Destroying the Five Year Void

After three dances of cerebral emails each, we have decided to meet in person.

The latest communication sounds more relaxed, friendly and he's whipping his fabulous sense of humour out and snapping my willing ass with it.

Me and the man that I have not seen nor spoke to in five years. Five years after cutting off an intense relationship in the time that it takes to properly wash your hands. Not in OCD time (which could go on for hours - days even if the hot water doesn't run out) but in real time.

The day and roster have not been decided upon yet. I will be going to him in NYC.

I remember those days of stepping off the train and there he'd be, waiting for me. He's one of those chivalrous ones who carries your bag, purse, pet armadillo...nothing is off the charts.

Do I wear foundation or go au naturel? That's quite a quandry. New Yorkers are tough. But the ones that the rats don't scare, my face will without make up. I have been blessed with uneven skin tone that turns a lovely shade of sunburn whenever I consume caffeine, alcohol and certain fods. "Certain" meaning "most". And I'd love alcohol. And coffee. Maybe I'd better start loving benedryl.

So far it looks as though this is the weekend it is taking place and my world is shifting. Will it be magic, as previous years have shown? Or have both of us just grown older and tired of putting on our very best ritual mating tango?

I am stoked. I could not be more grateful that this is taking place.

The outfit has been chosen by me, and approved by my Organic buddy who is simply the best for having to deal with my pink lacey undies (put on to protect her eyes, really) I'd also like to thank her for trying to raise train fare for me by gently calling out "Five Cents!" for a view (The 2nd floor window really is safer for viewing without feeling stalked. They know what they're seeing but can't quite see enough.)

Do I push my luck and bring a toothbrush?

And last but not least, do I hug him when I see him? Will he kiss me? Or even think about it? Or will this be strictly a meeting of the minds? What is the proper way to avoid living up to my probable psycho ex status?

I saw a double rainbow a couple of days ago. One of them having full scope of arc. It's rare for me to see that. Right outside of that one was a lighter one, not full all the way but on either side (see photo above for your own Where's Waldo). Me and I'm sure the other hundreds of people who saw it, are probably all hoping the wish is coming true. Either that or we now all belong to a freakish cult. David Karesh had nothing to do with rainbows, right?

For My Blog Buddy Alan

I found Worst Case Scenario Man. Unfortunately, he has just served duty for his own very last Scenario of Worsts.

With much regret, he can no longer step in and threaten to unleash storm clouds complete with electrical and radioactive lining to ruin your life. He seems to have been abandoned (eek and apparently violated), Non Sunny Side Up in a kids park in CT and was last seen eating wood chips. His days of throwing the proverbial banana peel under your feet have spontaneously evaporated.

And horror of horrors, his boots are scuffed. Pshhhhya. He was never all that anyhow. Like when you turn on a light and the huge unidentifiable shadow is elminated.

My condolences, as now you will have to scare away those unsuspecting victims with seething optimism and confidence. And a knowing that it's all good.

(For all those who are not familiar with Alan, put on your rollerskates and head this way - http://thisredeem2.blogspot.com/)

Creepier than The Hanging of Saddam

Clay Aiken to be a father? I hope its a girl. No boy should have "DIVA" sprawled across the back of his diaper.

Does anyone remember the lyrics to "Invisible"?

"If I was invisible

Then I could just watch you in your room

If I was invincible

I'd make you mine tonight"

Is it just me or is being "Invisible" in this context synonymous with being a "lonely, outskirts of society type criminal"?

Who is "you" in the song? Is it a 50 year old woman?

Hmm.....slinky, non viewable entity who likes to watch "you" in your room....sounds like a sperm donor moment, Indeed.

When a Boy Can Be a Boy

When I picture a teenage boy, I could picture a few different things. The rebel, who is delightfully pierced and inked or maybe an athletic type who is wearing long, shiny two toned sports shorts. Whatever form it takes, I usually do not picture teenage boys, Young Men, if you will, frolicking with Springtime.

