letters from mom

i have this general sense of well being lately. scary eh?

my leg muscles are sore from my return to my brazilian dance class. but i left entirely glowing and high and sweaty.

i feel so stupid for stopping.

my ex-therapist said "the happiest i've ever seen you was when you were regularly going to dance"

yea. duh!

and my mom finally read the rooster story. and she has some input.

ok. so you have to understand. my memory of this incident is filtered through the memory of a 10 year old.

so this is *her* input. but i'm not going to change the story, because hey...memory requires fictionalization when one writes a memoir story. excerpts from 3 emails from mom, back to back. (she writes like i do. in spurts! )

"The story is hysterical!!! I couldn't read it to [stepfather] I was laughing so hard. "....

"Additions: remember you and Veronica with the bedsheet trying to keep the rooster from attacking? Ira was trying to be a farmer; HE had bought the chickens, and also two yellow labs and a cat they didn't fix until it had about a million litters of rather ugly tiger kittens...then HE performed the spaying in the hospital! Also, remember his cowboy boots? He'd get up before everyone and yes fart and clomp around the house in his boots (often in shorts or boxer shorts), go out and feed his "critters". He loved being a "gentleman farmer".'...

"Do you remember that Ira stewed that rooster for HOURS and it was like an old

stewed tire? i think you need a picture of Pollywog. What was that white cat's name? We only had one cat in vermont, unless she had kittens, which we always found homes for. Ira and Connie had a fleet of ugly cats; remember when the cat gave birth on the stairs prematurely ? Yuck. "

(veronica was a Fresh Air kid. a program where inner city kids get sent to the country for the summer. she came 3 summers in a row. a young black girl about my age from nyc. her first time in the country. we fought a lot. we taught her to swim. we had fun)

(and i don't remember the stewed-rooster-tire, because i remember ira popped the poop sack and that supposedly makes a bird inedible!)

(also we *did* have more than one cat!)

(mom, are you going senile?)

(haha i'm glad she doesn't read this. my ass would be grass)

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