That is a direct and shameless quote from my little 3-year-old nephew, Nicolas, who stated this little piece of true wisdom at the Thanksgiving table after they had returned home from the frenzied wedding weekend at our house.
Ahhh! SUCH a glorious time! I have to tell the world (or at least the small followers of this teensy blog) how impressed/proud/humbled I was by the sight of our entire extended family heaving-to and making this wedding not only HAPPEN, but making it a beautiful, personal, creatively touched event. My family....my family. Couldn't have done it without my family and a few of our dearest, generous friends who gave of themselves with their selfless, seemingly tireless, loving and joyful contributions on every front; from floral arranging to fancy sandwich making to sign-design to makeup artistry on what seemed to be an endless stream of cheerful bridesmaids and the utter grunt-work of set up and tear down involved in a backyard reception. It was this beautiful, warm event that none of us will ever, ever forget. The culmination, of course, was sitting on that golf green and hearing Heidi and Scott pledge their lives and love to one another as the ocean breeze ruffled Heidi's dress and hair. I'm fairly certain that the only dry eyes in the house were those of the worms underground, waiting for some peace and quiet.
At any rate, I echo Nicolas' sage remark, "I need my family!" Because, they are the best people on the planet.
Basking in the memory and wishing you all a happy and blessed holiday season,
Candy
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
It is a GOOD reason.
Really, this time, I TOTALLY have a good reason for not attending to my writing assignments. As in, Heidi is getting MARRIED in less than 2 weeks and we are working QUITE hard to make it a completely glorious day for her and Scott.
So.
Naturally, in the process of getting things ready, one has to make sure everyone's got proper wedding gear for the special day. I've finally found my dress, Clay is on his way to a full suit, and today, we made it our aim to get Tim all situated. Always an adventure; always.
Erstmahl (which means, "first of all" in German) as you've read in previous posts, you know that Tim only has 2 speeds to his metabolism; "slow" and "reverse". He's just a very laid-back, mellow type of fellow; methodical, if you will. Make no mistake; he gets things done and they get done well; there's just never a sense of *hurry* about him. Which can be good for the rest of us who sometimes tear through life at a pace that keeps our hair streaming out behind us.
So, we fetch a few pairs of pants and a shirt and shuffle off to the dressing room. I don't know what it is about Target's dressing rooms, but both times Tim has had to try things on there, he nearly blows the doors off with one of his hydrogen-bomb sneezes. It certainly marks the time of day for whatever unsuspecting attendant is at the service desk. This time, the startled woman looked up at me and then and yelled, "Bless you!" around the corner. Good. We are already leaving an impression.
I am the hare and Tim is the tortoise. I don't know WHY, I really don't, WHY it takes so frightfully long to climb in and out of a pair of pants and shirt. I feel my life slipping away from me as I leeeeeean all over my cart alternating weight on my feet, praying a little and contemplating the universe. FINALLY he emerges, and now I have a clue as to why it took a long time -- the pants are, well, "snug" is being kind. I shooed him out of the public eye and told him to hurry a little bit with the remaining things, which he did.
We finally settled on THIS:
He looks pretty spiffy, no? Le Vest hides away Le Love for cheesecake and makes him look nice and manly. We were wending our way out of the men's department when he spotted HATS and begged to try on a few fedoras. So we got one to finish off his outfit, but he is verboten from wearing it TO the ceremony. He'll have to wait until the reception to add that little flourish.
Heidi ok'd the outfit, so we've got that down. Yay. Have to hem the pants, but I'd say we did well, even efficiently grabbing 3 linen tablecloths on our way to the men's department so that the food tables are well outfitted also.
It's going to be a great day.
Don't expect to hear from me between now and then or anytime shortly thereafter.....
So.
Naturally, in the process of getting things ready, one has to make sure everyone's got proper wedding gear for the special day. I've finally found my dress, Clay is on his way to a full suit, and today, we made it our aim to get Tim all situated. Always an adventure; always.
