This is the Life That Is

Stranger Than Fiction

If You Build It, They Might Come

In our backyard, we have a small pond, approximately 8' x 10', man made, dug tediously into the rocky soil 5 years ago.   To my delight, we have an occasional bullfrog visit for days at a time.  We have nearly the same assortment of formerly 'feeder' goldfish that we bought to test the pond when it was first filled.  The pond has been a playground for ducklings that were hatched here in an incubator.

Last night, I walked out to the deck which overlooks the pond, carrying my dinner.  Thought I was hallucinating, but it sure LOOKED like a very large bird with long legs and neck was flying up thru the trees behind our yard.

This morning, at 7:15, as I lay half awake, heard the slightest little sound outside the opened 2nd floor window overlooking the pond.  Crept over to the window, and even without my contact lenses in, I could see a very large bird, sitting on the 'island' in the pond, made of a large flat rock resting on a milk crate.

I motioned silently to my husband to come and look,  because I doubted that anyone would believe me unless someone would vouch for my story.  I ran to get my camera, tiptoed downstairs and tried to get a shot of it out the downstairs window.  The wily bird, however, became air born as the shutter finally opened. 
This picture wasn't taken at our pond (duh) but it does look like the bird sitting on the island.  I checked a little while ago to see if there were any fish left...they didn't come up to eat, which NEVER happens.  The poor fish (including Herman, the 14" catfish from Illinois) were hovering as close to the bottom as possible, or inside the milk crate island support.  An hour later, the food remains on the top of the water.  These fish have obviously been severely traumatized...

The Fall and Rise of Azmodius, God of Fishes
Azmodius is a pacu, a South American peaceful (mostly) member of the piranha family, who came to live with us when (s)he was less than 2" long.  Though I was warned that pacu grew to great size, I thought I 'knew' that a fish's size was limited by its tank.

Azmodius grew from a 20 gallon, to a 30 gallon, to a 55 gallon tank, housed in the smallest room of our house, with my son.  We knew the 55 would have to go when he splashed water clear to the bed, a few feet away, when he was feeling frisky.   

As with the previous two tanks, a 110 gallon tank was procured, used, from someone who probably laughed with glee while holding our check and watching us back down the driveway.  THIS tank, however, was not undertaken lightly.  THIS tank was a life force in itself, much like its inhabitant. (on right: Az's chew bone)

After two years of getting by with partial water changes and filter cleanings, and facing the prospect of replacing the carpeting under the tank stand, it was determined that Azmodius needed a thorough tank-cleaning--and relocation.  Cleaning a 6' long tank that weighs probably 100# when EMPTY is not something you undertake lightly.

Azmodius USED to have a tank-mate, a plecostomes (ugly) bottom feeder that was only seen about once a month.  When the tank was drained (garden hose siphoned out the family room door) it became apparent that the pleco was long gone.  With 4" of water remaining in the tank, Az was wrapped in a pillowcase and wrestled into this 20" long plastic tub.  A naive thought of weighing him was quickly dismissed when I could barely even HOLD him.

Over the next 5 totally exhausting hours, the tank, gravel, filters, covers, et al were toted outside and cleaned, with my husband's help and navigational assistance.  By the time his home was restored,
poor old Az was looking a bit peaked...

He was placed into his tank, tho it was still a bit cooler than the tub water, but continued to look like the grim fisherman might be coming at any time...

Such was still the case at midnite, when I gave up and went to bed, wondering if the frequent question, "What are we going to DO about Azmodius?" wouldn't soon be easier to answer.

The next morning, I crept into the basement, sure I'd see a 19" long fish, floating on the top of the nice, clean water.  To my relief, and delight (I really do LIKE this fish) this phoenix of a fish was somehow upright and again folding in his tail to turn around in his tank...the LAST TANK WE WILL BUY for him (I hope he's listening...).

Another Fix for the Institution Junkie

Had a few extra minutes and my camera in my car the other day, so I stopped by the Spring Grove Hospital to look for an old favorite building.  This place is a very old psychiatric hospital, dating back to the end of the 1700's, tho none of the buildings go back that far.  This one is, of course, not open

seeing as it is filled to the gills with asbestos.  But this cornerstone, dating from pre-psychotropic medication days, is very haunting..

It is an immense building, with grates over the windows, and I could almost see and hear the poor unfortunates who likely had to live out their days with no relief from the visions and voices that brought them there.

