Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

A friend, after reading some of my recent entries in Musings, said that he didn't understand the entry documenting my shopping spree in a thrift store.

"I'd never seen you as a clothes horse," he said. He said he looked forward to when my writings would "return to their normal biting, sarcastic, witty, brilliant and ebullient form."

When I was in about third grade, my teacher wrote something on my report card that I've never forgotten. "Does not take constructive criticism well," she wrote. My response was: "Hey! What does she mean I don't take constructive criticism well?"

But in this case I had to smile. For one thing, it's difficult not to smile when you're being called "sarcastic, witty, brilliant and ebullient." For another, it was because I'm not surprised that some of my friends, reading through Musings, discover sides to me they didn't know existed. Unlike a daily diary (or "journal" -- I always thought the term "diary" was too girlie-girl), Musings doesn't document my day to day activities but rather, my thoughts.

This means that one day I might write about being a zombie, another day I might write about Saddam Hussein and the Backstreet Boys, and another day I might delve into the fascination with Michael Jackson. Some days might just be lists, such as 100 Things About Me, or perhaps a picture story, such as the May Day Project. But whether it's serious or funny, contemplative or abrupt, it's all "in character." It's all me. And even on the days when it might not seem so, it is a heck of a lot of fun.

I was walking my dog, Una, when we came across a potentially vicious dog walking on the same side of our street. He was a very large dog -- possibly some rare breed of gorilla dog -- and he was walking along in that nonchalant way that big dogs do.

Unfortunately, he also seemed the sort of dog that would decide, when you got close, that you were in his territory, even if the truth was that he was, himself, lost.

I didn't see any owner around; we were on our own.

I mentally kicked myself for not having my pepper spray with me. I'd stopped carrying it last year when I accidentally sprayed myself with it twice in the same day. But I resolved to put it back in my purse as soon as I returned home.

A long time ago I'd learned that the best way to deal with potentially vicious dogs was to walk slowly but definitively away from them. So Una and took a diagonal shortcut across a nearby lawn and, once out of sight, walked briskly until we had put a block or two between us.

Even Gorilla Boy was unlikely to decide we were still in his territory now.

Coming around the corner, I spied some papers on the ground. I picked them up. It appeared to be notes that somebody had made regarding talking to someone about a legal issue. It reminded me of the sorts of notes displayed at Found Magazine.

What fascinates me about it is not just the misspellings and omissions but the fact that these are three of seven pages. There are four more pages of this stuff.

Leon, it would seem, is yet one more reason to carry that pepper spray.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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