Someone asked about the hawks. Yes, they are still hanging out in our neighborhood. This morning one was sitting out in the crapple tree tearing away at what was probably a smaller bird. They aren't congregating in the tree as much as they did at first, but their presence is felt. Their constant "kwee" cuts through the air as they call out to each other all day long.

Last night, I heard a burst of laughter coming from the bedroom and opened the door to find Alan reading, of all things, a poetry book. He reads poetry all the time before he goes to bed, but never with laughter. Before letting me read what he was holding, he ran to get an old anthology to show me probably the most well known of William Stafford's poems. Here's the two poems, the second of which made me laugh very hard, too.

Travelling Through the Dark
By William Stafford

Travelling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason-
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside the mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all -my only swerving-
then pushed her over the edge into the river.


Traveling through the Yard
(for William Stafford)
by Rae Armantrout

It was lying near my back porch
in the gaudy light of morning--
a dove corpse, oddly featherless,
alive with flies.
I stopped,
dustpan in hand, and heard
them purr over their feast.
To leave that there would make some stink!
So thinking hard for all of us,
I scooped it up, heaved it
across the marriage counselor's fence.

Just emerging from a busy week.

I found out Monday that the headaches I'd been having since June were migraines not sinus heaches like I thought they were. The neurologist I'd been sent to see said that sinus headaches were relatively rare and they shared a lot of symptoms with migraines. I'd been under the impression that migraines left you wearing sunglasses and hidden away from other people after working for someone with chronic migraines for a few years. I guess they're different for everyone, and I'm thinking that "migraine" is another one of those catch-all terms doctors use for things they don't completely understand. After one abortive try at pain relief, we found a prescription that worked and the rest of the week has been much, much better.

Our celebration of Alan's 30th b-day was nice but low-key since he had to teach his last fiction class for the Loft that night and his last poetry class the next. We managed a quick dinner together and I snuck a cake past Alan to share with his class. With last minute advice from Richard, I bought him a good bottle of bourbon, and Alan enjoyed of glass of it before going to bed that night (after a quick internet search for "branch water.")

I spent Thursday at our local amusement park, Valleyfair, with four great teenage girls from our transitional housing program and another staffperson to celebrate the girls almost perfect attendance for last year. We were only there from 10 am - 3 pm, but I was exhausted by the end of the day. We spent the morning on the scary rides and the afternoon on some of the water rides. I got to try their new ride, Steel Venom, which was a blast - right to the edge of too intense but not over it, and finally rode an older, but previously unridden by me due to the lack of adventuresome friends, roller coaster, Wild Thing. Originally, I had been assigned to accompany some 6 and 7 year old boys (we'd already had a few discussions about the height requirements and how great the little kids rides were and how the big kids weren't allowed on them), but the numbers attending changed, allowing me to hit the big kid rides. After the mind blowing Steel Venom, our first ride, I was very glad we'd found a prescription that worked for the heaches. I did get pretty nauseated on a ride I've ridden many times before without problems. A friend said that she can't ride the scary rides anymore because she gets sick, and it seems to be something that happens as you get older. I've heard this from some other people, too, and am praying that it isn't happening to me. My dad always enjoyed riding the scary rides with us when we were little and I'm hoping to keep going for a long time, too. I have noticed that my acrophobia has gotten a little worse, as my mom's has as she's gotten older, but so far, I've been able to keep it from stopping me from enjoying anything.

Finally, congratulations to Barth and Lisa who are finally home with the new addition to their family, Isaiah!

REPORT FROM THE 1ST ANNUAL BURT MEMORIAL ROAD TRIP

We just got back last night from the Polonia Jam and our visit with Mark and Martha. Friday night, we visited the infamous Keg in Stevens Point and sampled its wonderful microbrews. Alan lost his deep fried cheese curds virginity and we got to see the stage where Mark and Martha perform their wonderful music on a regular basis.

Saturday, we arrived in Polonia around noon laden with accoustic and electric guitars. We spent part of the afternoon dodging rain, but enjoying Point beer and great accoustic music, highlights including Keg Salad and a beautiful rendition of Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee." As evening rolled in, the music changed to electrical and things began to rock a bit more. Highlights of the night time were, Mad Melancholy Monkey Mind complete with Mark, fingers and hair flying, going to town on the guitar, and the revolving Band of Bobs with their famous rendition of "Can't You See?".