I drive past a large park five days a week. Twice I have seen the same boy out there alone. He carries a bag of bread and stands there feeding the geese. Something about that just threw the proverbial Daily News right into my face with a CRACK. This kid could be with his friends after school. Or watching tv, doing drugs, whatever. But kids are kids....and sometimes I forget that they are happy to do things that don't always involve Wii's, video games, or sitting around looking menacing.

I felt blessed enough to see that. But earlier on this week, I saw another one. A different boy, larger boy, walking home from school. He was crossing a field area and carrying in each hand, a "grandfather" dandelion.

Why do I seem to be coming off with gender issues? If I'd seen a girl do the same thing this post wouldn't exist. Or maybe it would, I'm not sure. HA! Yeah, I'm sure. It wouldn't exist.

I think I was happy to see that Nature hasn't died. That there is more to life in the eyes of the younger crowd, if I like to let these two guys represent the "younger crowd". That they are still enamored with birds that others find repugnant and flowers that you can make a wish on.

Today at the movies, a young teenage boy jumped to open a door for the Humanling and I. I thanked him. Within 5 minutes I saw his father walking with him so I stopped him to tell him what a nice son he had.

As he thanked me, I saw his face change with the immediate reaction of a beaming smile.

These three boys have shown me that although I may look like a Cougar on the outside, my brain was all sorts of breaking the 80 year old viewpoint on today's Whippersnappers. Or maybe I mean Wiippersnappers. Just like with energy, we need to be aware that what we see is only surface. There is so much more going on than any of us can afford to assume.

This photo by the way, is one that I took at Humanling's school's recent art show. Kids can be one of the best resources for amazing (and cheap cheap cheap!) art.

A Sign Of Great Things to Come

Here is little Humanling, aged nine. We're at the park, doing little things like swinging, going into nauseating circles on the merry go round and playing freeze tag with other people's Lings.



Well, not me. If you've read my previous posts, you know that I am a horrible, literature laden lazy outdoor parent. I show up with books and figure I will just let the bull out of the pen and she can snort, race around in circles and talk to other creatures her size. Grandma is her size but she doesn't count.



In this photo, HL is metaphorically vulturing, circling overhead with her plan. Humaling decides that the boys with the high school flavor might be nice enough to let her shoot a hoop. She's so cute. It's a normal sized hoop where there are a couple guys taking turns and one of them shows off his b-ball choreography while listening to his i-pod. HL is too shy to ask for herself. So I lead her over and go to Dancehall Jones to introduce her.



"Hi" I say, wondering if I appear to be an old haggard You Boys Stop All This Racket apparition upon sight. "This is (Humanling). She'd like to know if you would let her make a shot and she'll give you your ball back after that."



How can he say no? I'm old and feeble and she's this widdle bitty poof of cuteness.



He hands her the ball. She looks a the big boy hoop and shoots.



And scores.



Hands him his ball back and walks away.



For an moment, me and the boys are connected in a fog of , Uh, What?!

Crime on a Plate

I read somewhere that the Dalai Lama said of a plate of shrimp, "Too many lives lost". I tried to tell my brother this at the Olive Garden but I'm pretty sure he didn't apply it to his plate full of mussels. Is comsuming shellfish really nothing more than breaking and entering?

It was alluded to in a sermon last weekend, with total respect to Memorial Day and those who have had to suffer, that in a very Mr. Rogerish way, if we all could just play in the sandbox together, there'd be no Memorial Day. Going forward into the world today, how can we push ourselves to share the pail and shovel?

Seen On a Walk

Almost a Vet Bill.

Are You Smarter Than Multiple Choice? A Rice Site is Groovy and Helps People Out!

In reading another blog, I have come across a really cool site. I'm not one for hanging out on websites for longer than necessary, but here is one that tantalizes those of us in love with words. Isn't that why we read blogs? No? Oh, you're here just for my opinions and blatherings, I see.

http://www.freerice.com/ displays a vocabulary word with multiple choice answers. For every right answer of yours, Free Rice donates 20 grains of rice (paid for by sponsors). It costs you nothing. Or whatever another word for "nothing" is.