Met the chaplain while I was there--we talked "shop" for a while.  The gulf between MI and MR is narrow in many places.

Had to take a picture of this cheery road sign when I finally found my way off the immense campus...somehow, I hope that no one has a mailing address on this street...

No, Not PINK Floyd

I can't believe there is a wireless connection here!  I mean, there is no plumbing, no showers (yet), no drinkable water that isn't bottled, no cell phone for miles (for me, anyway) but there is a wireless connection.

at 2 am i wouldn't have said it, but this is likely a worthwhile experience.  another one for the cumulative file.  it has rained several times already (since last nite) and is so cold that I can barely type (tho it says 73 on the computer) and i'm practically shivering as i type.

Met several nice people, interesting.  a guy who carves pipes out of already-dead deer antlers and just had a bit part in a colin farrel (sp?) movie.  a ceramicist who does installations in homes.  several locals.  the tent city is growing so fast that i can't find my own when i return to it.  a very unreal experience.  lotsa down time at this point cause things don't really start for another 2 hours.  hope the rain stops by then.

who have thunk that this kind of thing goes on all over, in many places?  they expect thousands of people here this weekend.  it is all "peace and love" but not in a way I can't believe.  wide age spread, everyone from the aging hippies to young folks with little kids to ex-military young guys.  food stands, converted school busses selling coffee and housing the propriators,  so many people that live a nomadic life--i wonder for how long?

well, i guess further pictures will have to wait, for some reason they won't upload now, and i want to save my battery for later, or tomorrow, or whenever.

signing off, live from Floyd, Virginia.  Brrrr. 

Greetings from Bend

...Oregon, that is.  Having now been awake for nearly 20 hours, I expect to be forgiven anything I may write that is grammatically or in any other way incorrect.

Here for the wedding of a step-nephew-by-marriage.  the wedding is a home-made affair, but it will be quite grand, none the less.  I thought that Chris and Amy's wedding last summer was amazing because of the many complicated layers of family involved, but that was NOTHING compared with this.

Gradually assembling at the home where the wedding will take place tomorrow evening were the groom's father and step-father,step grandfather and step grandmother, his mother's sister, stepbrother and stepsisters (from both parents sides) his grandfather and step-grandmother, and various cousins and step-cousins that I totally lost track of.  I think half of the people came just to see how all of these folks, some of whom do not speak to one another, will get along.

It is beautiful here--low humidity, "high desert" climate, not-too-distant mountains.  Within a quick walk of my husband's step-mother's home are bizarre sheep-goat things with up to 3 and 4 horns each, with some horns being incredibly...well...horney.  And huge.  They look as tho they were irradiated.  Behind our motel is a large pen with llama(s). 

And just for the heck of it I looked up and called the number of a guy I thought MIGHT be someone I knew briefly in 1971, who lived for a year in my Chicago neighborhood before returning to Portland, Oregon.  The internet said that he now lives in Bend, of all places.  He called back and actually remembered me.  We'll meet up on Sunday.  I will share with him a letter he wrote to me when we were both young and stupid.  Luckily, he apparently does NOT have the one I wrote to him.

Coming to grips with my impending significant birthday, which I'll celebrate in advance, mid-life crisis style, by camping out and volunteering at a 3 day music festival in Virginia next week.  Have I completely lost my mind?  Not yet, but there's still time. 

And luckily, we all have survived Mz. Smlph's  wisdom tooth extraction this morning!  Go, Mz. Smlph!

Now, I'm going to prepare to go to bed...

Back Home Again

...four days later than planned and not a moment too soon.  The cat box and the laundry had reached critical mass, and the plants were dying.

The trip home was uneventful, compared with recent life.  After a stop at Walmart for Tylenol, and 2 big $1 bars of Wal-Mart Belgium Milk Chocolate (get 'em while you can), we were on the road.  Larry talked and whistled and beeped to various songs (he has his preferences, we noticed) that Kat*ie and I played from our iPods.

After a coffee/rest stop an hour along, I broke off a piece of chocolate to eat later, apparently putting it on my lap (in the foil) with a map and my cell phone.

Two hours later, another rest stop beckoned (another McDonald's--sorry, but I like the coffee).  Removing the cell phone and map from my lap, I realized that the chocolate bar had melted all over the phone AND my lovely loud pink and red sun dress.  We sat in the car, cracking up at the ludicrousness of it all.   I think Ka*tie planned it all as a way of eliminating the dress that she was embarrassed to be seen with me in.

