“SQUAWKING GULPS—AS IF A SALT MARSH WERE GIVEN A VOICE”.

“SQUAWKING GULPS—AS IF A SALT MARSH WERE GIVEN A VOICE”. Our Christmas ritual is approaching, the one in which I read aloud Pearl Buck’s book CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE MORNING, and we see how far I can get before tearing up.

Sometime this summer I referred to my “tearing up” in response to a sentimental moment, and Annalisa said—fondly—that a better description was: “Squawking gulps—as if a salt marsh were given a voice”.

Annalisa doesn’t recall what she said, but I wrote it down to post on it on Christmas Eve.

It’s a good example of the wit that I am surrounded by.

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