It may not sound like a lot but I know my piddly little ego likes to be told by an automated website that I know my stuff.

So go play! And pass it on.

Beautiful. God Bless you, man.

The Unopened Email

After sending that email last night, with my heart in my throat (Mmm! Bursting with Heart flavor!) I felt prepared to breathe for a few days. My response to HIM - THE guy that I sent the apology to after five years, was only sent last night. He wouldn't write back too fast. I can just relax and think, what's done is done.

Until I open my inbox today and see his name.

I can't open it. I have dinner in front of me. I don't want it ON me if his email says something that will tip my balance of well being. Anyone who knows my nervous system knows to remove all visuals and odors of edibles when I am nervously distraught. With the exception of lollipops, hard candies and peppermints.

It's like Russian Roulette Christmas. The anticipation of opening the present! But knowing that what's in the box is either 90% going to kill you or 10% be that decapitated Barbie styling hair head that rolls up without a body that you wanted. And if you're a guy reading this....you know they fascinated you too.

I was fully prepared to never ever hear from him or have a stray wisp of his hair blow anywhere in my compassed direction. But he did write. And I wrote back. BUT MINE TOOK OVER A DAY TO COMPOSE.

Now this....unread email sits there. It took less than 24 hours for him to reply.

Again, I stick the wand into the bubbles, pull it out, blow some good ones and then catch one of them on my skin. And it hasn't popped. While I'm waiting for the minor shock and splat of soap in my eyes, I'm staring at it for as long as it will exist and again, the time has stopped.

I wasn't prepared for a response to begin with, nevermind a second one. In my cartoonish imagination I imagine opening it and in 24 pt font it bitch slaps me with a polite *Thanks* and then *don't contact me anymore*. In my not wanted fantasy, there is a sound bite attached to the email that knows when I've read the last word and then plays the sound of the Yahoo IM Door closing. Crreeeeak. KaPlunk.

Well, what do I want him to do? Mapquest me and knock on my door? (Hellllll no - bad hair and roots day).

While I torture myself with the actual opening moment of the email (I will probably put an ad in the local paper - "The Grand Opening of So and So's Email! Get a free keychain!"), I will check the time for the Results show for Idol (America does love Double D's after all and so do I) and base it somewhere around there. Before? So that I can take my mind off it by watching the David's cry? After? So that I can read it and have no distractions? Should I put Lifehouse on while reading it in order to raise the drama ratings?

I'm going to think positive. I put too much thought into all of this for the last few years to just be a one woman show, acting out his parts as well as mine.

Deep breath! Time to check the time to see if we have time to stalk our local librarians or not before all of this goes down.

Play that Funky Parade Music, White Boy

Our tiny and adorable small town that revolves around its downtown area knows when to say when. Yeah, Memorial Day is next weekend but we got the jump on and had our parade already. We know that the next zip code over had burst out of its Town pants years ago and is now wearing City sizes. Their parade is next weekend and comes equipped with jets flying overhead.

But one common denominator for a stadium variety parade or one with a two lawnchair seating audience is this:

EVIL

I'm sorry but I hate this borrowed rolling shopping cart full of envirnomental waste. That's right people. I AM a party. You should see me on Christmas morning. The only people who enjoy buying this stuff for their kids are the ones buying it for the wee one who has never had the parade experience before. And you can't hide from them.

They will find you. They will cover both sides of the street, so dont try to move your butt to the opposite curb. Just wait for your child to accept the tiny free flag that is passed out. Then let them know that by accepting said flag, they are bound to the unwritten contract which states that this little token cloth fulfills the *got something at the parade* requirement.

One thing that Humanling knows, and that's How to get a man. We also carry our decoy, the Gameboy. I know its not new technology, but neither is porn, and somehow, people still seem to enjoy that. Humanling merely pulls out the Gameboy and its like perfume to allure boys. Inevitably one pops around and hangs out over her shoulder in hopes to play a round. Which after I give her the verbal elbow her a couple of times, she usually concedes.