I sat in the car, LICKING my phone and sucking the chocolate out of the opening for the charger, until need won out over pride and I joined Kat*ie in the McDonald's. Taking the empty cup from the last stop with me, I strode purposefully  toward the rest room hoping that no one would notice the gobs of chocolate on the front of my dress.  Emboldened, I took the cup to the counter and asked for a refill.

Ka*tie and I met back in the car, and as I turned the car to head out of the parking lot, the yogurt cup of Muhlenbergia (tall, ornamental grass) sprouts in water, which Kat*ie had moved to the DASHBOARD, tipped and dumped all over me.  Refreshing.

So, after less than six hours on the road (including construction traffic around DC), Larry was returned to his big cage in the kitchen, and real life resumed.  Life is a Carnival (sometimes).  Larry liked that song.

P.S. The Washington Post has just started carrying the Su Doku puzzle!  Why do I always seem to be on the cutting edge?  First scooters, then gourds...and now...Su Doku.  I guess NPR gets some credit on this one...

Larry's Excellent Adventure Pt. 2

Today marks only a week since we took off from home--no--it must be two weeks--?

Larry finally got to fly, all the way to the Horace Somebody Airport in Chapel Hill!  What a neat little airport, with tiny airport charm.  And, just like where I work, it is continually threatened with closure.  Unlike where I work, there was no prom, no limos, just a $50/day KIA tiny little no-power-anything rental car.

Which is where a couple of people who have no reason to be as nice to us as they have been come in, AGAIN.  This time, in addition to the letting us stay in their home, while we talked with people about building a house, they let us borrow their character-abundant automobile.

And around about this time, Mz. Smlph informed me that she is having major dental work done via "Sedition Dentistry"in nearby Raleigh a few days after we had planned to return home.

And then our unexplainedly good friends offered to not only put her up, too, but to drive her to/from the dentist, since she is "not to be trusted", let alone drive, for 24 hours after the sedition.

Which is when I suddenly woke up and thought, wait a minute!  I should be doing this stuff!  After all, I AM Mz. Smlph' mama.

But MEANWHILE. Last Sunday we saw a poster for a theremin contest, to be held that night in campus town, at a place called "The Cave".  I will suffice by saying that it was without much doubt the weirdest way I have ever spent an evening.  Jason, the owner/founder of Thereminworld.com
was there, along with the emcee, an interesting man named "Hoppy", and a small coven of thereminists.  If you don't know what a theremin is, look it up, or be happy knowing that it is an electronic instrument that is played without physical contact and makes very strange, creepy noises.

I have chalked that experience up as one of those "this will become part of who I am" things.  I am so happy that we went, even if the place reeked of smoke.

Then there was the job interview that I arrived at frantic and sweaty, wearing pretty unprofessional clothes, with Larry in the back seat of the '85 Volvo...

And then the trip to Roc*ky Mou*nt, in the poor ol' Volvo, to join Mz. Smlph in her Habitat for Humanity effort.  Another character builder, when the wiper blade detatched itself in the driving rain and rode
back and forth for miles sideways on the windshield.  Arrived safe and sound, tho, and Larry got to meet Mz. Smlph's roommate,
TGRE.

The H for H experience was everything Ka*tie had said it would be, really nice father-figure southern guys AND the opportunity to learn how to hang vinyl siding.

I don't generally have premonitions, but I had a bad one about the car as I started it for the drive back to Raleigh and Chapel
The Triangle.  Windows down, not too hot, I turned around and noticed that Larry's feathers were being strongly ruffeled in the breeze.  Had also noticed that the windshield wipers, AND the radio, didn't work at all.

Pulled over at a "Kangaroo" Station (yup, that is really a place) in Nashville, NC, to roll up the windows, assess Larry's condition, and get a cup of coffee.  And that is when I became a blight upon our friends, if I wasn't already.  The Volvo wouldn't start (BUT the radio and windshield wipers did).  One of three kindly strangers assessed the situation quickly (starter burned out) but said it would take an electrical person to fix it.

Enter AAA and Hale's Towing.  The Volvo rode in style for over 70 miles, and I met a 37 year old one time farmer with 3 boys, the oldest of whom had just broken his collar bone in 3 places.  The driver had hardly slept for the past few days, staying up with his son, but maneuvered the gigantic flat-bed truck down narrow streets, backing it up between a fence and parked cars with inches to spare.        Larry went for his first tow-truck ride and then waited patiently for our beleagered
host to pick us up at the Volvo repair place in Durham.

