lucky loogie lob


In 1970 I lived on Sibley Court with a platoon of kids.

We numbered about 50 for any outdoor activity that might be in season.  Tag or relays in the summer, and of course snowball fights in the winter.

I was a painfully shy and skinny kid, a slow runner and lousy thrower, but I always looked forward to joining the group and playing along.

On one of these occasions, after being struck on the upper right thigh with a mean snowball, I pulled off a soggy mitten to rub the spot that stung and stopped horrified to discover a gooey green loogie clinging to the slippery nylon surface of my snow pants.

My friends rubbed it off with snow before I stopped screaming, but that lucky loogie stuck to my soul in a gluey mixture of wild chance, belonging and acceptance.

How often does getting slimed in life turn into such a fond memory?

Author: Julie Ann Stevens

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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