Humanling does not like loud noises. She is known to be the one in school who needs the Fire Alarm agenda ahead of time for the whole school year, in order to brace herself. She basically folded herself inward into thirds when the firetrucks came blasting through, all manly and showing off all the various MOVE TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD sounds.

And unfortunately fellas, your true purpose in life was revealed during this event. A porpoise balloon (bought from the Evil Shopping Cart) couldn't stay a float. It was tied to a wagon. Wifey pulled the wagon, while porpoise kept diving and then dragging on the ground. To which hubby, over and over again had to delve inwards to release his super hero prowess with this manuever - hand lightly under belly of foil balloon porpoise:

Okay, I'm sorry, the camera was off and by the time I got it on, shut off the flash, etc, he scooted on down the road, further away from me!

That's it kids. I'll do my best to leave the camera home for the BEEEEEG One this coming weekend. And remember - if we all just got along, there'd be no Memorial Day. I personally like that day off of work so I'm gonna go trip someone.

It Never Hurts To Admit You Were a Chump

After my reminescent spilling of how I had a great relationship many years ago and then flicked it into the bin without even checking to see if it made it in or not....I came to a decision. I decided that I should send a letter of apology to that person.

Mind you, he was the love of my life, and I haven't spoken to him in about 5 years.

I knew years ago, that I would eventually need to give him the courtesy of an apology. He did deserve it.

I stalked his job (via phone....I don't have time to go on actual stalking rampages...especially with Humanling in tow telling me she's hungry or tired or has to use the bathroom NOW) and found his place of employment. I wrote him a five page letter, double-sided, and mailed it off expecting to never ever hear from him again.

But I resolved within myself that it was okay. That the apology itself is what needed to happen and nothing more. That didn't stop me from leaving a contact email.....you know, just in case.

The stock in my emotion of 'suprise' hit the jackpot when I checked my email today and found Said person on there. With a response. Without a restraining order, expletives or slamming a proverbial door in my face.

I still don't know how I feel. It was one thing when I imagined that he would never respond. I accepted that. But now....

Now I'm in the precise moment where the butterfly lands on your arm and you don't want to move.

So I haven't stepped out of this moment yet. I don't know if I'm being dared to move.

But I will say this, whatever happens, there is something that stood out in my mind prior to sending this letter to right my perceived wrongs. A fellow blogger, Alan, said to me that True love is right there IF I want it. And I believe him. Our cards may be spent in this casino, but who knows...maybe they started recycling a bit.

First Date with New Church

Well after the run in with fate, timing and testing last night at the church, Humanling and I decided to roll on over there Sunday morning and check it out.

Well, after going to breakfast. And running into her best friend's mom and having another possible moment of universal reasoning for being in the same place at the same time. More on that another time after I contact Ex-Hoo Hah McBlah Blah's lawyer to run things past her.

It's hard not to arrive slightly early when you live next door to the church. We squeezed into a pew, third from the back, following the unwritten pact that I made with the Clergy last night that I can remain incognito. I have been through the whole standing and introducing myself to a host of people that I will feel guilty running into at some point when I don't return to their church. "Yes, it was because of YOU. I didn't like your screaming infant that you refused to take out of the room. THAT's why we don't go there anymore. Well, nice to see you."

If you allow me to keep my Zsa Zsa Gabor mask on and just keep silent, this will never have to happen.

The church itself was bright and I was comfortable. I was hoping for a little more horseradish in my spirit but it was better than I'd expected. The priest was cool and sent me away with a couple of good things. Like a Prada handbag and coupon for a free sundae! Not really. He spoke of how people view God as this rock with a mouth that doesn't move. Just this stiff, detached being. But how God is more like a fountain of youth. Hmm....I liked that. Reminds me of a good meditation...only with God flowing through instead of a waterfall. Nice. Ok, I can do that on a meditation. Next time I remember to meditate. After I remember to find my soul mate, get married, have help with the house and am told to Quit Working Honey, Just Stay Home.