Erstmahl (which means, "first of all" in German) as you've read in previous posts, you know that Tim only has 2 speeds to his metabolism; "slow" and "reverse". He's just a very laid-back, mellow type of fellow; methodical, if you will. Make no mistake; he gets things done and they get done well; there's just never a sense of *hurry* about him. Which can be good for the rest of us who sometimes tear through life at a pace that keeps our hair streaming out behind us.
So, we fetch a few pairs of pants and a shirt and shuffle off to the dressing room. I don't know what it is about Target's dressing rooms, but both times Tim has had to try things on there, he nearly blows the doors off with one of his hydrogen-bomb sneezes. It certainly marks the time of day for whatever unsuspecting attendant is at the service desk. This time, the startled woman looked up at me and then and yelled, "Bless you!" around the corner. Good. We are already leaving an impression.
I am the hare and Tim is the tortoise. I don't know WHY, I really don't, WHY it takes so frightfully long to climb in and out of a pair of pants and shirt. I feel my life slipping away from me as I leeeeeean all over my cart alternating weight on my feet, praying a little and contemplating the universe. FINALLY he emerges, and now I have a clue as to why it took a long time -- the pants are, well, "snug" is being kind. I shooed him out of the public eye and told him to hurry a little bit with the remaining things, which he did.
We finally settled on THIS:
He looks pretty spiffy, no? Le Vest hides away Le Love for cheesecake and makes him look nice and manly. We were wending our way out of the men's department when he spotted HATS and begged to try on a few fedoras. So we got one to finish off his outfit, but he is verboten from wearing it TO the ceremony. He'll have to wait until the reception to add that little flourish.
Heidi ok'd the outfit, so we've got that down. Yay. Have to hem the pants, but I'd say we did well, even efficiently grabbing 3 linen tablecloths on our way to the men's department so that the food tables are well outfitted also.
It's going to be a great day.
Don't expect to hear from me between now and then or anytime shortly thereafter.....
Thursday, September 3, 2009
ADHD Ruminating
Wow guys, it's been so long. It's really only because I've actually been LIVING life, rather than commenting on it, though I've had some pokes from people insisting that I muscle enough time into my schedule to manage BOTH. I'm out of the habit, even as I'm out of the habit of taking my vitamins because one of them backs up on me throughout the day, coloring over any other culinary treats trying to make their way down, but that's another post.....
Here's where I really need help getting my blog up to snuff and not looking quite so incredibly blah. Because I need a picture for you to really get the full impact of this little Tim-ism.
We recently wallowed in a glorious vacation to the Bay Area to see family and friends. During one of our family gatherings, Tim was petting Kylie, my sister's dog. She's a beautiful mix of German Shepherd and something else (Kylie, not my sister) and has endeared herself to all our hearts with her attentive personality. If she knows you, she loves on you as soon as you come through the door and expects you to behave in like manner, namely that you rub her back and as she rolls over, her belly as well.
Tim, being the compassionate and giving lad that he is, was dutifully paying her these attentions, when he noticed that this activity was producing a small hill of shedding hair. Jen offered to let Tim brush her, which sounded harmless enough to him. However, when Jen returned holding a gadget that looked no less frightful than one half of a toothy bear trap, he reluctantly took it from her, his face registering increasing alarm. He took a few steps back towards Kylie and then looked over his shoulder, asking, "Uhhh; are you SURE about this?" He gingerly bent over Kylie's back and just barely brushed the surface of her, certain that this just could NOT be right. He was expecting a BRUSH, not a semi circle of glinting shark's teeth.
But of course, those of you who own a dog know that this is just fine, that doggies actually love the way this feels, and indeed, Kylie seemed to enjoy being rid of an extra pound or so of drifting fur and having every itch; past, present and future, completely tamed as Tim finally bore down on the thing with less fear of puncturing a major artery. I'm wondering if I need to get one for myself, actually. I have a perpetual need to have my back scratched.......
See? I need pictures.
Here's where I really need help getting my blog up to snuff and not looking quite so incredibly blah. Because I need a picture for you to really get the full impact of this little Tim-ism.
