THE DUCK FEEDER

I have a terry cloth bag in the shape of a yellow duck. It was a Christmas gift from one of my “Duck” girlfriends, the group of women whom I’ve known for eighteen years and from where our moniker was formed. We met midway through our banking careers and continue to meet twice a year for lunch or dinner even though we no longer work together. We pick a nice summer day in July to have a long, leisurely lunch and catch up, and then again at Christmas time, where we give each other a duck themed gift. Choosing numbers from a bag we don’t know for whom we bought, or what we are about to receive. As the years went by, the gifts got more outrageous. I am notorious for giving the most uncreative gifts.

Last year I got the duck bag. It has two long drawstrings, and when it’s empty, it sorta hangs there like a towel. It lives behind the bathroom door, swinging back and forth when I close the door to take a shower. I was trying to figure out what to put in it to make it look duck friendly when I noticed the basket on my bathroom windowsill. It was overflowing with travel size soaps, shampoos, conditioners and hand creams, gifts my road comic traveling husband would bring back to me upon his return. Even I had added to the supply last year when I embarked on a combination five state book tour and visit to family.

I poured as many of the small plastic bottles into the mouth of my duck, until its belly was bulging and could not longer hold one more bite. I loaded the handful of remaining ones into my gym bag, where I used them until the supply ran dry and could ‘borrow’ some from the duck bag. Pregnant and proud, she hung there day after day for all to laugh at.

After a while we got into the habit of making sure she kept her robust figure.

“Time to feed the Duck!” he’d say as he unpacked after a weekend away.

“The Duck looks hungry!” I’d laugh as I enlisted one of my grandkids to feed her, stubby little fingers grabbing hold of a shampoo and shoving it in her mouth. I hope it’s a memory they keep in the back of their minds and bring out once in a while when I’m gone.

I noticed the Duck bag gotten quite slim over the winter since our traveling slows way down and we stay closer to home. Comedy gigs are within driving distance and motel stays are limited.

It’s also a sign that he’s ready to go back on the road. Armed with a notebook full of fresh jokes and stories, he packs his suitcase with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He loves the road and touring, but he loves our life together just as much. He hates having to choose, so I choose for him and give him my blessing.  We'll meet up somewhere midway between jokes and book signings, laughs and kisses overflowing like my yellow friend.


Besides, someone has to feed the Duck.