Then he spoke of how God gave man dominion over the earth and the animals. Depending on where this was going, I might have to suppress the PETA flag that was threatening to unfurl, like when Rudolph's red nose went off in front of everyone for the first time.

But then he said something that completely resonated with me. That God gave us dominion over the earth and animals, not to do as we pleased with for our own purposes, but for the good of all. Imagine if everyone actually thought that way for half the day. The other half can be slept off so we don't indulge in the materialistic greed that makes us look so ridiculous to aliens.

Did I say aliens and God in the same paragraph? Huh. I suppose I did. But to me, we weren't the only ones created. I'm pretty sure God can juggle a few planets at once.

There was however the typical white band that did a Nice job. Something about the TWB really exchanges my heart rate for the straight green line. I can't do the TWB. I want the soul shaking, dancing, stomping, hand raising stuff that I will never see in this type of church.

Before Humanling was swept off into Sunday school, she sat dutifully - no, not even dutifully - CHEERFULLY and UNRESERVEDLY singing as loud as she wanted, lyric sheet in hand, with the TWB. I think she's sneaking out at night and has been singing with these guys on fences and streetlit corners.

I looked up at the huge stained glass portrait of Jesus and thought, well, if I can't feel what I know I'm capable of feeling, here in this nice church, at least here is my baby. I am going to hand her to you and let you get her potential, as my parents should have done with me. Instead I found myself in some boring catechism on Thursday nights where I'd pick my nose and leave it in the pencilcase inside the desk of some kid who sat there during the day.

I did pass on the bread portion of the morning and for a really neurotic reason. The very cool priest ripped it up with his bare hands. AFTER shaking hands with everyone in the church five minutes beforehand. I would need mine marinated in the wine after that. Next week I will have to watch and see if he takes a Holy Purell break before handling ingestibles.

I tore off before the refreshment hour. After all, why get it all on the first date? They need to get me back there again.

Brother Can you Spare 600 Dimes?

I may have mentioned that the little Humanling and I live in a neighborhood that has access to everything that a private island could possibly put on their rider. Including panhandlers. Make that singular - Panhandler.

I've worked in NYC and have dealt with professional dollar diggers. Eventually, it is possible, even for a Save The Worldish weeping willow like me to callous up the retinas and look past these people while also ignore the handout speech of anyone who isn't touching you. Where I live, the same protocol seems almost bizarre.

It's a small town, focused primarily on its downtown. Everyone to be seen sits lazily outside on the green, walks up and down the main strip or looks penetratingly unapproachable sucking down their coffee at the eccentric coffee house. Anyone that I haven't listed is probably ordering a dollar draft and a jagermeister shot at the bar next to the railroad tracks. At one point if I had installed a camera in Cavey's primal head of hair, I would have had the much awaited Beer Channel, in said bar's exotic locale.

After a packed day, Humanling and I decided to go for a walk while it was still light out. It took us about 25 minutes to go about 50 yards since she decided to bring her flimsy plastic skateboard with her. When we passed a church that we pass reguarly, we decided to look in the door, which we've never done. Through the window, like a literature stalker, I was checking for pamphlets that I would take sometime when the church was actually open so that I could learn about one of the 5000 different denominations of Catholicism. A woman came and opened the door. It's basically near 8pm on a Saturday night. She invited us in and gave us a tour of the church. She also told Humanling to go right ahead and tickle the church ivories and get right up to the altar to check things out. She had no fear of HL's little potentially destructive fingers tainting anything in the centenarian building.

In the middle of listening to HL's musical staff defiance, a man walked in the door and started talking to the clergy, who had been showing us around. As I coaxed my musical genius off God's piano bench and made our way to the pew where the plastic skateboard had been sitting, the man looked over and asked clergy for six dollars. He must have. It didn't register with me right away but I did hear her say no. Then without a beat, he named me "Miss" and asked me the same question.

