Late last night I called Agamemnon to wish him a happy birthday. But late is good, as he's 3 hours behind ye olde Nova Scotia time and really late to me is just late enough to him. Conversations with Agamemnon are always something of an event, as he doesn't really like the telephone & I'm always too distracted by stupid shit to be a conscientious communicator. I think that this is the first time in 2 months that we've spoken to one another, and even though not much has happened to me, he's basically been through hell & is just now emerging. This is, of course, another good explanation of why we haven't been in touch. As is the fact that he's feeling guilty about not sending me the pillow & boa I left behind in Edmonton.

When I brought up the question of the boa, he became wary & suddenly confessed that he had no idea where it was. I was -- well, shocked is a bad word, I haven't had the boa in my possession for months so I'm kinda used to it. Sad, though, I did feel sad. My white feather boa is/was a birthday gift from my grandmother and I wore it at my wedding. It's irreplaceable. Agamemnon decided to give his trunk one more search. On the way to the car, he shivered audibly.

- It's soo cold!

- Yeah, it was pretty cold here today. Though not as cold as there, I guess.

- We had 3 centimeters of snow today.

- Oh. I had to wear my jean jacket when I went outside.

- Right.

The root through the trunk commenced & uncovered:

• "a perfectly good" pair of socks
• a bow tie
• an ashtray with a picture of the Eiffel tower on it ("That Sally got especially for me because she knows how much I hate France.")
• brown leather belt

  and...

• my boa!

"It smells like you," he said. "And also like my trunk."

"So it smells the way I would if I lived in your trunk?" I asked.

And that, besides a wonderfully complementary conversation about the Boy's re-entry into higher education, was that. A good conversation.

It's a tie between...