IMG_5900
Discovered in Ian Hampton’s Flickr photostream.
This is one more to file under “I” for “It seemed like a good idea at the time”.
April 9, 2007
A couple of brief notes
To: The local rock radio station
Hi guys,
Ok, I think it’s official now. I’ve heard “The Black Parade” often enough for one lifetime. Time for you to find another song to overplay till I automatically switch stations on hearing its first few bars.
To: The great toe on my right foot
Look, it’s been, what, three years since I broke your neighbour doing judo? I mean, for cryin’ out loud, once he healed up, I never heard another peep out of him. You weren’t even broken—just jammed back a bit. I think it’s time you stopped getting it in your mind (whatever a toe has that passes for a mind, that is) to cause me pain.
Seriously. How long are you gonna keep this up, anyway? What? The rest of my life. Not cool, man. Not remotely cool.
To: self
Ok, it’s time to write a few more chapters in Everything that never happened. By the time Thursday rolls around, I’d like us to be at Chapter 24, please. If not further along than that, even.
That means no Star Wars Lego till you’ve got another thousand words tomorrow night, bucko. Trust me. I’m doing this for your own good.
Don’t you give me that look, Patrick.
Easter
Easter found us at my inlaws’ farm, enjoying a chilly spring day with my wife, her parents, and her sister and her family. Mr. M, who is two and a half (if I recall correctly), entertained us all, especially with his hoarse and throaty shout-out to a ceramic Cookie Monster figurine. (“Coooooooookie Monster!”, quoth the boy, and my wife fair doubled over with laughter. Oh, what a day.)
We drove out in the morning on Easter Sunday, since K had to work till 10:30 on the Saturday, and we came back on Sunday night, since I had to work on Monday. We arrived at church, and waited for the rest of the family to show up (we were surprised to be there first, since we got there at about 10:25, and the service started at 10:30). They made it in before the beginning of the service. Mr. M entertained everyone in the church when he escaped and scampered up to the front, his father in hot pursuit. As he was being carried down the aisle to the back of the church, he was in high spirits: “Hi Pat!” he called, waving to me. “Hi Mimi!” (which is his name for Kathleen, something that she brought on herself, and perhaps a story I’ll tell you another day).
At the farm, we had lunch, and then the order of the day became variations on the theme of “Naptime”. Mr. M went downstairs, E sacked out on the couch, Grandpa R snored in his chair in front of the TV, K flaked out on the hide-a-bed in her old bedroom, and I read magazines and let my mind go idle. J eventually went downstairs and joined his son; Grandma M did up some dishes.
Supper was chicken and all the trimmings, which included mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffin’, broccoli, buns, and (last and definitely least) turnips. I devoured a couple of servings, and then dessert hit the table, and by the time I was done eating I felt like my eyes were crossed. Mmmm mmmm good.
We did dishes, went outside with Mr. M and looked at the cows and the tractor (and he slyly tried to lead J and me toward the trampoline, but we convinced him otherwise), had some more visiting time, and then we headed home, full of chicken, Easter chocolate, Swedish tea ring, Jell‑O and fruit. It was a good weekend.