|Callicoon thrift store cat. When I first saw this kitty, I thought it was stuffed.|
Greetings from Callicoon, New York. I don’t believe I actually shared much about my current trip. I was only planning to be gone two nights and two days. Now that I am here, I might stay longer. But still not sure. Evidently, Callicoon is a Native American word for wild turkeys of which there is a plethora here. (I have yet to see wild life beyond drinking rednecks, birds, and a chipmunk.)
I have never been this far west in New York before. Either Pennsylvania or Delaware is spittin’ distance away. I am not at all sure where the Catskills end and the Poconos begin.
It has been raining for hours. And it is mostly quiet save for some kind of squeaking bird or bug.
I have been with my friend, Iris, at whose summer home I am a guest, all day. We never run out of things to talk about. She has been coming up to this neck of the woods since she was 16, and that was quite a long while ago.
|Speaking of darned cute. She was a wild thing.|
Callicoon is darn cute. There is at least one good “stuff” store and some other interesting emporia of bath/kitchen/furniture et cetera et cetera. Plus, danged good pizza.
Iris came up with a description of someone: defensive narcissism. A concept worth contemplating. And possibly avoiding.