Today dawned at 6 am, when Kat*ie (aka M.S.) and I drove to the land of no memories.

When I arrived 5 hours later at the dentist, to "fetch" her, poor Ka*tie was sitting, blank-faced and teetering, blood caked on her lips and teeth, on the dentist's chair.   6 hours later, I am re-re-repeating the story of what transpired in that place, as best as I can understand it.  It reminds me of when Kat*ie and A*my were little, and they wanted me to tell them over and OVER about something they had done...

I "carried" (NC speak) Mz. S home in her own car, after strapping her in, and called ahead for back-up from, you guessed it, one of the most gracious people I have ever met. He literally, almost, carried her down the steps of his home to a waiting bed.  A quart of blue jello later, the Tylenol PM has kicked in, she is happy, pain-free, and about to go back to sleep...

It's been a week.  I'm glad that I lived it.

My Barn Having Burned to the Ground, I Got to See Pittsburgh

I let down my guard.  I should have known better.  When you drive to Illinois from Maryland, routes 70 and 76 run together for miles.  I was driving along, serene, when I noticed a sign saying only "76", so I panicked and pulled over, consulted my maps, and determined that I was still on the combined road--and sure enough, a few miles later, there was a sign that said "70".

So here I am, telling someone on the phone that I am just outside of West Virginia, that all is well.  Next thing I know, I am STILL on the blessed Penn Turnpike (it must have been the book-on-tape, or some good music) and I KNOW that isn't right.  Sure, the last sign said "76", but, that's OK, right?

Pull out the Boy Scout compass, but I'm not sure that it works inside a largely metal car--north never seems the same way twice, and I didn't think at the time to get out.  Finally, sadly sure that yes, I've DONE IT AGAIN, I realize that this should be West Virginia, or even Ohio by now, so I get off at the next exit, and pull out the maps again.

Luckily I have a Speed Pass so I didn't have to pay for the next 3 tollbooths I drove in/out of.  Writing my anticipated recovery sequence of highways on a paper plate, I set off to make up lost ground.

Somehow, it doesn't LOOK as tho I am on an interstate, so I turn around and head the other way.  By now, I should know that whichever way I'm about to go, I should just go the OTHER way.  I'm so angry at myself for missing the place where 70 and 76 split--and for the SECOND time in the 5 years I've been driving this!  But this time, I've missed it by many, many (many!) miles. 

Searching for some way to accept and move on, I realize that 1) At least my son isn't with me.  Last time this happened, he was, and then there were two of us to berate me and 2) Well, I'll get to see Pittsburgh...

I'm too lazy to integrate the photos into the text, so I'm just going to post a boring bunch of road photos to the left.  As you might guess, I was looking for anything that might be redeeming.

Another high point...realizing that a stop at a rest area would be on the agenda soon, I saw one looming--"Next Rest Area 30 Miles".  OK, I think, I can wait 30 miles, it will give me a goal.  30 miles later, and needier this time, I see the sign--"Rest Area--Closed"  and then "Next Rest Area 100 Miles".  So, I figured I have less than half a tank of gas, and the last posted sign had diesel at $2.07, so I'll just pull off at the next exit that lists diesel.

The BP station whose ad is at the next exit turns out to be a couple of miles off the highway, which increases the odds of my getting lost again trying to return.  It also has diesel for $2.29/gallon, AND a sign that says NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS.  Back in the car, back to the highway.

I know this is boring, even to me, but it is cathartic.  Suffice it to say that I pulled into Bloomington only 14 1/2 hours after I left home--12 hours being the usual time.  There was an accident that cost me time when I finally got back to I 70 outside of West Virginia, but most of it was time spent making up for a stupid mistake.  Guess I haven't quite forgiven myself. 

A good night's sleep in a room full of open windows, waking up to a mourning dove (how to tell a mourning dove from an owl--hear it in the morning), no set agenda for the day, things to look forward to in the immediate and more distant future (and a few to dread).  I'll get over it.

How I Spent my Mothers' Day Weekend

Since it now stays light until after 8 PM, I feel almost obliged to be outside taking advantage of it.  It wasn't hard to do, today.

