A window on Seymouria: a parable

For a long time, Mother thought her squirrel was a boy. After feeding thousands of peanuts to this cute little rodent with the big tail, she noticed one day through her cloudy dining room window that Seymour had big boobs. I was sitting there with my mother as she pointed out the obvious change in anatomy as Seymour stood with peanut in hands, ripping off the shell.

Yup, those looked like Emersons all right. That's a term I learned from Bill one day in Dallas as we watched a well-endowed young woman gallop around an arena at the Texas State Fairgrounds. It was hard to notice the horse. Finally, when I said something about those jugs bouncing up and down, Bill calmly responded, "That's Emerson."

I was wondering how he'd come to know who this girl was, so I said, "Whaddya mean, Emerson? Do you know her?" To which he showed no expression and simply said, "Emerson big ones."

Well, Seymour, the squirrel was developing some "big ones," and soon after, Mother learned why. One day, a trio of large tails led along by tiny bodies accompanied Seymour to the peanut feed. Now, Seymouria and her herd put on a show every day for Mother as she sits at her dining room table. And, as of yesterday, the peanut circus has two much-enhanced viewing spots.

The long-awaited windows for Mother's dining and living rooms arrived Friday with two friendly workers from Billings. Now there is a window saga to be told, but I'll limit it for today's posting. She was supposed to have new windows for squirrel-watching a month ago, when an installer brought them one Saturday morning, all by himself.

I arrived at the house that day just as he had removed the older window from the front room---in many pieces. That was okay, though, cuz it was headed for the trash anyway, but as Mother, Jim and I sat in the kitchen a few minutes later and heard the crash, followed by seeing the distraught young man with hands over his head trudging across the lawn shrieking, "Dammit, I BROKE the window," Mother's squirrel watching was in peril.

After some much-needed tender-loving counseling from us in hopes the man would not commit suicide right there in squirrel land, he came to his senses, drove to town and brought back a sheet of plywood to fill the big hole in the front room. He was about to install the other window in her dining room, when Mother looked at it and announced it was NOT the bay window she had ordered.

So, the poor man left. Squirrel watching was limited to the still-cloudy dining room window, and Mother's window saga went on for three weeks. She patiently waited as people told her what to do and others told her there were blizzards in Montana from whence the windows were coming. Nonetheless, she humored herself through this unsettling time, watching Seymouria's children grow and eat more peanuts.

This story has a happy ending. The windows are installed. They're beautiful. The view to the great outdoors surrounding Mother's Colburn house has been enhanced threefold, at least, just like the squirrel population.

And, so a blissful life will continue as each day during peanut feeding time, Mother Squirrel and Mother Tibbs commiserate about their children.