We’re the ones with the caribou antlers.

These antlers don’t belong to me. They belong to Sam the Archaeologist. A double shovel.


She schlepped ’em outta northern AK in a small bush plane. I can’t tell that story properly. It’s not my story. Maybe someday Sam will. Or not. It’s up to her. The antlers have been with me since about the Jackson Road apartment. I like to get on my high horse about how “things” are not important to me. And mostly they aren’t. But I’ll never get rid of those antlers unless Sam decides she wants ’em back. Er, I also can’t get rid of about a gazillion stuffed aminals and puppets but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Anyway, Sam and jcb came over from a more central location in the state tonight. Mouse made yassa poulet and we drank two-buck chuck and generally yucked it up. Oh, and ol’ doc burns and I collaborated on a secret prodject. Er, doc did most of the work. I was a basket case this evening. Is this just about enough blather? Sayonara, Kayak Woman.

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