Yesterday I raked my front yard. Today I wondered why.
Here comes the bride
I was out with my mom today and picked up some antique sheet music. I don't play anything, but I had to have this piece--The Wedding of Jack and Jill. It's over 70 years old. The lyrics are priceless:
Now the boy was Jack, the girl was Jill
The story's old but they tell it still
Of the way they tumbled down the hill
On a sunny day in May.
But there's something more you never heard
An owl told me he's a wise old bird
And he told this story word for word
All about their wedding day.
There's more, and it gets cuter. As I said, I don't play a thing, so I'm going to ask Lisa to try it on her piano one day. At first I was planning to frame it, but now I don't know if I can lock it up like that.
Ladybugs 12
Is it ladybug season? Is there such a thing? I've been seeing them all over the place lately. I've seen a few in my house even. They remind me of Under the Tuscan Sun. There was some message or metaphor in there about looking for ladybugs but not being able to find them until you stop looking. Knowing that I wanted to mention this, I set out to take a picture of one. I had only seen one about twenty minutes before, on the door jamb. but do you think I could find one once I got my camera out?
Rubber boots
This afternoon mom, dad and I drove out to Ile Des Chenes to take in the town's fall supper. It was going to be my third one of the year and second one this weekend. I'm not sure if my west coast or American readers are familiar with this type of event--essentially, it's a thanksgiving dinner in a community hall or church. Ten or 12 bucks gets you a ticket and all the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, vegetables and usually one unique local dish you can fit on your disposable plate.
Dad's cousin and her family live in Ile Des Chenes, about 20 minutes south of the city. We took Truck because dad need to bring home a few bundles of shingles he was getting out there. Dad drove. I only ever drive dad if he's sufficiently drunk or half asleep. Poor mom hugged her knees in the back.
Dinner was good. Tonight's local specialty was the perogies. Yesterday at Grandma's church the ladies made curry chicken. Last month when we went to Otterbourne we had French meat pie. I am disappointed none of the places yet have served cabbage rolls.
We headed home around seven-thirty. The sun had already set and it was pretty dark, but not completely black. I think there is no sky more beautiful than a prairie one. I know people will feel differently. Tonight, the land was black and the sky was a mix of deep royal blue, gold and amethyst. I pulled the collar of my jacket up to my ears, snuggled in, and enjoyed the ride down the highway.
Dad started to fiddle with the rear view mirror, flicking the map light on and then trying to turn it off.
"What are you doing?" I asked, sounding annoyed, but not really. I knew what he was doing. A car had just pulled in behind him.
"There is no flippy thing," I told him, knowing he was looking to tilt the mirror to block out the glare. "It adjusts automatically. I paid $500 for that technology," I said, again in my mock-annoyed voice.
"Well I don't understand this stuff," he said, matching my tone. We actually could have been arguing, but tonight we were just pretending with father-daughter affection. It makes no sense really.
The Silver Sun Pickups started playing on the radio. I turned it up a notch because I love that song and because it is my truck and I will listen to the music as I choose.
"Y'know what I need?" I said. "A pair of rubber boots to stick in between the window and the box of the truck. I've seen that a lot lately."
"You mean a pair of yellow ones?" My dad asked. He's really trying to poke a stick in my eye now, but there's still a warm tone. All my life I wanted a pair of yellow rubber boots. One day, someone gave me an old pair and I loved them. Then, my grandma borrowed them for a fall display at the church and the display caught fire and the boots melted. It broke my heart. I've never found another pair like them.
"Remember your old green truck, dad?"
"Yeah."
"This is just like that, except there's no holes in the floor and mom has to sit in the back."
Dad had an old, rusty, green truck when I was a kid. It was bigger--a 3/4 tonne--but still a Chevy. I loved that thing. I loved how it smelled. I loved the old, old radio, and the novelty of lifting up the floor mats and being able to see the road below. I was a weird kid.
"Should we take the perimeter or Bishop Grandin?" Dad asked.
"I don't care. You're driving," I replied. But later I changed my mind.
"Are you taking the perimeter?" I asked.
"Yeah, I don't want to go through that construction again. Is that okay?"
"Yeah. I don't want to go through the city lights."
So we drove in the mostly dark for the rest of the way. I wanted the trip to last forever.
Dad backed Truck into the driveway. I went inside the house for a bit to see Elmo. When I came back out he was unloading the shingles, grunting and moaning.
"You need to start hiring some help," I said as I watched him.
"I need a son-in-law," he retorted. I looked back at Truck and thought, I'm doing the best I can. Then I remembered a conversation I'd had with mom earlier today. We were looking at a My Little Pony stuffed toy that blinked and talked. I know, suddenly it sounds ridiculous to me too. She was quite taken with it though.
"Maybe I should get it and one day someone can play with it," she said.
"Some poor little boy sure is going to be disappointed one Christmas morning then," I replied. She put the toy down. My poor mom. Not only am I denying her grandchildren, I've also decided the fantasy ones are rough and tumbly boys.
Life was rosier in the truck.
