I didn’t see this on TV, but read about it today. There are going to be some downright ugly moments in this campaign, but right now, I’m really impressed with the amount of class this shows.
Monthly Archives: August 2008
Sunday night we started watching the closing ceremonies and Peanut says, “Daddy, why are all the people leaving?”
“Because the Olympics are over.”
“Does that mean Michael Phelps finally gets to go home??”
” . . . Can we go see him?”
Apparently, he’s having a hard time with the whole city/state/country distinction. The Wise One and the boys spent the better part of a week in Olympia at Grandma & Grandpa’s, having fun without me. They were watching the Olympics and Grandma started yelling, “Go USA!”
Peanut stopped his own cheering long enough to tell her, “Grandma, root for your own city!”
At one point during the week in Oly, The Wise One and the boys drove past the cemetary where my mother is buried. The Wise One pointed out, “Look, boys, that’s where Grandma Dianne is.” Chester was quick to point out, “Peanut, remember, Grandma Dianne died, and that’s where she lives . . . well, not where she lives, but where her body is . . . ”
The Wise One looked in the rearview mirror just in time to see Peanut look out the window, wrinkle his eyebrows, point his thumb over his shoulder, and say, disappointedly, “Mom . . . that was heaven??”
This is so not going to help us with the I-don’t-want-to-go-to-Sunday-School problem.
Wait. That title doesn’t sound right. Let me explain.
Right off my exit from the Alaskan Way Viaduct in Seattle is an area where migrant workers gather in hopes of being picked up for day jobs. It must be a pretty good gig, because in the mornings the area’s always packed with day laborers.
This morning I saw something new. The Art of Getting Your Attention has grown over the last few years to include having people stand outside your place of business with a sign and wave it around with varying degrees of enthusiasm. It may be a good idea when your furniture store is really going out of business this time, but I still question the effectiveness of having someone stand out in front of your tax filing office in April dressed as the Statue of Liberty.
But I digress.
This morning, as I was coming off the exit ramp, I noticed a man standing off to the left, wearing a flannel shirt, a tool belt, jeans, and a baseball cap. As I sat waiting for the light ahead to change, he extended his tape measure about six feet, then kind of waved it half-heartedly, kicked one leg up to about waist level, and then turned himself around (that’s what it’s all about. dun. dun.), his tape measure hanging flaccid and dragging on the ground following his movement. The Rockettes it was not.
It was an odd sight, but at least he’s trying a little bit harder than many of the guys there. If I had the cruelty to actually follow through with some of the disturbing thoughts my little brain comes up with, I suppose it would be interesting to slow down a little and see how many people come running toward your car. On those occasions when you do see someone pull over, you’d swear it was either a)the ice cream man; or b)Paris Hilton and that wrinkly white-haired guy in the same car, and these guys were the cameraless paparazzi.
My friend Chad Canipe (. . . moment of silence . . .) used to pretend he was yelling out his window as we drove through, “Anyone here type 70 words a minute?”