Thirty degrees in the Twin Cities, heading for a low of eighteen. I tromp up to the attic in search of a sailor hat. The gale-force cross ventilation howls in protest.
Towers of bankers boxes rise like standing stones. To walk between is to walk back in time. My red velvet Christmas dress, lovingly hand-smocked by Gram. Uncle Randall’s meticulous genealogy research. Home furnishings from my childhood doll house – shampoo cap stools, Lite-Brite kitchen utensils, a stationery box double bed. And pictures. Pyramids of pictures subjected to the hundred and forty degree temperature range of a Minnesota attic.
Miraculously, I locate a box of costumes. Xena, Poison Ivy, Jasmine, Venus de Milo. No sailor hat. I haul the box down anyhow, resolving (again) to clean the attic.
Rafa tolerates the bunny ears.
He would’ve preferred the sailor hat. After a brief inspection of the vessel (scanning for typos and grammatical faux paws), we’re ready to LAUNCH!
Won’t you join us?