I don't care if Monday's blue, Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too. Thursday I don't care about you, it's Friday I'm in love. I love hearing that song on Friday. Yay for The Cure. It brings me back to the summer before eighth grade and a little trip to Michigan. At the time, my grandparents lived in the booming metropolis of Pentwater (or PentH2O for the hip), MI. The city was so expansive that it took my cousin and I a whole 15 minutes to walk to, through and back from the main drag. My mom, aunt, cousin and I took a trip there to hang with the grandparents and do chores for them. In maturing, I've come to appreciate time with family and other people with life experience immensely. At age 14, however, my cousin and I were less interested in hanging with our elders and more interested in hitting Pentwater’s one highlight, the beach. We brought some books, magazines, our boom box and our favorite cassette tapes (mostly singles) with us to the beach and laid out with the cooler sect of PentH2O. Ok, we laid out by ourselves, but still, we had fun, listening to choice tunes such as: Baby Got Back, anything En Vogue, Gold Diggin’ Girls and, of course, Friday I’m in Love. Ahhh, those were the simpler days. Well, that is until we both got fried to a crisp because we didn’t have any sunscreen. SPF is your friend! It’s Friday and I’m in love with and seeking a painless, golden tan. posted by me 10:53 AM . . .
Some tasks are perfectly suited to do solo: reading, riding a lawn mower, bathing, etc. However, other activities are just easier and more fun to engage in with more than one person: conversations, ping-pong, ballroom dancing, duck-duck-goose (or duck-duck-grey duck for you Minnesotans), bathing, etc. Take folding sheets, for example: much easier to do with two people. Growing up, it was my job to help mom fold sheets. While it was still in tumble dry, mom would pull a sheet out of the dryer, nice and warm and wrinkle free, and we would take opposite corners, shake, walk together and fold, over and over until the sheet was a neat, flat, 8.5x11 rectangle. Solo, however, my sheets wind up a seersucker-wrinkled amoeba-ish shape. Maybe that’s just one of those things moms do really well and takes years of experience. Speaking of moms, mine is flying in tonight for Easter. Along with her will be my older sister and my seven-year-old nephew, Colin. Colin is a pretty great kid, rather smart yet still moderately gullible. Gotta love making little kids think they’re getting dirt in their cheeseburger or toad spit in their pudding. Heh heh. Taking care of kids, yet another task much simpler with more than one person. My nephew has his mom and my mom. But he also has my aunt and uncle, my grandma and grandpa, our neighbors, his teachers, his best friend’s parents and me. Granted, not all of us can be around as much or as supportive as a mom and dad could, but from this experience and my own experience growing up, I’ve definitely come to believe that raising children is dependant on a community. Whether you’re a parent, a garbage man, studying up on the latest agricultural architecture or the lady who smokes a three packs a day outside of the gas station (yeah, that's bright); each of us has a chance to make a positive or negative effect in some child’s life. It’s kind of neat and really kind of scary all at the same time. I hope I can be a positive influence. Maybe I'll rewash my sheets and ask my mom and nephew to help me fold them. posted by me 10:35 AM . . .
I think we need to get a couple teenagers to answer our phones for us at work. They actually like doing that sort of thing. posted by me 2:12 PM . . .
So, I was made to spend two hours last night listening to 13 grown men and women, old enough to be my parents and/or grandparents, discuss the meaning of one comma. Then we went to item number 3 on the agenda. Damn that comma. posted by me 10:05 AM . . .
Oddly enough, my favorite part of the commute to and from work is going through school crossing areas. It’s the one place on the road where people still slow down and take into account others around them (well, that and the morbidly amused who have to stare at accidents and back up traffic). Probably the only action some of these folks ever take involving today’s youth, and even then, not all participate, but at least they get penalized by the law. Any way, the point is how amazing it is to see a line of cars hit slow motion for a few city blocks and then speed back up. It’s like they’re driving through an invisible gelatinous barrier that prevents automobiles from streaming by, yet allows pedestrians free access. While we’re driving through a marsh, they’re walking on dry land. And then, whoosh! You break free and are once again allowed to go the speed limit (or slightly above) without an extreme gravitational pull forcing your foot on the brake pedal. It’s really rather fascinating, like our own little Phantom Toll Booth, without the cartoon-switch. Oh, but wouldn’t that be awesome! But, hey, at least we get to wave at crossing guards and little kids. posted by me 11:49 AM . . .
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Do you take this man… Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. I do. Patter. The sounds of this past weekend. Sacramento, CA. Rose garden wedding. Rain. No tent. It almost looked more like a funeral than a wedding, with all of the black umbrellas. And yet, it was perfect. The bride, groom and pastor huddled under one large black umbrella. Friends and family all clustered around and crowded in closely to hear every word spoken without a PA system, creating a roof of umbrellas under which to shelter from the ensuing rain. Two feet from the bride and groom I can see each tear fall and feel every tremble in their voices as they say their vows and hold each other tightly, fearing in those last seconds the other might change his/her mind. With a picture of such beauty in front of you, you forget the rain. The pitter-patter seems nothing more than the hearts of the lovers in front of you racing to keep up with one another until they finally become synchronized. And you know they will be, forever. God, I wish I were there. Fall I next saw you, like leaves how I fell for you. By the time that winter came, I was carrying a flame burning brighter child of God through April’s rain. How true. posted by me 1:01 PM . . .
