Posts and posts ago I referred to a bucket full of tiny frogs. It was taken from my childhood memories of frog-collecting adventures . . . . adventures that I relived this weekend with my young cousins. Seven-year-old Clare was my main accomplice, actually, I think I was her accomplice. We caught more than 50, because they are really small. We recreated an entire frog world in that bucket. By 'frog world' I mean we put a rock, sand and some water in it. They seemed to like it though, judging by their huddling . . . which is probably what frogs do when they are happy, or in a small space.

Clare also instructed me in spontaneous, mixed-media artwork, how to somersault off of armchairs, and how to tie shoes by yourself.

10-year-old David tromped around the woods with me . . . we saw a fieldmouse, were swarmed by flying ants and saw a giant wasp which was at least 2 inches long. We also drank dirty dish water and ate blueberries off the floor . . . . because we're cool like that.

I had a pretty good visit with Dad on the car ride down and at his house with his dog. I didn't get to talk to my mom, aunt or oldest cousin a whole lot . . . . mostly because the squeaky 7 or 10 year-old gets the grease . . . . c'est la vie. Anyway, I'm coming back down on Labour Day weekend because that will probably the last bit of summer in the lifetime of my childhood home, since it is being sold.

Speaking of cars and times past, Roxanne picked me up semi-unexpectedly this morning while I was walking home from my 4am bus trip. It was just like the first time we met out of class. I couldn't tell it was her, but I knew it was. I never knew it felt so affirming to be missed. Who knew three and a half days could be so long?