It's amazing how our brains work in a matter of mere seconds. I stopped myself from asking "What for?" because.....well....we're not married. I don't know him. I suppose it doesn't matter What For. My next thought was "Only if you don't buy booze with it. And give it to my ex husband". I really was thinking about a booze restriction clause. And again, realized that I was fighting controlling the situation somehow. And then the absurdity of it all. I am invited into a closed church, a man walks in during my pre-date with church and asks me for money. And not even a dollar. Six dollars. Without saying another word, I took out my wallet and pushed past a $50 bill. I found seven dollars and gave him the six.

He did say thank you - not overly and abundantly expressed, but mentioned nontheless.

I wasn't bullied into this. I could have said no.

I could have said sorry, don't have my wallet on me.

Sorry, I am a single parent trying to keep my head above water while I am going through an expensive divorce that so far has siphoned $3500 out of me and resulted in me dropping my lawyer and most likely obtaining a shiny new ulcer while I go Pro Se and represent myself against my ex's lawyer who does double duty as a Judge.

But how do you turn down 'helping' someone while standing in front of a stained glass mural of Jesus? Plenty of people reading ths would have an answer for that. I am fortunate enough to have the money to give. By no means am I with disposable income. But I did have six dollars to spare, next to the $50 that was given to me today during a moment so rare, it could have been the 8th wonder of the world.

The man left with his huge backpack. The clergy woman apologized to me and insisted on writing me a check for the six dollars, while telling me how nice that was. I felt like that moment when you bump your head on the car after trying to duck into the back seat to get something. That moment where you know something happened but for a second are trying to register the what and the how.

I told her not to worry about it. That the whole thing was so random - the tour and the man - that it was meant to be that way for whatever reason, that I can pay it forward because people have helped me.

Tomorrow morning we may just be checking out this new church. Especially since I cleared it ahead of time that we are allowed to be incognito and that no white spotlight will land on us, prompting me to tell everyone who we are and why we are there, while showing off my favorite shade of crimson.

I could be called a sucker, and that's ok. Believe me, if that's the worst thing I can go through, I'll start monogramming the towels now.

Peanuts, Popcorn, Cracking Up

I don't know that you can read this bag, but its a bag of roasted peanuts IN the shell. How do they salt peanuts that are on the inside of a shell? No idea. What I do know is that we had a few of these last night while lying in bed. Humanling, being born of an extremely privledged era, never had to crack the shells before. We thought it would be fun in the way that buying a jiffy popcorn aluminum tin that puffs up on the stove top would be fun.

Shuffling around the kitchen tonight (yes shuffling. I am practicing so that when I'm eighty I have it down to a science) I decided to check out the peanuts since I'm in a munchie kinda mood. I took the first one out and it was one of those male ones...without the hourglass shape. Just a lump of a shell. I didn't feel like expending much energy on that so put it back (for who? Its just me and a nine year old up in this place. If I can't open it, next in line is the fire department down the road. Or my Organic friend. She's eerily strong and I feel like a complete infant trying to open a jar around her.) and took out a female. And a feather. A Farking feather. Holy carps alive.

Now I know we have a down blanket in the bedroom where we were eating the nuts last night but how can I be sure that this is OUR feather? I never see feathers in the bed. And I shouldn't see them in a bag of nuts, although I will say THANK GOD they are in their shells. Now I know why the back of the bag says "Good Source of Protein".

What I had a hard time doing after finding this nightmare to my soul in a bag, was following the happy bag's instructions to "Sit back, relax and enjoy!"

Um, no.

Was the feather to FAN myself while eating the peanuts? Was it to stick in my Yankee Doodle hat while not calling a spade a spade, but calling it Macaroni? Was it to tape to my wall so that I could imagine that I was on an island somewhere while eating my salted inside the shell peanuts and a seagull is flying by and drops a nasty arse feather into my lap?

I must have my OCD under some kinda control because normally I would have thrown the bag across the room and then waited for a friend to come over and clean it. Or go pick up Cavey sometime this week and have him throw it out.

