Kage Baker kept her tonsils until she was 31 years old.
It wasn’t her idea. She just never got tonsillitis much as a kid. So, although Kimberly and I had ours out in a job lot at 11 and 10, Kage went on happily into adulthood with never a fear.
Of course, when her tonsils decided to go south in her 31st year, she was profusely unhappy. Not very loudly, though: her throat was too sore … and a diet of ice cream is not as soothing at 31 as it is at 11. Kage mostly went for chocolate egg creams with a dash of rum …
This is on my mind because, while I am blessedly free of the curse of tonsils, I have a sore throat. It showed up yestreday and is getting worse. Having had all too much evidence presented to me lately that I am not the immune system Wonder Woman I used to be, I am casting paranoid glares down my own throat (in a mirror. My eyes are not on stalks.) and have sworn that if I still feel like I’m wearing ice picks in my ears tomorrow, I’m heading for the doctor. I don’t need to host stray Steptococcus strains.
In the meantime, I am curling up and sipping hot drinks, hacking dolorously. But the Aussie story is not over! I have selected a brief cast of about 20 Anangu and a half dozen adult Operatives. Plus various neophytes of both groups, coming to terms with one another more or less under the radar of their elders. All children have a universal knowledge of how to become invisible and evade the observation of their grown-ups: this, I have decided, is a trait firmly fixed in Homo sapiens.
And besides: the Preserver kids would have candy. And the Anangu kids would have dogs.
A match made in somebody or other’s heaven …