Image: I took this photo while walking along Sanderling’s Run yesterday morning (with my new dog, Stray Ponder). The light shining on Aedre Bowman’s gravestone looked amazing. Unfortunately, there was no photographer nearby.
It has been several months since I’ve received an update on Curly Dowd’s revolutionary electronic bra. He promises exciting news soon. “I look forward to the public’s support,” he says, not for the first time. Curly, it’s questionable whether any pun deserves life; you have already beaten the “support” pun to death.
Mayor Chibble says the law states that standing naked under Fletcher’s Falls is skinny dipping and has fined Monica Horn $20. Harmon Bodie, who was leading the Junior Geologists Club up the hollow, released this statement: “The innocence of six young boys oughta be worth more than two sawbucks, but the club has grown to thirteen members in two days. Don’t tell me folks ain’t interested in sedimentation.” Monica, who is visiting a cousin in Toledo “until this blows over,” said in a phone interview that, “you don’t realize just how small your hands are until you get caught naked under a waterfall, even in the dark.” Her husband wonders why the club was on a geology field trip at night. I’m wondering the same thing.
In reference to Monica’s bathing suit, Ada Sanderling estimates that the children saw only “six square inches and a string’s worth of additional exposure over what they’d get by driving past her house on a hot day.” None of the boys are old enough to drive, Aunt Ada.
Wilson Hahn says immodesty is not defined by how many square inches but by what square inches.
Postmaster Andrew Bollman says two people have reported finding frozen waffles in their mailboxes in the past week. Just a moment ago, Gertilia Mayberry told me she found one in her mailbox this morning. According to Mrs. Mayberry, who believes a cult is responsible, “It was still frozen, so it hadn’t been there long.” The incidents are under investigation and Bollman warns against “unfounded hysteria.” A frozen-waffle cult, Gertillia? Do they douse their victims in maple syrup and pelt them with blueberries? I’d talk to George Keene and Michael Freeman before I blamed it on a cult. It sounds like one of their pranks.
While cleaning out the shed for the first time in 23 years, Adelphie Dowd found a card in her late father’s toolbox, addressed to her but never delivered. Though it showed the usual patina of a card stored in a toolbox in a shed for 23 years, the inscription was as crisp as the day he wrote it: “I never told you but you are the world to me, truly. Love forever, Daddy.” In light of the revelation, Adelphie plans to buy him a headstone after all.
Ada Sanderling counted four sets of bare shoulders at church Sunday morning. She asks if it’s a house of worship or a nightclub.
Next month Allison Keene will travel to Cameroon to work on a Mercy Ship. Good luck and Godspeed, Allison. Please return with your head. Sycamore Shadows wouldn’t be the same without you, and you wouldn’t be the same without your head.