After take down, we moseyed back to the campsite, where I collasped while the others ventured further down the road to Jimmy and Sally's place for good food and musical company. In the morning, Jimmy and Sally fed us a wonderful breakfast and we headed back to Stevens Point after breaking camp.

Back Chez Martha and Mark, we were treated to a private, accoustic performance of Mark's sci-fi inspired Captain Future. (I can't wait to hear the electric version!) As we sat in one of the Point coffeeshops having a last coffee before hitting the road, about half of the people who passed by the window were other musicians from the jam.

So, the Polonia Jam is highly recommended, especially since it's free. In fact, even without the music, the Jam was worth the trip just for all the great stories the musicians told. And of course, there's always Mark and Martha, who are also worth the trip. Also recommended is the upcoming M4 CD since, with the new band members, Mad Melancholy Monkey Mind is really onto something. If you want to visit the Jam, just remember to bring something to sit on or you'll end up with some very sore feet like I did.

ABOUT OUR CAMP AND POLONIA

In addition to excellent Polonia Jam, Polonia is home to a thriving Polish Catholic Church. Some of the buildings remain from the time when Felician nuns arrived in the community from Poland. The grounds are surrounded by a wonderful rock wall made up of small round stones that another website said was built by the orphan boys that lived there.

Just down from the church is the Depot Bar which hosted the Jam and right across the street is Sylvia's Bar. Next to Sylvia's is the Cafe. With a couple more buildings, this is the extent of Polonia's downtown. I didn't enter any of these places but I would like to try the Cafe next time.

Our camp was on a rarely used property just up the hill from the church. The large clearing had an abandoned white house at the end near the driveway entrance. It was so dilapidated that none of us ventured inside. After a brief peak, Martha and I walked to the other end of the clearing where a tarp hung over a picnic table. We turned when we heard a large crash to find Alan and Mark coming towards us a ways away from the house. The crash came from inside the house and no one had touched anything, so we don't know what caused it. Some things are better left alone and this house was one of them. We took a picture of the house and I'll share it once I figure out how to post photos here. Another thing better left alone was the outhouse which was listing to one side and sagging into the ground.

We decided to set up our tents under the tarp because it looked rain, which ended up being smart because both came through the later heavy downpours completely dry. The picnic table and tarp, and soon our tents, were covered with jostling, mating and fighting grasshoppers. Martha noticed that many of them were missing a hind leg. I guess being a grasshopper is harder than I ever would have imagined, if I had thought about it, but then insects in general have it pretty rough. We made it through the night with only one grasshopper in the tent with us. I don't think Mark and Martha were so lucky. Alan and I enjoyed our first time camping together and a brief respite from mosquitos. Martha thought it had been too dry for mosquitos this year but I like to think they really don't have any. We've all got to have our dreams of paradise.

A few days ago, Alan told me that he'd come home to find four hawks all sitting in the crabapple tree in front of our front door. They were all staring at the house and didn't really move when Alan came up the steps and passed under the tree to get to the door. One of the cats was sitting in the window watching the hawks. He said that when he had to leave later, he was a little afraid that he'd come home to find the window screen torn and one of the cats missing. Most of my experience has been with red-tailed hawks, and I usually saw them alone except when they were nesting. We've gotten to watch a pair nest and raise young a few times from the deck of my parent's cabin in the woods in Wisconsin. Obviously they had found a food source in the area or they wouldn't be hanging out like that. We speculated that Mr. Bun-Bun, with his normally free run of the yard except for one short scare by visiting Benny the dog, and his freewheeling days were probably numbered. I think they like the crapple tree because it has these wide sweeping branches, good for sitting on, and sparse leaves, good for keeping a watch out for prey. Every summer the its bark peels off and most of the leaves turn brown and fall off, but still every spring it gives us an abundance of blossoms.

