Feb. 20, 2013
BY SUE MISAO
It turns out I am not so good at ping pong, but the real concern in Carlton these days is what if a meteor falls on us? The ongoing debate is whether it’s better to have a meteor fall on you, or simply near you.
There are distinct disadvantages to either one, but if you’re lucky you could get rich selling pieces of one that falls near you. I mean, who owns a meteor? If it’s on your property, you do.
I don’t have a meteor yet but I do have some plain rocks and a dead olive tree for sale. Also, on occasion I own a random bobcat which you can have for a great price if your timing is right. So cute. I also have several spiders for sale, and some pieces of dirt. Also, the spiders are dead.
In other Carlton news, someone from Twisp seems to have sent me a letter, or an envelope at least, which was empty. So I just want to say if you recently sent me an envelope and you meant for something to be inside it, you failed. I tried to convince the post office lady that there was probably some large denomination paper money that fell out but she said since the envelope wasn’t sealed there was nothing she could do. So, whoever you are, please resend the cash, thank you. I won’t publish your P.O. Box number here and I’m too lazy to write you back, which was the other suggestion I got at the post office.
In even more other Carlton news, Presidents Day was celebrated not at all I think, although I could be wrong. We also missed Mardi Gras and for Lent we just gave up Lent.
May 29, 2013
BY SUE MISAO
It was kind of a cool, buggy, muggy, rainy, warmish week in Carlton, good for pulling weeds and burning old tree parts that somehow got separated from their original bodies. Trees are just giant weeds that escaped the lawn mower enough times to become unmowable. Every plant, from the tiniest blade of grass on up, seems to need some kind of human intervention. Maybe some evergreens are exempt. The plants you plant yourself need even more vigilance. I don’t know why “plant” has to be both the noun and the verb that explains what you do to the noun. Anyway, everybody likes plants but I don’t know if plants like us back. The things we do to them do not foster good will.
So I went to a gathering of the secret society of Susanhood, which I thought was going to be some sort of support group but people apparently don’t have a problem with it. No one has named their child Susan since the early 1970s, so we were all quite mature, ranging in age from 40 to 70. Also, Susans are loud. Maybe “mature” is the wrong word. Here’s the weird part: the very next day two other local Susans came to my house for reasons absolutely unrelated to their names. It’s all been a bit much.
They say summer is coming but they always say that around this time of year and after 40 to 70 years of life these things begin to get a little redundant. It’s a good thing a year is a year long, so annually occuring events like the imminent arrival of some random season don’t become overwhelming and relentless.
I think I saw the beach starting to appear down by the Carlton swim hole the other day. I like to glance at the river every once in a while because I don’t know why. Probably because it’s a distracting motion catching the corner of my eye as I drive by it on my way to wherever. It’s OK.
May 8, 2013
BY SUE MISAO
There’s a note on the Carlton Post Office door apologizing for the state of the flower garden. It’s true we have been spoiled by having such flowerful landscaping to tiptoe through on the path to our junk mail. According to the note, this will be solved as soon as the new gardener shows up. Meanwhile, enjoy knowing you are not the only one with overwhelming yard work piling up along with your junk mail.
Does the world truly need packrats? I’m asking for a friend. Because I seriously want to kill mine. I mean my friend does.
Meanwhile, this weekend the good people of Carlton were out enjoying the weather by getting all sweaty and dirty or sunburned. I don’t know what the bad people were doing. The creeks are rising and boy are they noisy. This is the time of year people have to talk really loud. You can’t shush a creek.
Also, Libby Creek had its second wildland fire of the season already, probably caused by a rogue spark that wasn’t satisfied being stuck in a confined space next to a bunch of boringly obedient fellow sparks. Some folks just don’t like to be controlled. Once again our trusty firefighters came to the rescue and fixed the problem. Here is a “where there’s smoke” picture during the fire’s early stages. If you’re my neighbor and this looks jarringly familiar, as if it was shot from your house when you weren’t home, well.