SOS Gab & Eti 1.7

Eti wants me to thank the anonymous Maine donor that sent the box of pocket
microscopes and rilem tubes. She won’t let me get off without telling you to
pack them better next time. So please, go heavy on the foam peanuts in
future. She said she could use the crushed glitter with Elmer’s glue to make
ornaments but is not quite sure what to do with the metal tubes. You should
also think twice about using so much electrical tape for wrapping.

Jan Olaafson, their postal carrier of 23 years, made a real stink about
throwing the box over the front yard fence without even stopping his jeep.
Jan wants to know if you have all fingers and eyeballs intact. We told him
your intentions are in the right place. He seemed skeptical. So, if you can
drop us a short message to let us know you are still alive it will help put
the local jitters to rest.

The pocket microscopes are coming in real handy as swizzle sticks. More about
that later.

Gab and Eti have been sticking the rilem tubes on the side of the Port-O-San,
but don’t seem to understand the instructions. Do you have anything not
written in Urdu? Were these possibly maybe just by chance bought on discount,
like, off the back of a dump truck?

The rilem tubes hold water real good against the blue fiberglass but they
keep falling off. Gab has been experimenting with polyester resin and
5-minute epoxy. Does anyone have any other ideas? Please send more when you
have the leisure. An assortment of colors would be nice. They are planning to
start a sea monkey farm, as a part of their road tour, and could use a few
more tubes. They have also been collecting Christmas lights, so if you have
any laying around in the attic feel free to send them on over as well.

Which reminds me, I was sampling Eti’s squirrel brain tarts and asked her for
the recipe. The ecstasy and the madness. It may have been a side-effect of
her stove-top coffee. You need a spoon to get this stuff out of the cup. I
strongly suspect she boils it down with sorghum and curry. I’m not sure where
she learned to cook. Years back she had a lot of time to sit around and do
nothing but think and listen to Bob Dylan. Her baking proportions of lard to
flour have to be 1:1. Which can be kind of rough on her brother Gabriel, who
is no spring chicken. I swear if he ever unlatches his silver buckle his
stomach will drop from behind his belt and smother both his sneakers.
Disappearing feet like a spelunker in an avalanche of quicksand.

So, I was asking for the recipe while munching down the lardy tarts and
spooning out a gollup of caffeine, and Eti got all on about her neighbors
dropping like flies from mad squirrel disease. Sort of like that mad cow
stuff she heard about on CNN. So I never did get the recipe. They did taste
better than the smelt fritters.

You have to be cautious and delicate when saying good-bye to Eti. Her simple
kiss on the cheek resembles the last gasp of a bilge pump suffocating air out
of a cast iron hull. I think she picked the technique up from Madame
Blavatsky. Throw in a few brown quercus alba leaves, garlic and dog mints...
it truly becomes a multi-media extravaganza to avoid. If you feint to the
left and duck slightly she may miss. Good luck.

To be continued..... the local political beat.

Copyright 1997 Ken Follett
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