Friday, Jul. 02, 2010
Dear Diary:

It appears that when I am scared half to death that I make sounds that sound remarkably as if I'm having a seizure of some sort.

Who knew?

The daughter was coming to visit last weekend so after supper Friday night I was out in the pantry doing some last minute picking up. I happened to glance to my right out through the screen door to our front step and there was a bear walking up the walkway to the house.

Not a cub. A bear. A good sized black bear.

Wait, let me say that again. THERE WAS A BEAR WALKING UP OUR WALKWAY TOWARDS ME AND THE ONLY THING BETWEEN IT AND ME WAS A FLIMSY SCREEN DOOR.

This would be the point where I started making seizure-like sounds.

The spousal unit raced into the pantry certain that I was having some sort of health crisis. I pointed him towards the walkway. At this point the bear was mere steps from the front porch stairs.

Certain that the spousal unit would slam shut the pantry door, I raced back into our kitchen, which joins to the screened in porch with a large glass door. The door was wide open. All the bear needed to do to get into our kitchen was muscle through a frail French door on his left. That is, if he couldn't be bothered to march straight ahead through an equally frail screen door into our pantry.

I slammed the main kitchen door shut and locked it.

Because, you know, bears understand the intricacy of locks. Shut up. It could be true.

Then I raced back into the pantry to find that the spousal unit had NOT slammed shut the front door, but was instead standing in the pantry with my camera raised and pointed at the bear. The bear that was now on our front porch looking through the flimsy screen door directly at him.

Apparently is it more important to get a picture of a marauding bear than it is to, oh, I don't know, live another day.

Here's the kicker: the spousal unit was so overwhelmed by fear and adrenaline that he could not push the shutter button. I let out a scream of terror and frustration which startled the bear. It jumped off the porch and ran away across the front of our house.

Our cat Enid ran after it. I am sure that in her little feline mind she is certain that she drove off the bear. Bless her little heart.

With my heart racing about 10,000 beats per minute, I slammed the pantry door shut and locked it proving yet again that I am nothing if not consistent.

We were both very shaky for a good ten minutes. And then, over my protestations, the spousal unit had to go outside to see where the bear had gone. Because, you know, why NOT tempt fate twice?

The man drives me mental.

Thanks to Eeny, who was standing on guard, the spousal unit was able to see where the bear had blundered through my hosta and off into the woods. So far we haven't seen it since and I'll be just as glad if we never see it again.

A while back we had a moose visit our yard. I was so excited that when I went to take pictures they were all wonky: part of the moose's head would be cut off on one shot, I would only get the back half of it in another shot, legs cut off in yet another picture in the end I got only one usable picture.

The spousal unit has had a great time giving me the gears about the goofy moose pictures.

Well, as they say, what goes around comes around. The moose photography teasing has now officially ended. I might have teased him once or twice about the quality of his imaginary bear pictures. The pictures he didn't get.

Almost makes the bear visitation worthwhile.

Almost.

--Marn

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She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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