I got to see three of the hawks the next day when they decided to hang out in the crapple tree again. One had the remains of a bird that it was eating and guarding from the others. Of the remaining two, one kept trying to grab a bite of the carcass and the other sat up higher in the tree ignoring the others and watching the rest of the neighborhood. Through a phone call to my mom at the cabin with her bird book, we determined they were probably broad winged hawks. The book informed us that they do flock (How many birds constitutes a flock?), they are about full grown at about 13 inches long (smaller than most other local hawks) and they dine on small rodents, reptiles, amphibians and insects. Mr. Bun-Bun was was probably safe although I couldn't rule out a possible gang action against him/her. I was now more worried about Mr. Toad who hangs out on our stairs leading to the front door and whose toad cave is in the garden terraces under the shade of the crapple. I decided to make friends. Despite Alan's shushings, I started talking to the hawks from the window. Occassionally, they'd look at me, but mostly just ignored me. (Hey, ever since Burt passed, I need someone to talk to while I'm gardening. Usually Mr. Toad and Mr. Bun-Bun keep me company, but I'm always open to new friends. The cats are housebound and do too much complaining back to me from the window to be good garden companions.) The hawks only flew away, not very far away, when we pointed them out to the pizza delivery guy and he looked at them as he handed over our pizza. He was suitably impressed.

Sunday, one of the hawks was investigating our little brushpile/compost pile on the other side of the house when I drove off. I don't think I've ever seen hawks spend so much time on the ground. Later that day, our questions about Mr. Bun-Bun were laid to rest when Alan saw a confrontation between one of the hawks and the rabbit. While the other three stayed in the tree, one of them tried to drive Mr. Bun-Bun out from under the crapple, kind of flying at him squawking like crows do to hawks to get them to move on to new territory. Mr. Bun-Bun was a little freaked out since he probably can't differentiate between rabbit-eating hawks and those who can't handle rabbit. The hawk obviously doesn't know a vegetarian when it sees one. While Mr. Bun-Bun ventured out, there was an unsurprising lack of other birds in the area all weekend.

From the picture on the Raptor Center site, they seem to be juveniles since their chest bands are vertical instead of horzontal. I'm hoping that means that they haven't perfected the hunting of small amphibians, yet. I've been down on my knees peering into Mr. Toad's cave a couple times but haven't made contact so far. I fear the worst. So, while we're enjoying their presence immensely, as long as they're hanging out in our yard, I won't be filling any of the bird feeders. Why make things too easy for them?

Congratulations to Lyda Morehouse and her partner, Shawn, on the safe arrival of Mason Gale Morehouse Rounds!

Happy Birthday, Chris! (I didn't have internet access yesterday, so I'm not really late.)

I found my appointment/address book last night, so I can call people instead of just posting greetings here. I'm going to make Alan copy all the entries into his book this weekend, so we'll never be without phone numbers again.

We had a very nice visit from Jeanne and Brett yesterday on their way across the country to Seattle. Benny the Dog was along, and it was great to have a dog in the house, even if it was only overnight. At dinner, everyone but me had walleye, which is supposed to be very good where we're at, and we all had a wonderful discussion about writing, St. Paul, Vermont and more writing. It was a treat to hear Brett say, "Flannery O'Connor" again and to meet Jeanne.

Happy Birthday, Gwenda!

Avast ye scurvy dogs! Johnny Depp and accursed pirates, does it get any better than this? Okay, I'm an easy sell when it comes to swashbuckling, but, I ask you, what story isn't better with a good swordfight? And what a hoot to see cadaverous Gareth from The Office with a tan. Last week, we had zombies, and although the story told was nothing new, it seemed to be new all over again. But, John Shirley speaks much better on that subject.

Alan has the featured story this month at One Story. An excerpt of this wonderful story, "The Child Assassin," is up on the website. I read about the magazine when it first debuted a year ago and meant to subscribe to it. It's only available by subscription, so I guess we'll all have to do it now.

Okay, I've decided there've been enough downer posts. I'm looking to start some serious writing as well as some serious landscaping this weekend and that requires good music. I'm looking for suggestions. What have you been listening to that's floating your boat? I'm looking to expand my musical horiozns. Lately, all of my new music has been gifts from Alan. I've been buying books instead of CDs.

