THE SPRAY BOTTLE OF MY MIND
Around 11 this morning I was working up in the loft while girlsitting for the grandies when from downstairs I heard a wsssh! wsssh! wsssh! sound that reminded me a lot of a spray bottle being sprayed all over the place, which, were it so, would mean whatever liquid all over the oak floor of the living room, the woodstove, the windows-- the sight in my minds eye was not a pleasant one, so I rushed over to the loft railing, ready to tell one of the Krew to stop spraying whatever hopefully merely water-based solution was in whatever the container was, but as usual when it comes to my mind’s eye vs. the Krew’s reality control, I was way off.
No surprise there actually, they're all a bit theatrical. I took a picture for those who might doubt such surreal tales of rural grandfatherhood in another land. Amidst the spray bottles of mere imagining I am slowly adapting to the big red bouncing ball of Groucho-masked surreality that is grandies growing.
After lunch, for a change of pace we all went up into the forest, maskless and without the big red ball, to clean the stream and then wade our way back home to build a house for the panda. All in a galactic day's work.