My Way

OK, so I do own a few elks of different forms and materials, but there are not that many of them. Not so many as you would expect from someone whose every 17^th word is “elk” (moose, Elch, los). There is a small gathering of them in my office, where they keep company with a bronze Ganesha. And there is a larger group on one of the cupboards, and yes, they do have names, but I have forgotten most of them (I do remember Moishe but not the source of his name).

It is of course because I am a sucker for the Real Thing that I do not amass plush, big-antlered, big-muzzled, funny or drunk looking, erm, representations of a non-existent reality. No, me I go to the zoos to see the animal itself. (Of course I did try Sweden, but it is a well-known fact that they don’t have elks there, just souvenirs.) At such occasions my husband loves to come with me, he also has a special role: he is a photographer to Her Majesty Madam Elk-Observer. Let me tell you: he does his job very well.

But where was I? […] representations of a non-existent reality […] Oh yes. So, all I ever want is the REAL ELK. A beautiful animal, by the way. Still: I did sin two days ago, one could even say: in a typical way. At a place called Elkline.

(What?!? Oh, not much. Two T-shirts, actually. Very lovely, yes.)