118 A lady’s roomy purse

“Well, heck!” Ross Valley’s old near neighbor couldn’t see any reason for not trying things out.
“I’ve got your test equipment right here, I mean my wife does. Hon?” He winked, because he and baby Drew and the other baby knew he meant the real thing.
She sensed the call, and walked over immediately.
“You’ve got a little something for the bazooka, don’t you?” he explained.
The roomy purse made of forgiving leather – a souvenir of the Anzio beachhead 1944 – contained gum, lipstick, cell phone, two live rockets, and crumpled deposit receipts from Wells Fargo.
“Little Andrew – that’s a fine name, son, Andrew – look a little to the left and down just a little, too. Between the big white eucalyptus and that green, green stand of redwoods all together. Now if the sound is what I think it is, on its way up, we ought to see one of those fancy M bimmers in just a moment. So this is how you load the thing . . . and this is how you aim, and here’s the trigger . . . Nope, son, it’s not the same as these newfangled Stingers . . . so – there you go, steady on your shoulder – sight in . . . Soon as you see the nose, lead it a little, like you see out at Memorial Park when the kids are playing football.”
The BMW, notorious for tailgating on the narrow slope, vanished in a cloud of glass and metal bits and smoke, devoid of Froggy’s charm upon departure.
But everyone on Ross Valley’s lawn and around the pool laughed with glee, as if Froggy was the exemplar.
“Basic Marin Wipeout,” chuckled the old neighbor. His wife enjoyed his quips, it was evident from a becoming blush.
“These old timers are undaunted! Age doesn’t erode their personalities! No Botox, just good sense and tenacity about the big picture and they’re as welcome as they ever were! I love them!” _____ _____ had a concept that was about to evolve into a scenario. Visual and with feeling. Synopsis to come later. She could see the humanity of it, and the uncomplicated gentle humor.
Everyone else saw a dust cloud rise: one more nuisance off the road. The Little Leaguers especially and their little friends jumped for joy. It was the Fourth of July exhibition always denied them by safe and sane town laws against fireworks.
The only thing higher and better than the Ross Valley aerie was Mt. Tamalpais, Nature herself, and above the peak was cackling, like God’s though a ninja’s: “Awh awh awh awh awh! Awh awh awh awh awh!” In a hearbeat The Strollin’ Bluegrass Band struck up “An Uncloudy Day.”

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