Grandfather had bronchitis and sipped whiskey from a flask, talking about how in the fine, early years of his marriage he and his wife (this was in the late thirties) would jump in their car and drive all the way to Chicago in less than three days just to eat in a bona-fide French restaurant. At a crossroads he permitted the frantic dogs to jump out and chase a coyote–in a lifetime of chasing coyotes they had never caught one except pups in the den.
I used to keep up with Jim Harrison (especially remember A Good Day to Die), but hadn’t thought of him in years until I recently read The Woman Lit by Fireflies (which reminded me of how I admire and like his writing). Dalva was on my Reading List in the 1980s but somehow I never got around to reading it; making up for lost time now.
Below is another couple of Teaser sentences from Dalva (I know . . . I know . . . that is two too many according to the “Teaser Tuesday” rules . . .)
It was today–rather yesterday I think–that he told me it was important not to accept life as a brutal approximation. I said people don’t talk like that in this neighborhood.