Annie Dillard, one of my favorite writers, has a book called Teaching a Stone to Talk where she writes an essay on what she imagines it must be like to live like a weasel. It's been a while since I read it, but the gist of it is that a weasel will attach itself to the neck of a bird of prey and never let go, even after it's been devoured by the bird. The jaw bone will remain intact, even well after the bird itself has deceased. Reckless, passionate abandon with no fear of death or consequence of living a life so vital, so tenacious, so necessarily violent. I'm probably killing the essay here, so I'd recommend finding it yourself.
But, I've been thinking about weasels lately. Thinking about where tenacity comes from. My friend Sky has Thyroid Cancer and has a tenacious grip on life that I've rarely seen - especially in people who DONT have a life threatening illness. I think Sky's gonna be okay. I think Sky lives like a weasel.
I had my parents here for Thanksgiving this year and we spent the week on a beautiful yacht owned by a dear friend of mine. We feasted with family down in Olympia on Turkey Day (I recommend Steelhead as an option) and retreated aboard the yacht the rest of the week. And just for good measure, we put in two days work on the sailboat formerly named Tin Tin. My parents could not have been more helpful in getting her ready for the winter, and more inside work. She's inspiring.
Maybe I'll call her the "Weasel" 'cause she's so reckklessly tenacious.
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Uncle Greg, My mommy thought about you a lot in Asheville over Thanksgiving. She says it's such a "you" town. I lived like a weasel, too, when I was born. Remember? I like that name. Can't wait to see you for Christmas!
Love, Everett
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