Flock of Flamingos

I had a feeling that the Mayor allowing the Alderman to have his Nativity scene put up on City Hall would spark a conflagration of opinion. Put it in a park, for heaven's sake, not on the government's front porch! You know that he knew what would happen when he "donated" the darned thing to the city. Oh, let's make Green Bay a center of controversy during the holiday season. It's like he thinks there's not enough stress and depression floating around, he has to shove his religious beliefs down a few throats. Bah. On the good news front, Ann got home last night around 5:30. I'm always relieved when she pulls in; that 600 mile drive across country makes me a little nervous.

I'm glad you like my little donkey story. They do have a certain creepiness about them as they tiptoe on the margins of civilization. Today we have pretty pink birdies...

The scene had the air on an animated short. The flock of pink flamingos all facing the same direction and, necks stretched, wading away from the splashing of the school of bait fish on the surface behind them. Mona sat in the broiling sun staring at the birds, an imaginary soundtrack running through her head. "Why are we running? You know why we're running? What are we running from?" The nasal honks, in no way synchronized, and the rigidity of their slender dark pink necks gave an air of panic to their movements. She was struck by the realization that the birds' knees bent backwards, that they worked more like elbows and she frowned trying to figure out why. It was easier to put all her energy into discovering the evolutionary reason behind the flamingos than to think about Jack and the dangerous game he and Manning were playing.

As I said last week, I'm going to skip writer's tonight. There's just too much that needs doing and not enough time to do it. I'll see you next Thursday. I'm looking forward to hearing your critique of my story bits. Merry Christmas! And I mean that in the most non-secular way possible.
--Barbara