Waving Not Drowning

Wind's coming up something fierce. She can't stand up without holding on to something, anything within her grasp. Just so happens it's Oliver. He's holding onto Winston, his tripod street dog from Thailand. Happy as can be, a permanent grin stretched across his flecked brown and white muzzle, bright pink nostrils flaring with every gust, his lone back leg swaying to stabilize his hips as he wiggles back and forth. Oh, I didn't- I'm sorry, I can barely stand up. This wind... S'ok. I'm used to balancing for two. He looks up at her, one eye closed, a permanent wink, corner of his mouth raised, hair windshield wiping across his brow. How can anyone look so calm and composed in the middle of hurricane? Winston seems to lean into it, like an arrow mid flight. She closes her grasp on his forearm tighter. Just so. It's picking up velocity now. The awning creaks and moans. She's sure it'll be Wizard of Oz time soon. There's no place ...

Oliver spends fourteen minutes of every lunch hour walking to and from the dollar store. He has it timed within a ten second measure, depending on traffic lights and unforeseen obstructions, such as wayward contruction cones and temporary fencing.  Sometimes Angie the crossing guard tries to engage him in meaningless conversation which irritates Oliver to no end. Please do not talk to me, I have a very strict timeline and cannot be distracted, thank you. This is Oliver's well worn mantra. At least twice a week, generally Tuesdays and Thursdays unless it is raining, Angie tries to engage him on his walk. Oliver is easily annoyed. He knows this because his parents remind him of it repeatedly, every morning over his breakfast of cheerios with a sliced banana, 6 raw almonds and 1% milk in the yellow bowl with a blue rim. If the banana is too ripe or not ripe enough, if there are 5 almonds or 7, Oliver becomes inconsolable. Nothing short of a full court press from both parents can calm ...