The changing world: we've gone from "one lump or two?" to "pink or blue?". I could rant about the astonishing lack of personal responsibility accepted, even expected, nowadays. Or I could mention that the manners and respect displayed today would've earned me a paddling as a child. But I'll save those for another day. I'll wonder instead about whether common sense is hereditary or a learned trait. Bag boys at the grocery store would make the perfect case study. I would've thought it's obvious that putting a three-pound bag of apples and a loaf of bread in the same sack isn't prudent. And since I was under the impression that the main reason for the use of a sack is to make carrying multiple items easier, I would've also thought the logic of putting more than two items in each sack is apparent. Instead I'm left wondering whether we're raising a generation of genetically stupid kids, or whether we should just be devoting more time to training our children about life's practicalities. Speaking of genetics. Firecrackers. Has to be a guy thing. Do you know of any women who are obsessed by them? Don't even try to make me believe the differences between men and women are attributable solely to the way they're raised. The sound of fireworks turns Riley into a quivering 90-pound lap dog. Which is unfortunate since my neighbors seem to have a goal each 4th of lighting more firecrackers at that party than the one the year before. They were so successful this year that I finally went to the window to see how they were managing a steady popcorn of sound for over ten minutes with no sign of an end. Snaking through their good-sized yard were bundles of firecrackers. Apparently lighting one end of the "snake" achieved a domino effect. I bowed in admiration. I can't imagine how they'll top that next year. And I'm telling you: a guy thing. An annoying sign of age: Being able to understand why my high school best friend's mother was so proud that she could put her palms flat on the floor when she bent to touch her toes. In theory, the census makes sense. The allocation of federal funds based upon population, blah blah blah. In reality, I fear it's a farce. At a guess, the government now thinks I'm four people. I mailed in my census form. Okay. Then a census worker left a notice that they didn't receive a form from me, and visited again when I was home to complete one. Ookay. Then another census worker left a notice that they didn't have information for this address. I called the 800 number on the notice, and again gave the information on how many people live here. Oookay. Then the second census worker returned to my home to complete a form. Ooookay Yup. I think this census is accurate alrighty. I saw a t-shirt slogan I like: "Minimum Wages for Politicians". I never remember my dreams. (Well, okay so I remember a couple of them from a lifetime's worth. But since one involved raising chipmunks in my bedroom, we won't go there.) While I may have a glimmer of a memory immediately upon waking, I generally can't hang onto it. By the time I'm wide awake, all memory of a dream is gone. I used to regret that, thinking they could be entertaining. But after hanging onto a glimmer from one of last night's dreams, phew! I'm not sure if it was one dream or two. It's a little confused. My childhood love had died, but I kept encountering him. Each time I saw him, he was so lifelike I'd forget until he was leaving that he was dead, and that I should cling to him and ask what was going on. So then I'd have to try to catch up with him to find out. (It made perfect sense at the time that the second love of my life's friends were in the dream.) I pursued him by crowded elevator, unsure of the floor on which he had exited. With my usual impeccable timing, I stayed on the elevator too long. The crowd had thinned as the doors shut out the 12th floor and harnesses dropped from the ceiling. As the right side panel opened upon a horizontal elevator shaft, all occupants besides me, knowledgeable of the coming journey, buckled in. As the elevator shot, at something like warp speed, through the tunnel into a parallel universe, I screeched and grabbed a dangling harness, gripping it for dear life. How could I have known?! There were no signs; no warnings. As the group of people streamed purposefully out of the elevator upon arrival at its destination, it was obvious I was the only one there by accident. My memory of the dream ends as I was issued an overnight kit by a uniformed, female official outside the elevator doors. And I thought I wanted to remember my dreams? No longer. Talk about Alice in Wonderland meets Star Trek. Let them fade into the mist. Quickly. 44. Intelligent. Four loved children. Loving parents and siblings. Passionate defense attorney. All these things. Yet he killed himself three weeks ago. Stunning news. And so incredibly sad. Although I rarely bumped into him the last few years, he had been a daily part of my life for two years. Many people disliked him; thought him arrogant and a braggart. The news was just exciting gossip to them. I liked him; thought the bravado a façade; a defense. My mind still resists accepting that he no longer exists here on earth. That he didn't experience the sunny, lovely day we had today. May his demons be quieted now and be allowing him peace at last. And, Kenny, if by any chance you thought no one cared, I hope you noticed how full the church was. Those of us who care are filled with such sorrow that you felt so without hope. To paraphrase the ending of his father's touching eulogy, "He fought the good fight against alcoholism, but he finally lost." I know I'm ending "summer" on a sad note. But news of a suicide can really pull you up short and make you think. The day I heard the news, even though I hate talking on the phone, I spent some time on it that evening. I called my parents and sisters and told them I love them. I talked to my best friends to tell them how special they are to me. Instead of assuming our loved ones know how we feel, perhaps we should tell them. They may need to hear it. One morning when I commented to a woman, slightly familiar to me from the occasional elevator ride, that she always looks so nicely put together, she told me I'd just made her day. And I know how flattered I felt when a friend complained because I hadn't written anything for "summer '00". (Thanks, Rebecca. :-) ) So I'm going to also try to be more generous with compliments. It's a tough world out there; and a few sincere words are really so easy to say. |
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