We recently wallowed in a glorious vacation to the Bay Area to see family and friends. During one of our family gatherings, Tim was petting Kylie, my sister's dog. She's a beautiful mix of German Shepherd and something else (Kylie, not my sister) and has endeared herself to all our hearts with her attentive personality. If she knows you, she loves on you as soon as you come through the door and expects you to behave in like manner, namely that you rub her back and as she rolls over, her belly as well.
Tim, being the compassionate and giving lad that he is, was dutifully paying her these attentions, when he noticed that this activity was producing a small hill of shedding hair. Jen offered to let Tim brush her, which sounded harmless enough to him. However, when Jen returned holding a gadget that looked no less frightful than one half of a toothy bear trap, he reluctantly took it from her, his face registering increasing alarm. He took a few steps back towards Kylie and then looked over his shoulder, asking, "Uhhh; are you SURE about this?" He gingerly bent over Kylie's back and just barely brushed the surface of her, certain that this just could NOT be right. He was expecting a BRUSH, not a semi circle of glinting shark's teeth.
But of course, those of you who own a dog know that this is just fine, that doggies actually love the way this feels, and indeed, Kylie seemed to enjoy being rid of an extra pound or so of drifting fur and having every itch; past, present and future, completely tamed as Tim finally bore down on the thing with less fear of puncturing a major artery. I'm wondering if I need to get one for myself, actually. I have a perpetual need to have my back scratched.......
See? I need pictures.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Eavesdropping
Evidently, Gary, being of the "Inquiring Minds Want To Know" type, has cleverly figured out how to fit an ear trumpet against a wall in the heavenly realms, caught the following exchange and passed it on to me. I especially loved discovering that the personal angel currently assigned to me is a nasaly Hispanic dude. I feel kinda sorry for him. It would appear that I'm a somewhat troublesome charge:
"Candy needs a break; I want her to stop for a bit. So, put a "hold" on the Snells and Beardsleys vist; will that do it? [No boss. She not stop for nuting.] Ya, I know; that's my Candy. Any other ideas? [No boss. She no stop ever. You know dis'. We hava debilitate har.] Tsk, tsk. I hate doing that. OK, I'm not watching...".
And you know the rest of the story. I AM enjoying my rest, by the way. Not so much the clumpy boot, but I'm getting some extra reading done (more on that later), and I actually have a strappy sandal for my good foot that matches the clumpy boot in color, so at least my stylin' sensibilities aren't too deeply offended. Plus, I'm still allowed to swim, so all the chocolate I'm eating won't hang on quite as tenaciously as it might have otherwise.
Thanks for the insight, Gar. Maybe I'll think twice about stressing Hector out next time I push myself to work quite so hard.....
"Candy needs a break; I want her to stop for a bit. So, put a "hold" on the Snells and Beardsleys vist; will that do it? [No boss. She not stop for nuting.] Ya, I know; that's my Candy. Any other ideas? [No boss. She no stop ever. You know dis'. We hava debilitate har.] Tsk, tsk. I hate doing that. OK, I'm not watching...".
And you know the rest of the story. I AM enjoying my rest, by the way. Not so much the clumpy boot, but I'm getting some extra reading done (more on that later), and I actually have a strappy sandal for my good foot that matches the clumpy boot in color, so at least my stylin' sensibilities aren't too deeply offended. Plus, I'm still allowed to swim, so all the chocolate I'm eating won't hang on quite as tenaciously as it might have otherwise.
Thanks for the insight, Gar. Maybe I'll think twice about stressing Hector out next time I push myself to work quite so hard.....
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Unexpected Couch Time
Hey Everybody,
So, Debbie, you don't need to read this one with close scrutiny, because it's what I scribbled to you and THEN hit on the idea that, "Oh yeah, I should maybe write something on my blogsite sometime this year; this qualifies as Material."
