Ipock-a-Lips – Crawfish in my backyard? I'd prefer lobster on my plate!
A few days ago I drove the car into the garage, and hub-Russ appeared out of nowhere, offering to help me bring in the groceries.
That could only mean one of two things: either he wanted a big favor – usually related to golf, or else he was starving.
However the word 'starving' has taken on a new meaning for us since our granddaughter was in a wedding; and I won't ever think of this word that I don't remember the admonishment she got.
A few years back, Madison, being the flower-girl, was walking side-by-side next to the ring bearer during the wedding rehearsal. Madison, about four at the time, looked over at Blaine – the same age, and proclaimed loudly, “I'm starving!”
Blaine wouldn't have any part of that.
He quickly corrected her, with a huge scowl, I might add. “You're not starving. Starving means you haven't eaten in four or five days. You're just hungry.”
I think we have a future writer on our hands, or as Russell said, a future politician in Blaine. But Madison was no fool – she'd already seen the huge tubs of snacks and beverages in the bridal room.
There was another reason Russell came out to my car – though he did help me unload the groceries eventually.
He said excitedly, “Come here.
“Did you see what was in the driveway?”
“What, a new car for me? Aw, honey, you shouldn't have,” I kiddingly said.
He got all serious and pointed to what I thought was a stick.
Though it didn't have wheels, the thing he showed me did move.
At first I froze.
What in the world?
I couldn't imagine.
The creature looked like a small lobster, maybe four inches long.
His body was quite fat and he had little pinchers at the end of his 'arms.'
He had a reddish-brown, shiny, junctured body and his tail ended in a sort of fan.
He was scary looking – almost prehistoric-like. Though Halloween wasn't for another week, he looked like a costumed Palmetto bug. Eeeeew.
Russell and I both stared at him for a long time until I ran and picked up my camera. I knew no one would believe me if I didn't take his picture, so I took about a dozen.
And when I got closer to snap the picture, he reared back on his legs and lifted his teeny-tiny pincher claws at me.
If he wasn't so dang ugly, he'd have been darling.
Here's the thing: my mind raced as I tried to figure out where he came from.
Did he have brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents?
Oh and what if he was a she?
Oh no. I might have a whole colony the next morning.
Yep, a colony of crawfish. I could hear the song in my mind from the “Wizard of Oz.”
'Oh-wee-oh, oh-weeeee-oh,” sung by the witches' marching guards as the crawfish colony marched into my yard, all rearing back at the same time, shaking their teeny-tiny claws at me.
Lest you wonder how I knew it was a crawfish, I'll tell you. I ran into my house and grabbed my laptop, Googling the description: small, lobster-like, reddish brown.
Guess what I found out. Not only was he a crawfish, but he was the rare kind, i.e., a delicacy in many Louisiana stews, a Red Swamp crawfish.
It turns out these bad boys do indeed live in eastern N.C. in muddy areas and near streams.
But here's where it gets weird: yes, we've traveled to Louisiana more than once, but the last trip has been over four years ago.
That was when Katie, our daughter, graduated from LSU with a master's in music, flute performance. No, you're not confused.
I've told you that she is now a nurse – she went back to school.
But back to Baton Rouge: surely we didn't bring the little spiny fella back in a suitcase. Nah.
That would be preposterous.
However, there have been times I'd love to bring back something in my suitcase after a trip.
Like, after that Royal Caribbean cruise. Russell and I both wanted to bring Hector home to serve our favorite meal of grilled lobster with drawn butter; plus Manuel to clean our cabin – ah, I mean bedroom, place little mints on our pillows at night and turn our towels into crawfish.
Wait a minute.
Did I say crawfish? While it's true the little creature left our driveway, I can't get him out of my mind.
Ann Ipock “Life is Short, I Wish I Was Taller” email@example.com www.annipock.com.쇓
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