It's after 1 a.m. and I'm still wide awake. I have a million things running aorund in my head at once. I'm sure some of it is about the dog and some of it is other things. I came into work this morning and learned one of our current shelter guests shot and killed another former shelter guest yesterday afternoon during a fight. It it was a fight over a woman, who has also stayed with us, and domestic violence. One of the staff called it a love triangle, which sounds so trite. A couple people had serious concerns over safety in the building since he was still at large but most of us weren't as concerned. A police car was positioned right outside the shelter during the time when they opened the shelter last night. I missed it all because of the vet appointment, but the police car would have been enough to allow me to continue like normal. It was extremely unlikely that he'd come back for his belongings anyways. One of the discussions I had today got me thinking. I was trying to explain why I thought some of the concerns were over-reactions and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I've been there nine years. Fights happen in the shelter occassionally, but they are between shelter guests and very rare. The few I witnessed were broken up by other guys as soon as I approached whoever was fighting yelling at them to stop. Everyone knows the penalty for violence or weapons in the shelter is a long time out, usually two years or more. It seems to work as well as our policy of treating everyone with respect and expecting the same in return. People tend to live up to those expectations. Those that fail are usually under the influence of some chemical or unable to because of mental illness. The only time I've ever felt unsafe was several years ago when I was working the door. When I opened it to let someone in, I noticed a couple arguing on the sidewalk a few yards from the door. The next time I opened the door, he was hitting her, so I called out and said we were calling the police and that she should come into the shelter. He must of let her come into the building, because the next thing I remember is standing in the doorway, blocking him from entering. He was over six feet tall and under the influence of crack. He pushed one of our volunteers when he got between the two of us, in some misguided attempt to protect me. I gave way to him at one point when he came in looking for his girlfriend as someone else arrived at the door. I didn't stop talking to him, though, and was able to talk him back outside again. He sat outside the door crying and I stayed talking to him while we waited for the police. I don't think he ever considered hurting me. Another time, we had a drive by shooting happen right in front of the shelter just as we were opening. A car with two young men had stalled across the street and another car drove by and shot both men. The driver of the second car looked at all of the people lined up outside the shelter as the shooting happened. I guess what I was thinking is that my experience has been that most of the threat to our safety has come from outside the building. It used to be a much tougher neighborhood. It's really quiet now and seems to have changed for the better, but it's still much more likely that any danger would be from someone getting into the building that doesn't belong there. It's a big old maze of a building and there's so many places to hide. The way I see it, what happened yesterday should certainly make people be a little more careful when they let people in, but we should always be careful. If we're at risk for this guy who just shot someone sneaking into the building, we're at risk from anyone sneaking in. It probably didn't help my case at all when I said that we've had lots of people staying with us who've killed other people. To be honest, I don't know if "lots" is correct. We have had lots of people with felonies but nowadays it seems like a miracle if someone who is homelessness has made it through drug addiction and poverty without a felony. Of course, the inequities of our criminal justice system and drug laws are a whole 'nother subject.

Okay, we are facing cancer. Poor Burt (the dog) does have a tumor in his bladder. It seems to be in a good place (as far as that goes) for a bladder tumor. The ultrasound guy was amazed that Burt is 14 years old. After checking all the assorted other organs in that region and finding them the proper size and shape, he looked at me and said, "If he were my dog, even at 14 years old, I'd do the surgery. He's in excellent shape otherwise." Our vet just looked kind of uncomfortable because she knows how expensive having surgery at the University of MInnesota can be. The ultrasound doctor went on to tell us that with surgery and chemo, which isn't hard on dogs at all, he could live a long time. He knew a shepherd mix that lived until 20 when they finally had to put him to sleep because of arthritis in his spine. Except for that, he was in great shape, too. So, that left me with going home to discuss whether to proceed with Alan. The next step would be a chest x-ray and then setting something up with the University. I'd told myself that if they found tumor, that would be it. Now, the decision doesn't seem so clear cut again. I decided to have them do the x-ray, it was only another $30, and if there's cancer in other places, the decision will be easy. Poor thing. We've been so hard on him when he hasn't made it to the front door, mostly out of frustration, and here he has a one inch by two inch thing growing inside him and blocking the way.

I decided to post despite the fact that I'm a little hazy (and maybe slaphappy, too) from working late and my allergy medication. I've been feeling guilty because it seems like having people linking to your blog obligates you to post on a regular basis. Well, I haven't died. I've just been down with first a little post Wiscon cold (the ones who spread their love around know who they are) and then a sinus infection.