I had a birthday recently and our dearie friends living in Mexico blessed us by coming up Monday and staying the night, which is always a heartwarming thing for me. I love little persons tucked into all the nooks and crannies of our house, possibly dreaming of pool extravaganzas and limitless hours of Polly Pocket play in the living room. We all had a great time. Except for little Anna, who vigorously reviewed a week's worth of meals as she bent dutifully over one of our potties at 3am. The poor, poor thing. Needless to say, the morning was spent in hurriedly gathering All Things Fruin and they beat a hasty retreat back to Mexico, stopping first at Costco for 2 new tires, because the one with the nail in it hissed out the bulk of it's air in our driveway. (Tuesday morning's entry in the Fruin Log did not conclude with, "And It Was Good") Anna continued hurling into our borrowed blue bucket all the way across the border, but was fine by nightfall (I don't want that bucket back, by the way.....). That's good, that she's better. We're glad for that. So far, no one else's intestines have engaged in the same colorful tango.
Heidi admitted last night that as soon as she heard that Anna had lost it, she secretly said to herself, "You guys don't know it, but as soon as the front door closes on you, Mom will Clorox the entire house down to the rebar under the tile floor...." and of course, she was right (only now, I use an environmentally friendly cleaning agent, for the most part). So, I was busy, not disinfecting (I had already finished that), but pulling the coffee table away to vacuum under it when I over-estimated it's weight and yanked it full bore into my pinky toe. Well, that stopped me for a sec, to be sure, but then I finished the job, went on to mop the tile with an accommodating limp and then slithered into the tub where I noticed that something was really not so right with my foot altogether. 'Cuz, getting in, I screamed involuntarily when I stepped in and put pressure on it, which isn't really all that normal for me, unless there's a bee underneath, which there wasn't.
I kept ice on it after that (my chores were done, I didn't have to leave the couch) and when Clay got home at 8, he suggested all kinds of helpful things, including calling one of his pals, who happens to be an ER doc. I declined each thing, because, really, it was just a bad stubbing. Besides, Paul, the ER doc, is a sweet young man and I've only ever had all of 3 conversations with him, and I didn't think thrusting my foot in his face and saying, "Dude, does this look weird to you?" would be anything less than awkward and taxing on such a new friendship. Plus, they're in our brand new foodie group, and that vision for him, every time we got together to eat, might spoil any wish to continue being IN the foodie group, and we need him in there, because his absolutely charming wife owns the much-coveted William's Sonoma crock pot in which she makes succulent pulled pork.
When I woke up this morning, though, the pretty blue color had crept way up my foot and there was absolutely no stepping on it. So, I got myself appropriately groomed and drove to Urgent Care where I spent no less than 3 riveting hours in the waiting room yawning and reading amongst other souls in various states of disrepair, some vomiting into ziplock baggies (fun times!), others unabashedly ensconced in Swine-Flu-repelling masks. I'm not even kidding. The UC staff at least had the courtesy to divide the waiting room in half and have the Flu-symptomatic folks on one side with the rest of us sorry schlepps on the other.
A hobble down to "Imaging", 3 x-rays later and, Ta-Da! Pinky is broken. GAH! Can you BELIEVE it? I don't even have a good sporting story to go with it. I mean, WHO breaks their toe VACUUMING? Even the doctor had to mask his stupification with a purposefully blank expression before moving on in the conversation. This sort of reputation lands me squarely in the "CLUTZ" category. "Most traffic accidents occur within 1 mile of your own driveway." My personal version: *Right Inside The Comfort Of Your Own Home* After comparing notes, Jen and I figured out that we get this, plus our insatiable love of high heels, from our German grandmother. (Jen broke her foot falling off a curb. At least she was OUT, having FUN.) Our grandmother regularly tripped and splatted down to the sidewalk with absolutely no visible obstacle in sight to cause such mishaps, and her feet were permanently Barbie-shaped because even her HOUSE slippers were these fabulous gold wedge heels trimmed with white boa at the toes. (Believe me, they underwent close scrutiny on my part.) Our sister, Steph, on the other hand, has never broken anything in her foot region (correct me if I'm wrong, Steph) and also trots around in Sensible Shoes that defy those sorts of accidents. She and our mother excel in "Being A Lady". Not Jen and I. Nope. However, heels are not to be blamed in either of my breakages (yes, I broke the ball of my OTHER foot a few years ago, also at home, decorating for Christmas.....)
