A COOPER INTRODUCTION

Posted by GAYLE on March 18, 1998 at 10:52:26:

Slipping unexpectedly out of the forest, she quietly took a seat at the edge of the clearing from where she could observe the tribe gathered around the campfire. The tribe was engaged in the discussion of many subjects. The head brave appeared to be called by the name of Elaine, and after listening for a while, the newcomer made a subtle sign that she wished to respond to a question raised by several of the braves. The head brave turned toward the newcomer and acknowledged her presence. "Elaine is here. Who speaks to Elaine?"

After a suitable period of reflection, the newcomer replied, "I am known by many names. The first was given to me when I was about five years old and someone said, "Here comes that Little-Redheaded-Terror-From-Schenectady. Some years later, the Maryland tribes had occasion to dub me Little-Girl-Who-Always-Rides-a-Big Horse. That was shortly superseded by Little-Girl-Who-Always-Has-a-Cast-On-Her-Leg. After leaving the settlements of the east for the midwestern prairies, I sojourned for four changes of the seasons in the village of a tribe known as Classical Piano Degree Awarders. The Illinois tribes honered me with the name of Fumblefingers. I later gained a wide reputation for my marksmanship among the Seminoles as Crazy-Woman-Who-Shoots-Beer-Bottles-With-Hollowpoints.

Many winters had passed when I suddenly surfaced in Washington, working for the Federal Government. My brothers along the Potomac knew me as Woman-Who-Laughs-a-Lot. I finally wended my weary way (back) to Dallas. There have I been a dweller for two changes of the seasons, and all the time I looked at the growing and the dying trees, and yet I do not know why the fire ants get into the bedroom closet or the sinuses never drain.

Should I win favor before your counsel gathering, the tribes of Mohicanland will most assuredly see that the memory of my deeds does not disappear as the snow before the rains of Spring, and I will earn a new and spiffy sobriquet with which to startle the world.

Follow Ups:

• Re: A COOPER INTRODUCTION Rich, the REAL Head Brave! 12:00:24 3/18/98 (1)
  • Re: A COOPER INTRODUCTION Mohican Clan Mother 12:56:41 3/18/98 (0)
• Re: A COOPER INTRODUCTION Bill R 11:23:57 3/18/98 (1)
  • Re: A COOPER INTRODUCTION Gayle 13:28:36 3/18/98 (0)

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: Slipping unexpectedly out of the forest, she quietly took  a seat at the edge of the clearing from where she could observe the tribe gathered around the campfire.  The tribe was engaged in the discussion of many subjects.  The head brave appeared to be called by the name of Elaine, and after listening for a while, the newcomer made a subtle sign that she wished to respond to a question raised by several of the braves.  The head brave turned toward the newcomer and acknowledged her presence.  "Elaine is here.  Who speaks to Elaine?"

: After a suitable period of reflection, the newcomer replied,  "I am known by many names.  The first was given to me when I was about five years old and someone said, "Here comes that Little-Redheaded-Terror-From-Schenectady.  Some years later, the Maryland tribes had occasion to dub me Little-Girl-Who-Always-Rides-a-Big Horse.  That was shortly superseded by Little-Girl-Who-Always-Has-a-Cast-On-Her-Leg.  After leaving the settlements of the east for the midwestern prairies, I sojourned for four changes of the seasons in the village of a tribe known as Classical Piano Degree Awarders.  The Illinois tribes honered me with the name of Fumblefingers.  I later gained a wide reputation for my marksmanship among the Seminoles as Crazy-Woman-Who-Shoots-Beer-Bottles-With-Hollowpoints.

: Many winters had passed when I suddenly surfaced in Washington, working for the Federal Government.  My brothers along the Potomac knew me as Woman-Who-Laughs-a-Lot.  I finally wended my weary way (back) to Dallas.  There have I been a dweller for two changes of the seasons, and all the time I looked at the growing and the dying trees, and yet I do not know why the fire ants get into the bedroom closet or the sinuses never drain.

: Should I win favor before your counsel gathering, the tribes of Mohicanland will most assuredly see that the memory of my deeds does not disappear as the snow before the rains of Spring, and I will earn a new and spiffy sobriquet with which to startle the world.


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