Blades of Spunk

Summer, in all her pink dusky beauty, has finally arrived. In Seattle last week, I roller-bladed for the first time. Picture it: the afternoon sun fighting hard to reign supreme over the coastal clouds, the clean, radiant city spread out across the bay to my left, the smell of fried fish wafting over from the rickety restaurants to my right, and up ahead, my two littlest sisters, coasting along in perfect firm-bodied insouciance, their tight buns the focal point of my heart-thumping, arm-pumping effort to stay balanced. After what felt like hours of thirsty, sweaty, thigh-aching glory, my own (thankfully more padded) butt served as a graceless brake on the grassy slope, inches from where my other sister sat reading with Sparky perched on her shoulder. I gave her and the cockatoo a good laugh.