Balsa Bones

When Herself was a sophomore in college, she had a single dorm room.  Her only roommate was the ancient goldfish, Mr. Fish, who resided in a rectangular tank on her desk.  He would blow bubbles at the corners of the tank, making a loud *POP* on occasion. He was annoying, but companionable.

The room was a small space, comfortable and quiet. The ceiling was an odd waffle-pattern design, resembling the square spaces into which one would pour syrup or watch butter melt.  The room had the basics - desk, bed, dresser, wardrobe - and a very nice window shelf which allowed in the afternoon sunlight. It appealed to her sense of minimalism.

During the time she lived in that room, Herself collected and built a set of balsa wood dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures.  If classes (or people) were tricky, or loneliness crept nearby, or her heart ached for one of the many inexpressible reasons as it does when one is young and not yet fully formed, she would walk up campus to the main street and bring home another model to assemble. The scent, color, and texture of the bare wood of the models were very soothing. She lined the windowsill with the models. She even hung the pterodactyl from a string in one of the waffle-squares of the ceiling. It was good.

Today while out at the small hardware store with Beloved Husband (who thoroughly enjoys an opportunity to get the weekly freebies with purchase at said store), Herself looked through the balsa wood models. They really are pleasing. Perhaps, if she can find just the right windowsill in which to put them, she'll make a few again.