Last Wednesday or Tuesday we ate at Six Ft Under

Last week sometime someday Jami and I ate at Six Feet Under, a fish place on Memorial across from Oakland cemetery. Famous and rich Atlantans are buried here and many of them erected monuments, statues, mausoleums, markers, obelisks, and tablets to memorialize themselves and ensure that they would be near the heart of the city after they died. And here they are, right across the brick wall; and here we are, on a deck looking down on them. I'm drawing on matchbooks (the restaurant has wonderful blank matchbooks that you can personalize) and reading Kierkegaard and here Jami is making wisecracks and being incredible. From this deck you can see the capital dome. Sitting here with Jami I feel like Odysseus on the isle with Circe just before he goes to consult the dead about a way home and what chances the Braves might have this year. Of course with Jami I'm already home, so no libations for the dead from me. Tireaseas, though dead his mind intact, will have to wait another day to do his blood guzzling snake dance for some other poor wayfarer.
Tonight Jami beat me by 35 points in Scrabble. It might have been more but I came up with some good scores and closed the gap. If "vultra" or "vap" were words I'd be the one sitting atop the scrabble mountain, crowing and basking in the knowledge of my own personal wordsmithy excellence. To me though it takes more creative skill to invent words than to simply slavishly follow whatever merriam-webster might have included in some so-called unabridged accumulation of paleologisms. You won't find neologisms in websters; nor will you find portmanteau words or foreign expressions - surely the english language is more flexible enough to contain room for vap and vultura, and spearsy. Why isn't spearsy a word. Don't you think explorers might have found themselves in a cannibal situation where they might have said, "it's awfully spearsy here don't you think old fellow?"
I love her.