My father, who is currently waiting with his pants rolled up to his knees in Bangkok, wrote that though he was distracted by the flood waters rolling their way, he was nevertheless sorry to hear about poor Merwin's destruction.

Dad, Merwin's not DEAD. Merwin lives, at least he did when we slipped him from his black box, the clever TIP TRAP. Merwin enjoyed his tasty peanut butter snack until he bolted like a flash into the underbrush by our favorite cemetery, the one where Martin once fled from a threatening buck and where a stained glass woman with strange eyes and foreboding mouth terrifies college students. THAT cemetery, the one to which I hiked with you and Mom one sunny Christmas afternoon when the house was heavy and somnolent with pumpkin pie and turkey smells. We stood in the crisp air among the stones on the hill, watching the red-roofed houses sleep off Christmas dinner. On the way back you trapped yourself on the banks of Purman Run creek, rolled up your pants, threw across your keys, wallet and phone, and proceeded to wade the icy, rushing waters.

Turns out that western Pennsylvania adventure was good practice for now, now that you are waiting for a flood that hopefully won't reach you. Why do you end up in floodwaters? Wasn't Mozambique enough for you? Perched on a roof, throwing children and women into helicopters, didn't you decide then, "This is a thrill but perhaps not one that I should repeat." ??? Is mouse-catching and disposal and the thrill therein not enough for your sense of excitement? Must you go to Thailand for MORE?

In all seriousness, we're glad you're there helping; we hope you do not see water coming your way; and not to worry, Merwin lives and you can now concentrate your energies on survival. I thought I'd put your mind to rest.

I remain
your faithful daughter

PS. The kids and I wish you were here eating apple cake and pumpkin cookies.