Our first game was last week. Tonight we play the team from a halfway house, whom we'll face twice this season. My teammates anticipate that we stand a chance at being competitive, given their experience with this team in the past. But the cigarette smoke may get a little thick, if our bench is downwind of theirs.
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My baby eagle is still in the nest, but has been testing its wings enough to flap and lift off an inch or two, in a hopping kind of thing. Another nest some of the watchers of this one follow had a baby die a couple of days ago.
Our neighborhood ducks were hanging out in my yard this morning. Maybe they like the tall grass. Last night I saw the male by himself again, as he had been when last I saw him, Sunday I think. I actually checked my basement to see if his mate had found her way down there.
(watercolor by koshaky)
One of the things in that box I went through this weekend was the visitor log---a wood-covered guest book---that my father's parents used between 1945 and 1950. People coming to see them would sign it, with the date, and maybe write a line or two about what they all had for supper, or how they enjoyed their stay. A few of the visitors who paid multiple visits had the last name "Bald Eagle."
Tucked between the pages, in addition to a snapshot of my dad, were two calling cards, or cards like you stick in a graduation announcement, from someone with a fancy French name and someone whose last name was "Dog Eagle." Or whose middle name was "Dog" and whose last name was "Eagle." A female, I took it from the first name, which I forget.