I'm sitting on the deck at my folks' house right now, soaking up some rare Washington sun. My lungs are happy to be filled with smogless air. The birds in the backyard are just as happy as I am, and their twittering is accompanied by the sound of wind rushing through the aspen. I'm in love.
I'm up here to speak at a women's conference that ended yesterday. I've spent half of my visit hunched over a computer preparing my talks, and the other half speaking to a few hundred women (on Friday evening and Saturday morning), and enjoying their lovely company.
When I haven't been speaking, or preparing to speak, I've been kissing flamingos. Naturally.
Yesterday morning I awoke before the sun to finish preparing my talk for the conference that day. About an hour into my prep, I walked sleepily upstairs to make breakfast and a cup of tea.
Sometime between scrambling a few eggs and boiling a pot of fresh water, my mom and I noticed something pink showing through the glass panel of the front door.
We cracked open the door, and there, pulled through and wrapped around the door handle, was a rather sorry-looking inflatable flamingo.
And then, just beyond the front walkway, we noticed two more flamingos, and a yard full of forks.
"This," my mom laughed, as she pulled the flamingo out of the door, "is the handiwork of G."
G is a friend from high school and college. He is the friend with whom I earned my only ever Saturday school. He's also had a habit, these last ten years, of leaving rather eccentric lawn ornaments on our front lawn. If you've read my blog for long, then you've met my very favorite lawn ornaments, Mr. Duck, and Skunkie, comforter of the sick and world traveler extraordinaire.
Well I'm in town, and G knows it because we were hoping to go for a spin on his motorcycle this weekend. He also has my parents' new address.
Enter: awakening to a very tired-looking flock of flamingos.
I laughed with delight upon the discovery of our brightly-feathered friends, and walked outside, only to find one more flamingo lying in a bush on the far side of the lawn, splayed with obvious exhaustion from the long flight to Vancouver.
I felt he deserved a kiss.
As for the forks, well, there must have been hundreds of them. I'm not sure how and why a flock of flamingoes happened across so many forks. Perhaps they had grand plans to help us throw a large Cinco de Mayo feast. Or maybe they robbed a catering company, and landed on our lawn for sanctuary. Or maybe there is a state-wide flamingo war and cutlery are the weapons of choice.
Whatever the case, we will be holding a fork sale today at three, for any who are interested.
I searched the lawn for clues revealing why and how these flamingos-bearing-forks came to rest in my folks' yard. This is what I found:
'B' as in 'Boy [you went to high school with]'? Or 'Booty [from our catering company heist]'? Or 'Bullets [for our fork guns]'?
I also found a flower.
Meaning...we come in peace? Or, we are sorry for the loss of your clean, tidy front yard? Or we hope you'll let us stay awhile?
I decided to get to the bottom of it, so I texted G to see if he was behind it all. And this is what he texted back:
"I'm afraid it's a copycat criminal using my calling card. A good old fashioned frame up."
So it wasn't G...which means we have a 'Who done it?' mystery on our hands, folks.
Whoever the culprits are, I like 'em.
© by scj