Unseemly

Ghost Dog.

The past two days have consisted of listening to the new R.E.M. album and remaining in active denial that, in two more days, the family atomic will be packing up and moving on down the line. Meanwhile, Stella is the star of her own show. The back porch is her stage...naturally.

I'm going to miss Athens. I'm going to miss The South in general, too. But I lean forward to those Iowa days and nights, and whatever they might bring. I lean forward to cornfields and brutal winters. Meandering rivers and twining trails in the woods. Last week I learned that Iowa gets its name from the Ioway Indians that were there before Whitey arrived with his smallpox, his guns, and his plan for world dominion.

The Ioway of yore were semi-nomadic subsistence farmers. They lived in teepees or oven-shaped houses covered with earth. In battle, they scalped their enemies. It is likely that they kept dogs around as semi-domesticated pets. If you don't believe these are the End Times, just ask an Ioway. According to the 2000 census, there were 1,451 pure-blooded Ioway left in the world. That's 1,451 out of 6,600,000,000.

I don't know about you, but the idea of pure blood is foreign to this Southern mutt. The idea of pure blood comes from a more ancient time, well before this modern one. Me imagining pure blood is like a seahorse trying to imagine what it must be like to run a marathon. Unseemly. And as I type this, Eleanor resists sleep. Can't say I blame her. This world is a wild-assed cirkus.