So, there you go. The blog might get a few entries this week, as I've been instructed to keep my foot elevated and iced for the next day and then no real walking on it for days afterwards (read: COUCH AND CHOCOLATE FEST), beCAUSE, I broke it right into the joint and if I don't give that time to heal properly, it will be prone to early arthritis. Anybody got any other good news??? Oh yeah; my house is spotless!
Cheers.
So, Debbie, you don't need to read this one with close scrutiny, because it's what I scribbled to you and THEN hit on the idea that, "Oh yeah, I should maybe write something on my blogsite sometime this year; this qualifies as Material."
I had a birthday recently and our dearie friends living in Mexico blessed us by coming up Monday and staying the night, which is always a heartwarming thing for me. I love little persons tucked into all the nooks and crannies of our house, possibly dreaming of pool extravaganzas and limitless hours of Polly Pocket play in the living room. We all had a great time. Except for little Anna, who vigorously reviewed a week's worth of meals as she bent dutifully over one of our potties at 3am. The poor, poor thing. Needless to say, the morning was spent in hurriedly gathering All Things Fruin and they beat a hasty retreat back to Mexico, stopping first at Costco for 2 new tires, because the one with the nail in it hissed out the bulk of it's air in our driveway. (Tuesday morning's entry in the Fruin Log did not conclude with, "And It Was Good") Anna continued hurling into our borrowed blue bucket all the way across the border, but was fine by nightfall (I don't want that bucket back, by the way.....). That's good, that she's better. We're glad for that. So far, no one else's intestines have engaged in the same colorful tango.
Heidi admitted last night that as soon as she heard that Anna had lost it, she secretly said to herself, "You guys don't know it, but as soon as the front door closes on you, Mom will Clorox the entire house down to the rebar under the tile floor...." and of course, she was right (only now, I use an environmentally friendly cleaning agent, for the most part). So, I was busy, not disinfecting (I had already finished that), but pulling the coffee table away to vacuum under it when I over-estimated it's weight and yanked it full bore into my pinky toe. Well, that stopped me for a sec, to be sure, but then I finished the job, went on to mop the tile with an accommodating limp and then slithered into the tub where I noticed that something was really not so right with my foot altogether. 'Cuz, getting in, I screamed involuntarily when I stepped in and put pressure on it, which isn't really all that normal for me, unless there's a bee underneath, which there wasn't.
I kept ice on it after that (my chores were done, I didn't have to leave the couch) and when Clay got home at 8, he suggested all kinds of helpful things, including calling one of his pals, who happens to be an ER doc. I declined each thing, because, really, it was just a bad stubbing. Besides, Paul, the ER doc, is a sweet young man and I've only ever had all of 3 conversations with him, and I didn't think thrusting my foot in his face and saying, "Dude, does this look weird to you?" would be anything less than awkward and taxing on such a new friendship. Plus, they're in our brand new foodie group, and that vision for him, every time we got together to eat, might spoil any wish to continue being IN the foodie group, and we need him in there, because his absolutely charming wife owns the much-coveted William's Sonoma crock pot in which she makes succulent pulled pork.
When I woke up this morning, though, the pretty blue color had crept way up my foot and there was absolutely no stepping on it. So, I got myself appropriately groomed and drove to Urgent Care where I spent no less than 3 riveting hours in the waiting room yawning and reading amongst other souls in various states of disrepair, some vomiting into ziplock baggies (fun times!), others unabashedly ensconced in Swine-Flu-repelling masks. I'm not even kidding. The UC staff at least had the courtesy to divide the waiting room in half and have the Flu-symptomatic folks on one side with the rest of us sorry schlepps on the other.