Probably more energy consuming than the colds has been our leaky dog, Burt. Burt is an old dog. The vet guessed that he was about three or four when I adopted him from the Minneapolis Animal Control Shelter where I was a volunteer. I've had him over eleven years now, and for a big dog, about 110 pounds, he's a very old man. He's been showing some small symptoms of problems since last fall when one of his liver enzymes was elevated. Because I've lost a couple of 10 and 12 year old dogs to cancer, every time we've brought him into the vet, I've been waiting to hear them say he has it. Alan and I think that part of the reason he's lived so long is we switched him to natural dog food around five years ago. (Gotta look out for butylated hydroxytoluene (BHT). If you want to read something really disturbing, look at this .) Since fall, he's been tested for everything from Crohn's to thyroid disease and they haven't found anything. A couple weeks before Wiscon, he started having occasional accidents, especially when he was excited (like when he greeted poor Susan at the door and splashed her feet.) Medication seemed to have it under control but it got really bad the morning we were leaving for Madison. By then it was too late to make other arrangements. Our pet sitter (4 Paws in St. Paul) is a saint and we came home to find that she'd propped up our living room area rug trying to let it dry. The rug is now hanging over our deck and it's not coming back into the house. Does carpet make good mulch? I called the vet to go over the options again and really the only option left was to have an ultrasound or try the very expensive University of Minnesota. We tried the medication again to buy us some time while we decided what to do and it didn't do any good. We also tried diapers and ended up water proofing as much of the house as we could. I finally rigged up a customized doggy diaper that has limited our clean up a bit. All of this would be moot if he wasn't so healthy in every other way. He had a limp from fall to winter after we did an overly ambitious hike in one of the state parks. All of a sudden the limp and stiffness are gone. He isn't running into walls blind. He's always been a little neurotic (he is a rottweiler/shepherd/mutt mix after all) but he really hasn't gotten any worse over the years. So our choices are expensive or putting him to sleep. I know a lot of people would do it at this point, the accidents being enough of a reason. Believe me, if they'd said tumor or cancer, he might already be gone now, but they haven't. So, tomorrow we go in for an ultrasound. God knows what we're going to do if it doesn't find anything. It could still be something curable and that's what we're hoping for. He's had an x-ray so we know it isn't anything large, yet. Oh well, I guess that I feel like after he's been with me through a couple hard break-ups and two houses and an apartment (for a long time he was my only roommate), I'm not ready to let go. The cats and Alan aren't either. For a neutered male, he has been a very good dog to our three cats, and he has helped me wean and socialize six different feral kittens over the years. I just don't want to turn into one of those ladies that keeps a dog alive so much longer than she should out of sentimentality. Usually they have poodles, though, don't they?

My dad e-mailed this to me. It looked liked it had been forwarded a million times already. But, in honor of all the teasing I got about my accent at Wiscon this past weekend, I thought I'd post it. I'll post more on Wiscon later as I'm still assimilating the wonderful experience.

<Idza HOOT, donchano.

Ven Two Minnesootins Meet Oop Nort On Da Lake Fichen!

"Haydair."
"Lobuddy"
"Benearlong?"
"Coplhours."
"Crieps, cetchenenny?"
"Yepgoddafew"
"Vairdaybittn?"
"Oberdair"
"Kindarday?"
"Valleye ennordern."
"Ennysizetooum?"
"Cuplapowns."
"Oofda, bittenard?"
"Ya nohowdeyar."
"Vahchaoozin? Dalindyrik?"
"Ohyeahdonchano."
"Fichen ondaboddum?"
"Rydoopneardaboddum."
"Howdeeperya?"
"Bouttvenyfeet."
"Oh, Vachadrinkin?"
"Hadacouplabeers."
"Velligoddago."
"Tubad."
"Seeyaround."
"Yeahtakideeze."
"Guluk."
"Yoobetcha."

