Our exposure to Monty Python meant that, when we were 11 years old, Lucy and I could spend hours on the phone repeating the word "poisson" over and over again with different inflections. Seriously, hours.
(For the record, my dad didn't understand the hilarity of it at all, and emphatically did not appreciate having the phone line tied up every Saturday afternoon.)
"Je suis un poisson. Je suis magnifique, n'est ce pas?? Puis-je emprunter une gauloise?"It also meant that verbal exchanges like the following became part of the regular patter among Lucy, me, her parents and older siblings:
LMV (Low Masculine Voice): "Into the woods"
HFV (High Feminine Voice): "No! No!"
LMV: "Into the woods"
HFV: "No! No!... Anything but into the woods!"
LMV: "Anything... ?"
HFV: "The woods, the woods!"
This seemingly harmless exchange must have made a deep, lasting impression on my tender young psyche since, for most of my life, going 'into the woods' seemed a choice of last resort. Foreboding. Scary. Spooky...
Until recently.
Prompted by a visiting friend who said (and I quote) "Dude, why aren't you up in these woods every day?!?!", I have begun spending more time in our woods. Mostly with the dog, although occasionally a family member comes along.
(Here's The Girl and the demon Dog)And it turns out that these woods, the ones right in my backyard, are spectacular!
MISTY...
MOSSY...
and VERY, VERY WET...
Best of all, a journey into the woods requires no reservations and no admission fee. The dog is happy (many squirrels, real and imagined), I'm happy (fresh air and exercise), and the occasional vista is a great reminder to keep looking up and out to the horizon!
(Although I haven't yet seen un poisson - magnifique or otherwise...)