A hobble down to "Imaging", 3 x-rays later and, Ta-Da! Pinky is broken. GAH! Can you BELIEVE it? I don't even have a good sporting story to go with it. I mean, WHO breaks their toe VACUUMING? Even the doctor had to mask his stupification with a purposefully blank expression before moving on in the conversation. This sort of reputation lands me squarely in the "CLUTZ" category. "Most traffic accidents occur within 1 mile of your own driveway." My personal version: *Right Inside The Comfort Of Your Own Home* After comparing notes, Jen and I figured out that we get this, plus our insatiable love of high heels, from our German grandmother. (Jen broke her foot falling off a curb. At least she was OUT, having FUN.) Our grandmother regularly tripped and splatted down to the sidewalk with absolutely no visible obstacle in sight to cause such mishaps, and her feet were permanently Barbie-shaped because even her HOUSE slippers were these fabulous gold wedge heels trimmed with white boa at the toes. (Believe me, they underwent close scrutiny on my part.) Our sister, Steph, on the other hand, has never broken anything in her foot region (correct me if I'm wrong, Steph) and also trots around in Sensible Shoes that defy those sorts of accidents. She and our mother excel in "Being A Lady". Not Jen and I. Nope. However, heels are not to be blamed in either of my breakages (yes, I broke the ball of my OTHER foot a few years ago, also at home, decorating for Christmas.....)
So, there you go. The blog might get a few entries this week, as I've been instructed to keep my foot elevated and iced for the next day and then no real walking on it for days afterwards (read: COUCH AND CHOCOLATE FEST), beCAUSE, I broke it right into the joint and if I don't give that time to heal properly, it will be prone to early arthritis. Anybody got any other good news??? Oh yeah; my house is spotless!
Cheers.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
On Being Unoriginal
I don't think much about my titles; they just sort of spill out. It was the same with "Ruminations". I accidentally entered it into the computer incorrectly getting to my blog page and came across another blog titled "Ruminations, thoughts from a weary mind". I'm not naive enough to think it's never been used before, but that was kind of a "hey-you're-very-average" moment.
We are each unique and there's a vague hope inside all of us that we might leave some kind of mark on the earth as we clump along, but this is a little reminder that we are indeed just a puff of wind in the larger scheme of things. It's unimportant that we gain notariety. It is essential that we live our days well, that we serve those we love with honest cheer, that we love those within our reach lavishly and with abandon. Those are the harder things to do in a way, because they include acts of self-denial, service gone unnoticed and embrace the risk of rejection and worse, the disgusting self-realization that we aren't entirely generous or noble, as we wish to be. Our true selves are revealed when nobody is looking -- isn't that a famous quote?
I love this observation from Frederick Faber: "Kind thoughts are rarer than either kind words or deeds. They imply a great deal of thinking about others. This in itself is rare. But they also imply a great deal of thinking about others without the thoughts being criticisms. This is rarer still."
The entry is a little sober today, but then my baby just turned 18 on Wednesday and I'm allowed a few moments of reflection, don't you think? As mom would say, "It's good for your character."
We are each unique and there's a vague hope inside all of us that we might leave some kind of mark on the earth as we clump along, but this is a little reminder that we are indeed just a puff of wind in the larger scheme of things. It's unimportant that we gain notariety. It is essential that we live our days well, that we serve those we love with honest cheer, that we love those within our reach lavishly and with abandon. Those are the harder things to do in a way, because they include acts of self-denial, service gone unnoticed and embrace the risk of rejection and worse, the disgusting self-realization that we aren't entirely generous or noble, as we wish to be. Our true selves are revealed when nobody is looking -- isn't that a famous quote?
I love this observation from Frederick Faber: "Kind thoughts are rarer than either kind words or deeds. They imply a great deal of thinking about others. This in itself is rare. But they also imply a great deal of thinking about others without the thoughts being criticisms. This is rarer still."
The entry is a little sober today, but then my baby just turned 18 on Wednesday and I'm allowed a few moments of reflection, don't you think? As mom would say, "It's good for your character."
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Merciful hearts
Hi all,
Clearly, I've been consumed with other things, and unable to tend to Ruminations for a number of months now. Apologies for the silence, but sometimes It Is Golden, and leaves space for true ruminations. I can't claim that for myself at the moment, but it sounds good, eh?
However, something Tim said today while on our 6 mile hike jolted me into the recording mood and so here is a little something for your edification and entertainment.