IF YOU WERE ABLE TO READ THIS YOU ARE A TRUE MINNESOOTIN>>

Now that it's safely away at the printer's, I can announce that available next week from the Ratbastards is:

Rabid Transit: A Mischief of Rats

Wally's Porn Victoria Elizabeth Garcia
The Headline Trick Douglas Lain
Braiding David J. Hoffman-Dachelet
joanierules.bloggermax.com Nick Mamatas
Gramercy Park Haddayr Copley-Woods

Like Chris, I think this year's chapbook stomps all over last year's. We are very happy to have Haddayr's debut story. You should recognize the other writers as new talents within the field.

We will be releasing the chapbook at Wiscon at a party on Friday night that we are hosting with authors Robert Freeman Wexler and Jim Munroe who both have new books. Barth is taking requests for dance music right now. Three of the new Ratbastards will be present as well.

Someone forwarded this funny, yet scary article to me and I had to share it. And here I was thinking Minnesota politics were screwed up...

Homeland Security Department Used to Track Texas Democrats

On Friday, I had a wrestling match with a vine. It threw me against our picket fence with such speed and force that I now have a big purple lump on my arm. All I really wanted was to cut it down a bit so we could restain the fence. Afterwards, it would have had our blessing to grow and multiply. I backed down for the time being because we were heading up to my parents' cabin in Wisconsin for my and my brother's birthdays.

Saturday, my birthday, I spent a good amount of time standing in rubber boots in the lake helping my dad put in the dock. Alan had on hip boots and my dad had full length waders, so I got the good deal, except that every time we found we needed something else, I was the one who had to run up to the cabin basement to get it. Climbing up and down the hill in those too big boots was really good for my rear end, though. Except for the dead squirrel, in good shape considering, floating in the water next to me for a good part of an hour, it was a lovely, warm day. I'm not sure where he went after that, although we did see a baby northern pike hanging out nearby. I get my accident-prone genetics from both my parents, but mostly my dad. We were working for a bare five minutes when my dad sliced his thumb. I think Alan realized then, comparing this with his own experience with me, that a Livdahl project isn't really started until blood is let. Dad was going to wait to put the dock in until my brother made it up, but when the afternoon rolled around and he still hadn't appeared, he gave in and let us help him. I'm shaking my head as I type this thinking, "Did he really think that Steve was that much better than the two of us? Sure, we're science fiction writers, and a little out of shape, but really, we are two people and I'm pretty handy." I believe that we will now be considered as able helpers for the annual dock removal. I'm not sure we set a good precedent, but my pride has been assuaged.

So, if I haven't been updating this, I must've been too busy writing, right? Wrong! I have been busy, though. Here's a little of what I've been doing: soaking paper, shredding pulp, dying pulp, dipping paper, making bookmarks, showing Alan what happens when you put a peep in the microwave, buying a wedding gown, finding new uses for the postal service's bat stamps, replacing fence posts, fixing a dripping faucet, fixing a leaking stop valve, setting up a VPN, watching Farscape and Stargate re-runs, buying and having fun using a reciprocating saw, listening to poetry, watching basketball, watching a little hockey, and reading, reading, reading. Most of it is too boring to talk about, but I did come face to face with my darkest fears while choosing a wedding dress. I'll write about that later.

Wolves! Yay! [yawn] Goodnight.

This little Onion gem has been circulating through our agency causing chuckles today: Soup-Kitchen Volunteers Hate College-Application-Padding Brat. I hope it isn't just funny in the same way parts of Grosse Pointe Blank were funny to the three of us who were in counseling training together but to no one else in the theatre. That's not to say that the audience didn't laugh during the movie, but that we were laughing (loudly and hysterically) when the rest of the audience was silent.

The subjective use of dictionaries, or conversation while changing the sheets last night:

"... and then we have this cache (kash) of socks hidden at the bottom of the bed."
"It's cachet (kashay)."
"No, it's cache (kash). Cachet (kashay) is different. Like when you say that something has a certain cachet."
"No, it's pronounced kashay. Like in computers, clearing out the cache (kashay)."
"No, it's cache (kash). Here, I'll get the dictionary."
Pause. "See. Cachet pronounced kashay."
"Look up cache."
"See. Kash."
"No, that can't be right. Let me get your dictionary."
"I thought it wasn't a 'real' dictionary."
"Just let me look it up."
Pause. "No." Sound of dictionary shutting. "I hear people pronouncing it kashay all the time. Let me check online."
Pause. "You were right. I guess a lot of people pronounce it the wrong way."