course. I mean she may be the spawn of Satan but she's my favorite inmate here at the Cove. And who among us can keep up the stern exterior when your god-niece is under the rule of three aunts and an uncle for the duration of the summer? It's enough to make the Pope kick a stained-glass window.
"Why is Gwyn looking for Mason anyway?" I said.
"Mason is trying to rehome some of my cats and Gwyn is doing me a favor by sweet-talking Mason, on account of I'm helping her with the high-summer festival."
"You have too many cats?" I said.
"No," she said. "But it's more than the homeowners association will allow."
"How many does the HOA allow?"
"Three."
"How many do you have?"
"Seven or eight," she said, "depending on your point of view."
"Ah," I said as a way of giving myself time to decide which direction I would take. The question I asked myself was, would I do my duty as god-uncle and point out the risk of taking the rebellious path? Or would I be the understanding and compassionate friend?
Then I remembered an incident from my childhood when I was discovered to have more than the allotted number of cats in my bedroom and the proper action became clear to me.
"One purr bucket just leads to another," I said, and then added, "Hemingway."
"We are rewarded in heaven according to the way we treat cats on earth," she said. "Heinlein."
"Don't call me Heinlein," I said. "Don't call me Hemingway," she said.
We laughed. "Enjoying the summer?" I said. "Now that you're here," she said. And that made all the difference.
I did get a nice shot of the lake in the early morning. I'll post some pics for you to enjoy later. Where was I? Oh, Lupe's monster.
Please tell me that you haven't forgotten Lupe. Twelve years old. Short dark hair. Wears her clothes like a bench in a department store dressing room. Looks like a cross between a tall pixie and one of the Morrigan sisters. Oh, don't make that face. I'm not being harsh. It's the look she's going for.
As I was saying, she's proven the existence of the lake monster mathematically, so the thing's got to be hiding there somewhere. Lupe is seldom wrong when it comes to numbers.
I have pressing concerns in Crystal Cove this week and I arrived at the Inn of the Three Sisters yesterday afternoon. I thought I might as well check in with the aunts before meeting with the old ancestor, Uncle Gus.
It was mid-afternoon when I arrived and there's no time like 2:00 to 4:00 on a Tuesday afternoon to find nothing going on in Crystal Cove. I entered the front parlor to find Lupe practicing qigong. She was wearing the baggiest pants I've ever seen and a fedora. A fedora! What's that about?
"Good, lord," I said. "Where'd you get those pants?"
"Hello, sir," she said in the middle of the movement that she assures me is called White Swan Spreads Her Wings. And in case you're wondering if I'm having a go at you, let me assure you, she said those exact words. I know! I thought it strange too.
"Where'd you get those pants?" I said again.
"They're Thai fishermen's pants," she said. "Don't you like them?"
"Very becoming," I said. I'm sure you would have thought of something better but that's the best I could do on short notice.
"Did you find signs of the creature?" she said. I told you she doesn't like the term monster. She plans to make a pet of it, I'm certain.
"No, I did not. And I'm exhausted from the effort. I'm here to see Uncle Gus and have a good long rest. No drama, please. Don't start any of your stuff."
She stopped the qigong routine and gave me a look with cocked eyebrows and a pout.
"Have you seen Gwyn lately?" I said.
"Yes, sir. Lady Gwyn is out on the grounds looking for Constable Mason."
I'm sure you've noticed the formal bent in her conversation by now, and if not, then pay attention for heaven's sake. I'm not writing this for my own amusement. I noticed the formal motif right away and I didn't like it. I took a breath and prepared myself to pry under the lid even though something told me it would come to no good.
"Alright," I said. "Take five, you little racketeer. Since you insist on pressing the issue, just what is it with all this medieval stuff?"
"Sir?" she said.
"Exactly!" I said. "What's with the sirs and the Lady Gwyns and the Constable Masons. Why not just Genome, Gwyn, and Mason?"
"Oh, that," she said. "My mom, says I need to show more respect for my elders." She said it with a scowl and it all became clear to me in an instant.
"Oh, that's the story, is it?" I said. "Well, we Genomes have lightning-fast brains, Tinker Bell, and I can read between those lines. You've gotten your little blue coat with the brass buttons caught in Farmer McGregor's fence again, haven't you?"
"Have you been out in the sun without a hat?" she said.
She was pushing it, don't you think? I drew myself up to full height and looked down on her with a stern whatisit. I forgot the exact quote but I'm sure you can fill in the blanks.
"None of that, thank you," I said. "The reference was Peter Rabbit. I'm sure you've heard of him at some point in your career. But that's not important," I said with a wave of the hand.
"I know why you've adopted the lingo. You've given someone some backchat, probably Aunt Maggie, and now you're paying the price. But you're not showing respect, you're being whats-the-word."
"Resistant," she said. "Obstinate," I said.
"Defiant," she said. "Seditious," I said.
"I'm glad you're back," she said. "I've missed our little chats."
Well, I melted of course. I mean she may be the spawn of Satan but she's my favorite inmate here at the Cove. And who among us can keep up the stern exterior when your god-niece is under the rule of three aunts and an uncle for the duration of the summer? It's enough to make the Pope kick a stained-glass window.
"Why is Gwyn looking for Mason anyway?" I said.
"Mason is trying to rehome some of my cats and Gwyn is doing me a favor by sweet-talking Mason, on account of I'm helping her with the high-summer festival."
"You have too many cats?" I said.
"No," she said. "But it's more than the homeowners association will allow."
"How many does the HOA allow?"
"Three."
"How many do you have?"
"Seven or eight," she said, "depending on your point of view."
"Ah," I said as a way of giving myself time to decide which direction I would take. The question I asked myself was, would I do my duty as god-uncle and point out the risk of taking the rebellious path? Or would I be the understanding and compassionate friend?
Then I remembered an incident from my childhood when I was discovered to have more than the allotted number of cats in my bedroom and the proper action became clear to me.
"One purr bucket just leads to another," I said, and then added, "Hemingway."
"We are rewarded in heaven according to the way we treat cats on earth," she said. "Heinlein."
"Don't call me Heinlein," I said. "Don't call me Hemingway," she said.
We laughed. "Enjoying the summer?" I said. "Now that you're here," she said. And that made all the difference.