We have company, and for any of you who have managed a trek down here, you know we enjoy discovering new places and interesting sights with those who grace us with their presence. We decided to try a trail that promised to end in waterfalls, something that seems somewhat unlikely and certainly a sight to behold in this near-desert climate. So off we marched. Saw the gurgling brook that modestly, almost shyly, tumbled over a pretty rock formation, thus "water" and "fall" could reasonably be squashed into the same sentance, but it's a stretch to call what we witnessed anything much akin to "falling". Whatever. Which is pretty much how Tim felt about the entire event. Let's just say that hiking falls somewhere between "cleaning out my closet" and "picking empty snail shells out of the yard" on his list of "favorite things to do".
We were on our way out of the reserve, chatting about our next stop, Burger Lounge. Now, for any of you who live in San Diego, or have come to visit and have been schlepped there by us, you know what sorts of delicious thoughts run through a person's mind when thinking about Burger Lounge. The rest of you just need to come and experience it.
In an effort to make conversation with Tim, thereby distracting him from the agonizing complaints of his heavy and aching legs, I asked him if he was going to get the basil-turkey burger or regular grass-fed beef burger. He says, huffing, "Oh the beef. I think the turkeys should just be left to go free." "You mean just have them at Thanksgiving only?" I asked. "Actually, I was thinking of something more merciful; you know, let them frolick about and mate so we don't deplete their numbers. Say, Mom? What does 'frolicking' mean? I mean, is there anyone who actually DOES that?"
Ahhh. Sometimes, a conversation with Tim is all the refreshment a body needs for a good while. I would so love to be a fly on the wall in his classes, as we've been led to understand that he actively participates in discussions. All his teachers report that they enjoy having him in class and I have a sneaking suspicion that it's because he inserts these kinds of colorful punctuations into whatever the subject matter is, and therefore, genuinely enlivens their day.
Have a good one yourself!
Candy
Clearly, I've been consumed with other things, and unable to tend to Ruminations for a number of months now. Apologies for the silence, but sometimes It Is Golden, and leaves space for true ruminations. I can't claim that for myself at the moment, but it sounds good, eh?
However, something Tim said today while on our 6 mile hike jolted me into the recording mood and so here is a little something for your edification and entertainment.
We have company, and for any of you who have managed a trek down here, you know we enjoy discovering new places and interesting sights with those who grace us with their presence. We decided to try a trail that promised to end in waterfalls, something that seems somewhat unlikely and certainly a sight to behold in this near-desert climate. So off we marched. Saw the gurgling brook that modestly, almost shyly, tumbled over a pretty rock formation, thus "water" and "fall" could reasonably be squashed into the same sentance, but it's a stretch to call what we witnessed anything much akin to "falling". Whatever. Which is pretty much how Tim felt about the entire event. Let's just say that hiking falls somewhere between "cleaning out my closet" and "picking empty snail shells out of the yard" on his list of "favorite things to do".
We were on our way out of the reserve, chatting about our next stop, Burger Lounge. Now, for any of you who live in San Diego, or have come to visit and have been schlepped there by us, you know what sorts of delicious thoughts run through a person's mind when thinking about Burger Lounge. The rest of you just need to come and experience it.
In an effort to make conversation with Tim, thereby distracting him from the agonizing complaints of his heavy and aching legs, I asked him if he was going to get the basil-turkey burger or regular grass-fed beef burger. He says, huffing, "Oh the beef. I think the turkeys should just be left to go free." "You mean just have them at Thanksgiving only?" I asked. "Actually, I was thinking of something more merciful; you know, let them frolick about and mate so we don't deplete their numbers. Say, Mom? What does 'frolicking' mean? I mean, is there anyone who actually DOES that?"
Ahhh. Sometimes, a conversation with Tim is all the refreshment a body needs for a good while. I would so love to be a fly on the wall in his classes, as we've been led to understand that he actively participates in discussions. All his teachers report that they enjoy having him in class and I have a sneaking suspicion that it's because he inserts these kinds of colorful punctuations into whatever the subject matter is, and therefore, genuinely enlivens their day.
Have a good one yourself!
Candy
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