Mublety-peg

The pocketknife lands in the black Texas mud just beyond his foot. In this game called “split,” we take turns throwing a knife outside our friend’s position. He stretches a leg out to the knife, pulls it from the ground, then takes his throw. The first person to fall while stretching loses. This Yankee kid named Ed stretches out, loses his balance, then falls to the hoots and howls of my buddies. Keeping with tradition, I wipe my blade clean on his clothes. From New York, Ed talks funny—he calls our knife game “mumblety-peg”—but he has a nice Case pocketknife and turns out to be our high school’s best football player. After a while, we got used to his northern accent.

• • •

For Anthea Corinne Snyder Lowry

1932-2002

She was on the Marin County Grand Jury, heading to a meeting, south of Petaluma on the 101. The pickup ahead of her lost a grassmower off the back. She pulled onto the shoulder, and walked right out into the lane to take it off. That had always been her way. Struck by a speedy car, an instant death.