Went to the recycling center/landfill this morning, in Brand's car so crammed with stuff that we had to bungee more on top.  Once the bug to divest yourself of "stuff" hits, it is like one of those chemical reactions that self-perpetuates...

The man that checks your "dump-card" was gap toothed and looked like he was made for the part--except that this is the "dump" for the something like the 3rd wealthiest county in the nation.  Seems like they should have a guy in a uniform checking dump cards.  I'm very glad that they don't.

Seems his eyes are as bad as his teeth--as I walked back from the scrap metal area, he called out, "How are you, young lady?  Have a happy Mothers' Day!"  Does my motherhood show?

I was impressed with how beautiful our street is at this time of year, and even our yard...azaleas do wonders--wish they flowered all summer.

Spent the next couple of hours appreciating strangers.  At work, the rec department is holding a "prom"--and one of my ladies needs a dress...a "formal", no less, in a size 18.  So this morning, I picked up the first 2 (of 4) offered on FreeCycle in response to my request on Friday.  One is a woman's wedding dress!  Another had a price tag of over $180 on it...but these people are happy to give them up for the cause.

On to the Asian store, where the "inscrutable orientals", as I used to mentally refer to them, are oh- so-slowly getting friendlier...or is it me?  Had I mentally pegged them as cold and distant, as so treated them as such?  Some of the cashiers DO speak a little English, and respond in kind when I offer friendly words.
By far, the exhausting high point of this long day was borrowing a neighbor's "chipper" and turning nearly 6 years' worth of fallen oak tree branches into mulch.  All the while dodging high-powered wood chips that left welts on our arms that will surely intrigue the phlebotomists tomorrow when we go to donate Mother's Day blood (run-on sentence--sorry Mz. Smlph).  Why do I keep thinking that if I push myself, this stuff will get EASIER, in spite of my getting OLDER?

Wheelbarrows full of mulch distributed in appropriate places, and shredded leaves bagged for the garden, we were dusty and cranky and tired and hungry.

Tomorrow is another exciting day...at least we'll get T-shirts from the Red Cross for our efforts...more t-shirts to donate to the folks at work.  The Circle of Life, I think it is.

See, Judy--not every day is interesting or exciting.  Let's go and "get a life"!    Floyd Fest, anyone?

Correction/Elaboration (you'll just be sorry that I answered)

In my previous post, I may have misled folks into thinking that Chapel Hill, NC is a neat place, rather than the quagmire of corporate debauchery and drunken college kids that it really is.  I offer this correction.

Chapel Hill is merely the area that I passed thru on my way from one really cool place to another.  Frankly, I’m not at all sure where Chapel Hill, Carrboro, Pittsboro, Durham, Fuquay Varina, and for that matter, Silk Hope, start and stop.  I guess it’s like Chicago—unless you live(d) there, you’d call anything north of Kankakee, IL “Chicago”.  Poor ignorant fool.

So here is a summary of how I spent my week in “The Triangle”, leading me to believe that the area may be a really good fit for me.

Sunday afternoon, met with a realtor.  Nice lady, but neither here nor there on the “good fit” thing.  I could live without her.  Checked in with my hosts, who are very kind, patient people that have a Chapel Hill mailing address but do not really LIVE in Chapel Hill.  Otherwise, I’m sure that I would not enjoy their company nearly as much.

Monday morning went to a group home for autistic adults that is not in Chapel Hill, but not really in Pittsboro.  Called the “Carolina Living and Learning Center”, it is an arm of the University of North Carolina, but its office mailing address is actually in the town of Carrborough.  Now, I’ll need to be forgiven if I get my various ‘boroughs’ and ‘boros’ confused…surely it is too much to expect that I’d get that straight when there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to which towns spell it which way.

Anyway, lots of good folks at the CLLC, and they had agreed to let me observe their rather unique system of residential and vocation programs for half-days that week in exchange for half-days of hard work.  So, mornings, I lurked, and afternoons I mowed and weed-ate in the 80+ degree delightful sun, working harder, and sweating more, than I probably ever have in my life.

Took a day off on Thursday and went on my first real kayak trip in the Eno River.  The total experience can only be trivialized by attaching words to it.  More than sight and sound, really just a total gestalt experience in an incredibly beautiful, peaceful place.  After at least 5 hours of intermittent paddling, it was exhilarating to realize that I actually have the physical stamina to do stuff like this!

