A Jerry Story

Once upon a time, there was a little white house on Adams Street, and in the backyard was a tall oak tree. And way at the top, at the tippy-tippy top of the tallest branch, there lived a little monkey whose name was Jerry. One day Jerry met two little girls who lived in the little white house. They became best friends, and they went everywhere together. But the little girls grew up and soon didn't have time to play with Jerry, and he was very sad.

A few years later, when the little girls had grown up but still lived in the little white house, three new friends came to stay with them as well. There were two girls and one boy, and they began to play with Jerry like the big girls before them. And Jerry was happy again.

But too soon, Jerry saw the little family putting things into boxes and carrying them out to a big truck. And then the family and the truck pulled away. He knew what was happening-his friends had left him forever. But Jerry loved them, and they loved Jerry-even the big girls he thought had forgotten about him. So Jerry followed their car to a little brick house and climbed up another tall tree in their backyard.

The two big girls and the two little girls and one little boy knew as much as Jerry did that they were a family, and they would stay with each other forever.

The End.

Mischief Managed

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

My childhood as I once knew it came to an end at midnight on July 15th with the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. It's a little odd to have nothing to wait for all of the sudden-no book releases, no movie premiers, I can no longer count down the days before I get the next freakishly heavy addition to the series in my abnormally small hands. It's like a good friend has died. A good, magical, British, Dark wizard-defeating friend.

I am going to miss Harry Potter so very very much. These books have been a part of my life since kindergarten, when The Management and I cracked open The Sorcerer's Stone for the first time. And I'll admit, on more than one occasion I was scared out of my wits while reading, but over the course of ten years Harry, Ron, Hermione and everyone at Hogwarts have taught me a lot about being a person.

I learned to be comfortable in my own skin

with Luna.

I learned to be brave with Neville.

Seamus taught me that pyromania is a valuable asset.

I learned loyalty from Sirius.

Ron taught me to be a goof.

For that matter, so did Fred and George.

Hagrid showed me how to care for others.

Hermione showed me how to kick butt.

Snape taught me how to love.

Harry taught me how to fly.

And Dumbledore taught me everything else.

From the Sorcerer's Stone to the Deathly Hallows, I have fought, learned, loved, and lived along with Harry. I know that whenever something is wrong I can turn to any page and find comfort. No matter what happens, "help is always given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it." Thanks, Jo Rowling, for teaching me and others to believe in magic.

You're The Only One Who...

Drags me kickin' and screamin' through fast dreams,

Knows exactly what I mean,

Goes antiquing with me,

and pretty much everything else.

I had the fabulous fortune to chill with my dear friend The Stubby One (well, she's not tall and she's not pale-so she has to be stubby) over the weekend. We have been friends for a very long time, but I still can't predict what we'll be doing when I head to her place (aka Home Of The Happy People). One day we'll be watching Steel Magnolias, the next we'll be making something closely resembling coleslaw. This particular day, we went antiquing and had a Cultural Experience.

During the antiquing portion of the afternoon, I learned that there is a used bookshop right next to my favorite seventies clothing store. Said bookshop seems quite small until you cross the threshold and realize that you are in a danker, claustrophobia-inducing Library of Congress on Steroids. Seriously-it never ended. The Stubby One and I actually found ourselves surrounded by stacks of books on multiple occasions. How we got in the middle of them, who knows-all I'm sure of is that it took awhile to work our way out.

Next stop was just across the street, to a real antique store. Like the antique stores of old, it was full of china and small collectibles, smelled of cat urine, and actually had quite a few animals running around. I think the group of ten year-old boys who were forced in by their mother counted six or eight cats. But no matter-what it was lacking in cleanliness it made up for in Cool Stuff.

Then we saw some pictures that took my breath away. The museum downtown is hosting a collection of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs from 1940 on, and we decided to take a look. Some were beautiful, others terrible, and all of them made you stop and think for at least a few seconds. How some people manage to capture the raw intensity of life so well, I may never know. I can only be eternally grateful to them for it.

So thank you, The Stubby One, for one wonderful day. And I probably forgot to tell you this (like that time when I forgot to tell you...) but I do love you very much. Thank you for being a friend.