The Wormlips Scrapbook

Excerpts of letters from the Katie archive.

February 10, 1999

We have beekeeping yet again today. It is warm, which means that the bees will be in a good mood. They sing a happy song as they fly hither and yon.

I sang to Andy, most sweetly, ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.’ And he said ‘yeah, whatever.’

February 13, 1999

I’m getting my hair curled today, much like Wavy Gravy. I’m sick of my stupid ole face in the mirror. Do you think I can get it waved too? When I next write, just you see if my words don’t wave just a little bit.

Later…

When I was at the hairdresser’s an old lady farted really loudly and everyone pretended not to notice except the woman who was doing my hair. She turned and glowered at the farter, representative of all us fartees. It blew me off my chair and all my newly acquired curls fell to the ground.

Peter won his basketball game 18 to 2. He’s getting better, though he doesn’t have curls the way I do.

I’m going to bed, my mind is dead
Tomorrow I’ll write, in the cold morning light
In the meantime, just chill, you major dweebhead

February 16, 1999

I’m back, bold and beautiful. You better write me now ere I go to slumberland. A day spent with four energetic male chilluns ain’t my idea of a day spent in heaven. My brain is chafed. We et lots of groovy Sizzler food. The kids find it compelling that they can go back as many times as they want. This is, for them, the test of a truly fine restaurant.

March 11, 1999

We just returned from the banquet-burger where, as I suspected, we were treated to a delicately prepared ham in water sauce with boiled-past-recognition-taters. For dessert, an elegantly poised selection of delightful, throwup shaped cookies greeted us from a day-luuxe plastic tray. I only wish you had been with us.

May 20, 1999

Ned just vacuumed my feet, which, I think, shows a lot of devotion. He must feel I bear a resemblence to Our Lord’s son. He’s also quite anal and didn’t want me scattering around the grass clinging to the bottom of my feet.

June 6, 1999

I dropped my coffee mug into the opening of a port o’ potty toilet facility (Irish?). It went plop, and I knew it was a goner. Want it? I had been watching a little league game of Andy’s where he didn’t hit anything, and everybody was silent when he came to bat, but cheered uproariously for the next batter (who struck out). I feel like Anne Lammott at these things, thinking, would it be so much skin off God’s teeth for him to let Andy blast one? Is it God’s teeth or his nose, or his cake, or his cat, or what?

June 9, 1999

We just went to have the kids’ hair cut. Peter was unusually opposed to this. It turns out that he had named each of his hairs and didn’t want to lose any. When the barber first started snipping away, Peter said, “whoops, there goes Henry.”

June 16, 1999

Peter just wrestled me off the sofa, despite the fact that I was bearing down on him with all my weight, and hurled me into the trash can a la Greisinger. I am a swollen heap of bruises yet to be.

Your lack of basic intelligence worries the hell out of me. What if people judge the family on the basis of meeting with you?

I’m going to bed with my bruised portions elevated. Oh, what a world, what a world. My love for you knows no parameters. It blossoms like the spring. My sweet love holds you close, dear one. It can’t be long ’til we meet again. SSS SSSS SSSS SSSS (like precious pup), The Pale and Bruised Beauty

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Excerpts of letters from the Katie archive.

May 17, 1999

She was a good pig
a sweet pig
a gentle pig
but squeaked alot.

Oh no. Wrong species. It was Ginna the HUMAN who died of itsy bitsy brain injuries, warn’t it?

Last night in her Albany home, Ginna “Beanhead” Allison died with of itsy bitsy brain injuries sustained when she had earlier attacked a stud wall, thinking it was, in fact, a stud. She was known for her peaceful demeanor whilst driving amongst drivers not as competent as herself. She was the founder of The Golden Joy Club, a Wilmington philanthropic institution. Her sister, Kate the Magnificent (also known as The Pale Beauty), was quoted as saying, “She’s ruined our year, you know, but we’ll get over it.” Ginna helped sustain the Miss Saylors organization, which was linked to a Colombian cartel. President Clinton’s only comment regarding this supposed tragedy was, “Good riddance.” The SPCA described Ms. Allison as a “Chinchilla Hater” who also would torture her poor dog “Otis” by dressing him in ridiculous outfits for her own amusement. Their only comment upon hearing the news was, “Today is a day of rejoicing for all animals.” Rats were heard to laugh in labs across this country. “Her grandfather always liked her,” said her mother, “but he’s been dead for many years now.”

Even though all these elements may paint a somewhat dismal picture, she was also known as being kinda funny and sweet.

May 26, 1999

There is a dead possum outside. It was hit by a car and crawled up to the house to die. Tragicsville. Sam [the golden retriever] will undoubtedly take possession of the body, as soon as he locates it. Would YOU like a dead possum?

I won’t die unless my life ends. Then you can come with me, if you like. The company would be nice, but don’t feel pressured.

June 6, 1999

I sat on Granny and Granddad’s collective graves today. I left my pocket tool thingie there in case they needed to open a bottle of wine, or whittle, or something. Two guys sat about 15 feet away from me the whole time and watched me like I was gonna shoplift. What could I shoplift, I must ask?

I’m going to get a glass of vino. I hear tell alcohol preserves brain cells. You must be very bright.

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Letters from the Katie archive.

March 10, 1999

Your chinchilla can’t possibly have more personality than moi. I’m also very cute, with delicate front paws.

May 11, 1999

We have 10 duck’s eggs sitting in a makeshift incubator (a “Brandywine Construction” insulated cooler lined with one of your t-shirts and with a 20-watt bulb dangling inside). A big, fat brown duck had been sitting on them for about a week, but we scared her away unwittingly (by holding up a picture of your face). They make their nests on the ground, you see. Would you like a baby duck, if they hatch?

I have to go homeschool. My brain is leaking knowledge hither and yon.

June 4, 1999

From GA: I didn’t get to sleep till late last night because I was packing for my feis trip, and when I finally got into bed and almost to sleep, I heard a faint rustling from somewhere in the corner. Rustle rustle, stop. Rustle rustle flurry, stop. Oh man: it’s a mouse, I figured. Every time I moved, the noise stopped. So I sat up still in bed with my policeman’s flashlight at the ready. A rustle. A beam of light scanning the room, left to right and QUICK back to left again. Half an hour later I found the culprit. It was a moth, Kates. Thank God I had the courage to face it.

From Kate: I am so proud that you faced a moth and lived to tell the tale. It could have been a death’s head moth, which would have been utterly terrifying. If I were you (and there is some question as to whether I am), I’d wire the perimeter of your house for explosives. The potential value of your domain as a rental property is severly reduced if you don’t do something, ANYTHING…..

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