We threw some organic . . .

. . . soil, rotting in the bin I had made for all things organic but had started to smell. Bad. Really bad. Over the fence into the bottom the hill behind the house. Three weeks later, we had a ladder that cascaded up toward the top of the hill, then disappeared into some small fog, that didn’t smell good either.

In fact, it smelled as if a dead opossum had stepped in some day-old horse manure, then keeled over a pressed duck, left behind by a band of gypsies. {why are Gypsies always come in bands? A band of what? Rubber bands, bandages?] Needs more work, here! 

I wish I could say that it was an easy JUMP up on the first rung, then magically being lifted to then top rung, but that was not the way it went at all. Not at all. Before I started up, I thought I needed supplies. Lunch. Water. Candy for whatever was waiting up at the top.

If there were a top. 

to be continued

What’s Your IGK?

Other people have bucket lists. I have an IGK.

I Gotta Know.

I have no desire to parachute into Machu Picchu, race gondolas, dig for jade in upper Mongolia, visit Fort Knox, or kiss Paul McCartney.

On the McCarney note, I did something better: kissed a sting ray in Grand Cayman. Legend says that nothing bad can happen to me for seven years because I sticky lipped the ray. Rayette, as it was a female. I doubt that would have happened I’d smooched McCartney. I’ll never know. No worries.

Which brings me to what I do want to know. Why planes don’t fly backward. How a thermos knows to keep soup hot, not cold. Why internal combustion can’t work with water instead of ooze from Cretaceous dinosaur and fern landfills.

Why wallpaper? If a goldfish is by itself in a bowl, does it get lonely? If you dig deep enough in the desert, will you find water?

I have many more on my list. I forgot where I put it, though.

What’s Your IGK?