I'm afraid that this whole incident is going to drive me to wash my hands fifteen more times and then have a cookie.

Your Mama

How many of us had a Mother's Day that was any different, chore wise, than any other day? If you did, hit me up with a comment with your husband's name. I'm stealing him from you.

Being a single mama with a child who isn't Chore Savvy means well...that I still cleaned the litter box, guinea pig cage and the fallout from my ghetto portable washing machine that was hooked up to the sink where it shook so hard that it knocked over and tipped upside down a tank of hermit crabs that were nearby.

I only saw two hermit's since. The families of the other two have been notified.

Well here's what else I can tell you.

This:

Does not work.

This is a banana dipped into chocolate almond milk and left to chemically compose itself into a new and unappealing kind of smell (APPEAL - GET IT? Banana joke!).

The cup has been burned.

We spent a good portion of our weekend at the park or at Borders skinny dipping in a large caffeinated pool with whipped cream floats.

Yesterday morning we frequented O'Neils again. It was pretty darn good. Even after I'd pulled aside out of the eggs a tiny broccoli piece and a tiny corner of bacon. And spit out a bite gently into a napkin so as not to alert onlookers to my aversion to eating a green potato. It was almost a Where's Waldo smorgasboard all in two scrambled eggs! Who needs crayons when you can entertain the kids with this one. Humanling casually asked me in all curiosity, "Did we order broccoli, bacon or a green potato?"

Not in so many words we didn't.

The entertainment was fabulous. Here is Humanling (in her special superhero disguise) oblivious to the larger boys behind her who are pummeling a third, much smaller boy.

Today however, we went to the park where I could sit with my array of enthusiam. What would I read first???

I decided to finish Save Me From Myself by the guy from Korn, Brian "Head" Welch. He left Korn eons ago to follow Jesus. Very cool book and really, the guy is not a literary headspinner, but I haven't read a book that caused me to tell a friend who wanted to visit "No, I want to chill with a book" in a while.

We also have a Science Of Mind magazine, a Rachel Ray magazine (I had to get my own subscription - my mother clings to each issue of hers like she gave birth to it), a newsletter from our local healthfood store, my bargain yoga book to help me do moves to soothe my back and therefore my sanity, and last but not least, a book about growing up as a child in New York City.

Funny that book should be around. There was a couple on the grass behind me and the guy said to his wife, "What would you think about moving to New York City?" I hadn't exposed the book to them at all at this point. I'm pretty sure it went over like the lead balloon since I couldn't hear her voice at all. Then he asked again, "Well, what do you think?"

"Are you kidding?" is what she said.

So then I took off all my clothes and ran back and forth yodeling with the cover of the book towards them. Not really but I did put the book within view to see if it was a 'sign' for them to see it. Who knows. I love signs. Was I messing with fate? My answer is no. God put me there so maybe I was supposed to hear that and happened to have that book on me.

Glancing over at the Merry Go Round, I saw children, including mine, starting to colonize in hopes of someone pushing them. And then daddy pushed them. I'm not sure who's, but it was a dad for sure. This guy's problem was that he stood too close to this apparatus and then got suckered into pushing.

That's why I sit way over here.

AND this photo is zoomed. Objects in mirror are closer, indeed. And if you note the little guy to the left in red, lying down....

He horizontally made his way to the ground. Poor little guy. Now that the dad is touching him, he owns him. I'm not sure who this kid came with but for sure, he and his pedigree papers were leaving with this Florence Nightengale Male.

And here is where my parental skillz come to a culmination. Humanling is celebrating Mother's Day with a new family as she ditches me and my portable library and CNN camera that observes without lending assitance to the little boy getting beat up by the Hooligans earlier, or the merry go round that flings off little horizontal bodies.

But now is my favorite part of the day. The ghetto dishwasher is wheeled over and hooked up to the sink while Humanling sleeps and I happily write away, forgetting that I still have to answer a couple of emails before climbing into bed with one of those books that I will read a paragraph of before passing out.

Happy Mama's Day!