Dear Newtina,
Last night we supped on Picnic Supper. On some days the natives here eat the evening meal outside in the grass instead of at the tables inside. The point of this exercise I have yet to ascertain. The order of this (holiday like) meal went something like this: First there were hamburgers. Then….
…Ice cream sandwiches!
Ice cream sandwiches
Ice cream saaandwitches…
Ice cream sandwiches!
Of course all this ice cream is perfectly justifiable considering all of the days activities.
There were some excellent volleyball saves…
Nail-biting games of soccer (with plenty of World Cup speculation in the banter)
There was Gaga, (a curious game in which the players try to hit their opponents feet with a ball that they pelt with their hands, while avoiding having their own feet and legs hit. The effect is a movement not unlike what they call dancing but with considerably more squawking and frantic flight.)
And much cuddling of the new barn kitten, Pushtet. Takes it right out of you. This activity I shrewdly devised to observe from a distance. I’m sure she’s a perfectly decent kitten but I fear I smell too similarly to, er, her nourriture…
Hope all is pleasant where you are. More to come.
Your Friend,
Newtbert
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