We stood in a gentle drizzle waiting for the bus this morning, you would’ve observed Adam tired but cheerful to his mitochondrial level the day after pinballing about the Evergreen State Fair with his mother and three pals, in observance of his twelfth birthday and no you weren’t seeing things, he was finally wearing his new spectacles, glad to have gotten rid of those droopy duct-taped other (horseplay several weeks ago at Grandma’s house). Wonderful times were had at the fair, honestly the timing couldn’t have been better, that’s because Saturday night the entire shebang closed early after a truly remarkable lightning storm which persisted for several hours, even Oliver Fern stayed up late to watch with us from upstairs, rapt observation of those countless thunderbolts (count’em, two thousand groundstrikes that evening) approaching from the south whereupon the football stadium below at the university would switch to eerie floodlights, sending fans scrambling to the concourses for last rites.
Zilch fair-going for the junior varsity as Oliver Fern opted out of manure smells, ridescreaming and sore feet, having already done the Puyallup last weekend (while this party pooper has politely declined backward and forward in the time machine, having meandered my share of midways for a lifetime). Oliver and I spent degrees of Sunday studying maps, navigation and venturing north across the Ship Canal up to Phinney Ridge, a tall prominence which to the east offers pleasant views of Green Lake and the Cascade Mountain range while the western slope offers wide-ranging vistas of a pie shop. We perused the stacks at that wonderfully-appointed branch library at the edge of Greenwood before wishy-washingly nudging back onto Phinney where we browsed the shelves at the boutiquey bookshop which is now doing fine on account of our pocketbook and thereafter found ourselves party to the most infuriating sort of slow-motion automotive fender scraper-bender which was offset somewhat by that encounter with a pleasant, bookish young man dazed at the prospect of future entanglement with the body shop cartel yet who offered the most sportsmanlike, consolatory handshake goodbye in the raindrops which I did accept (both the handshake and the raindrops) with some relief. So it is that I find myself this morning preparing to bake a birthday cake, the task of which I’d apparently been given a badly-needed reprieve from by the Gods, for you see the electricity was knocked out for one and one-half hours but lo! that’s passed for the oven is now preheating for what feels like a risqué performance art piece representing my worthlessness.
postscript: Doggone it! You won’t believe this but the cake turned out fantastic, if only the helium of butter and cocoa wrought by the double-layer creation could be hyperlinked here but believe me that no offense was taken at those flirty but sympathetically backhanded insinuations later by the boys’ mother that a substantial degree of beginner’s luck was involved for nary a mention was made concerning those half dozen panicked FaceTimes, haha! Tonight after some hard math, Adam wandered a couple miles through the neighborhood and Led Zeppelin III on his own (that particular album at the advice of his uncle) while Oliver Fern read to me from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Ugh, Narnia Schmarmia.
addendum to the postscript: And so I kept putting this off because life is sorta passing perforated notebook paper glider-me like a Concorde supersonic airliner, just Old News Nellie as usual…….