Friday nite, attended a potluck dinner held at the solar commune that I spent my free time negotiating to buy into all week.  The people that I met that night  (this place has a Durham address, but it’s not ACTUALLY in Durham—I don’t think anyplace in “The Triangle” is actually really ANYWHERE) were very warm, welcoming, and easy to be with—after visiting on the porch with one couple and in the living room of another, I felt ready to move in.  That, and the fact that there is only one Republican household there out of more than 30…

Solterra has a community garden and orchard, paths connecting all of the lots, AND, they are not out and out opposed to a few chickens…

Saturday, I accompanied my hosts to the Shakori Hills Grassroots Festival, in Silk Hope, NC.  Guess it was here that the notion of ‘regression’ was solidified…hearing live music such as I used to listen to every weekend in the early 70’s.  While I’ll NEVER have the abandon to dance free-form as many folks did, I could feel 75% of my muscles twitching in an effort to do so.

And I spoke with a sincere young man promoting his biodiesel co-op (in Pittsboro), and witnessed a man bartering a macramé dog leash for two “veggie things” at a food stand.  And tried to figure out how they got rocks to stack up in amazingly stable configurations, and tracked down the guinea fowl that sounded just like the squeaky oil pumps that dot the landscape in Mattoon, Illinois.

And then, there is the food co-op opening in Pittsboro, and the possibility of one day working at the farm community for autistic adults…I’ve probably missed something, but that’s a start.

On the Road Again

I think those who have said there should be a minimum "interesting" requirement for people to have/use a blog are probably right.  But, since this is already paid for, and was a gift, I'm going to use it anyway.

It doesn't seem to matter how often I travel--it still always seems like a big adventure, especially by myself.  Well, maybe not driving to Illinois, at least not once you hit Ohio.

And not to North Carolina, until you PASS the DC mixing bowl.  Once you're out on the road, however, the adventure begins.

Had to take Honey to the kennel first--she's fine once she arrives, but the anticipation is horrific!  This is the dog who, when left alone in a parked car for 15 seconds, draws mall security, animal rights vigilantes with bottles of water to pour into the opened windows, and police, writing tickets for animal neglect.  Had to laugh as I passed the "Cat House" at the kennel...thru the open screen door I could hear that they were listening to an audio book...

Driving south--noticing that trees were getting that "green glow".  Neat to fast-forward the seasons, kind of like time travel.  Listening to an interesting book--"My Life with Serial Killers", I think, and talking with Patrick from the Helpful Handyman helped pass the time and wake me up.

Woke up for sure when I saw a sign for diesel gas at $2.19/gallon--after I had filled up the day before for $2.41.  That's another pleasure of road trips...I can pretend I'm a trucker and get a good deal on gas.  Pulled into a place near the far border of Virginia, called "Slip In".  Had to use a phone to call and ask that the pump be turned on.  Went in to pay and the place was empty save people apparently re-claiming it...ladies restroom had a dispenser of TOILET SEAT CLEANER mounted on the towel dispenser, AND a machine vending "Love Kits" for only 75 cents!  Gosh--what guys must take for granted!

I guess that was in Emporia, VA.  Every other business at that exit was shuttered--it was a 'ghost-interchange'.  Got over the border into NC and the diesel was $2.33/gallon--for once, my timing was good.

Not long until I arrived in Katie's school's neck of the woods, where I had come to watch tennis practice.  Past miles and miles of jacked-up mobile homes, small patches of cotton (forgotten from the fall?), mini-swamps and some not so mini, and blossoming red bud trees. 

Pulled into the school parking lot with 35 minutes to spare.  Kids, about to board a bus to a track meet, ran up to the car calling, "Hi, Mz. Smlph Mama!"  Got out to walk around, hoping not to be mistaken for a terrorist, and the trite phrase, "I guess we're not in Kansas anymore" kept coming to me.  I had to think how very different the atmosphere here is from where my daughters attended high school...and how strange it is that I am even here at all, being raised in Chicago (but longing for more).  Basking in the 80 degree dusty, pollen filled air, noticing that the grass has already been cut.

And how utterly strange to have an offspring of mine coaching TENNIS at this "predominantly black school", having to ask the team members for clarification on the rules, doling out laps for swearing, telling guys to pull their pants up so their underwear didn't show.

And how polite most of them were, to me, and to each other...overheard one saying, "We GOTTA be good, Mz. Smlph MOTHER is here!", and me, marveling at how incredibly neat typical, normal teen aged boys really are...