Tonight the sky is green. It’s not quite dark. There is rumbling in the air.

And with absolutely no transition, a story of Sunday.

A picnic, at Minnehaha Falls. Random park visitors were drinking, quite openly even, out of glass wine glasses filled from, yes, a real bottle of wine. This is funny to me only because of a little run-in a few of us had at Hidden Beach last weekend involving the cops, a mere six bottles of Premium, and a late night swim. In the oft-told story, we were “almost arrested” (but given three tickets each instead) and lined up in a row on the beach in our swimsuits. The swimming, however, was wonderful.

I love picnics. I love people joining together to share random gifts of sustenance in the grass. I love how grocery store visits in groups take forever, are hilarious with mass indecisiveness, and involve aimless wanderings and discussions about apple varieties.

Eventually we loaded seven people and a picnic into J.B.’s 1960-something Electra and headed for the park. We played some Frisbee (well, we played 500 with a Frisbee and I kind of just got scared of all us running in the same direction so I just sort of played 500), we waded in the creek, and we laughed at a lot of bestiality (it was really hot outside that day) jokes.

On the return trip, J.B. had to stop to put air in his tires. We piled out as he did so. Did you know that you actually have to take off pieces of a 1960-something Electra in order to fill the tires? We piled back in and watched while, first, a barefoot man and then immediately following him, a shirtless man, walked into the S.A. Like a cartoon it was, except the punchline never happened.

My right leg fell asleep during both the to and fro trips (it was cozy, so I guess that happens). It went through all the phases of dormancy and reached the tingly stage just as I needed to walk.

Summer with lovely people makes it all seem okay.


Regarding Pants

It’s been a long time, I guess. As I’ve mentioned (maybe too often) I am ambivalent about having a blog, about posting words publicly. And while a lot of noteworthy (to me anyway) things have happened since I last posted something, I am constantly torn between simply thinking about the situation (and writing privately about it) and writing a post (because once it is posted it seems separate somehow and then, perhaps, sometimes lost. I thought that this feeling of mine was oddly substantiated when I heard it addressed by Ayelet Waldman and Michael Chabon during their Literary Friendships appearance (another parenthetical thought: listening to archived radio shows makes my daily work day brighter and makes it so much easier to sit at a desk in the library basement). They talked about making a decision to abandon regular blog postings because of a concern for lost story threads, a concern that once something is written down and shared, it’s not growing in one’s head in quite the same way. I think these things too—and then I simultaneously think that sometimes it’s okay to just mention something roughly, to use the roughage as a starting point.

It goes on in my head. And on and on. Decisions are not something I am very skilled at making; I go back and forth. I’m never sure (about much of anything)…and that’s fine, right? It is a grey, grey world we live in.

About last night and about being aware.
I’m taking care of a friend’s dog this weekend. I’m mostly just stopping by her house a few times a day to let the dog out, take it for walks, feed it, reward it with these hilarious things called Beggin’ Treats. (The package describes them as cheese and bacon flavored treats, but I’m not sure that I would say that’s what they smell like and oh my goodness the lingering aroma they leave on one’s hands---even if you just touch a tiny little corner of the faux bacon treat—wow. And they actually look like real pieces of bacon—complete with the pretend fat and the wavy shape. So weird.) I stopped by after work yesterday to take S. (the dog) for a walk, a meander really. We walked out the gate of the apartment building’s back yard just in time to greet two mid-30ish men—kind of creepy looking actually—reclined in a late 80s Honda sipping out of paper bag-encased bottles. They sat up to say hello; you know, they were friendly. We talked briefly about dogs, and specifically the dog I had on a leash, and then S. wanted to meander across the alley. I was wearing these high-heeled sandals, a black blazer, some work pants, feeling kind of silly/nervous about being watched by two strange men lying down in their car while I had forgotten to bring any plastic baggies to clean up after S. Of course I felt even more silly/nervous when I returned to that area in the alley in my ridiculous high-heeled sandals, black blazer, and work pants with a plastic bag.

I played softball last night with my old team, G. Love and Special Sausage, in the very busy and stressful position of Right Field. I actually had a couple of okay hits though—along with one or two (I think 2—I often forget to actually keep track of scores and stats when playing sports...I will, embarrassingly often, play an Ultimate game, love every minute of it, and then forget the score immediately upon leaving—and sometimes forget whether we had even won or lost.) RBIs. During this game I was reminded of how heavily attached I am to places, to settings, to the feelings I associate with them. Last night, I played softball in a familiar position with many of the same people who were on the team last year but found myself feeling rather lost when the same amusing banter on the field from “Boris,” the same crazy (and lovely) positive energy from J.F., the same presence of the laidback ref (she stopped the game to run over to the ice cream truck) weren't being enjoyed by the same me. I’m not with the same person anymore. I don’t have the same plans in my head. I’m not sure if I know that I even have definite plans in my head. I think I might be mentally healthier. I think I might be more confused. I think I might be growing more comfortable with uncertainty.

Last night continued. I went to the Chatterbox with J. I looked at the menu without looking at it and then asked our server to remind me about the beers she had on tap. She told me, in exquisite detail. I looked at the menu again and saw that there was at least half a page actually dedicated to the beer descriptions and felt bad that I had asked her such a silly question. She came back. I apologized. She said she didn’t really mind. She was the cute one with knee-his and bouncy hair. She looks like she could secretly be a superhero. I accidentally ordered a sandwich that had turkey on it (apparently I wasn’t so skilled with the menu-reading last night). I surreptitiously picked it off and passed it across the table to J., who added it to his sandwich. I visited the Chatterbox’s fantastic bathroom space and realized that I had sat in something. It was dark in there, and I didn’t look. (Things I need to remember to do in the future [regarding pants]: look at a chair before you sit down in it—this, unfortunately, is not something I have learned the first or second time--; don’t store a partially chewed piece of gum on your knee while watching a movie in a theatre—while my cousin actually experienced the result of doing this, I still feel pretty strongly about remembering this tip; big, plastic glasses full of water do not belong in a car’s cupholder—if you happen to drive over a curb, a big, plastic glass of water is more likely to spill all over your pants and you might not have the opportunity to go home and change before going to work; and beware of consuming Junior Mints in the car—I learned this one both in my car and my brother’s…doing so can cause both pant-related embarrassment and sibling upheaval.)

Last night continued. I think it is amazing when someone says exactly what you have been hoping to hear—and means it sincerely. I think it is lovely when this happens over and over again.

Last night continued. Sometimes stupid movies at the Riverview are the best way to clear one's head of negativity. Andy Dick makes me laugh.


Can someone please tell me how to know when you are making the right decisions? I keep trying to just pay attention to today because it is important to be mindful and appreciative of the little things that each day brings, but sometimes I can’t ignore anymore that every decision I am making is moving me more in one direction than in another. How do you know you are with the right person? How many moments of “this doesn’t feel right” are too many? How do you make deal with the “this feels right but doesn’t make sense at all” situations? How much do you pay attention to what other people suggest or advise? When do you believe that people really mean what they say? How do you continue to trust in people, in the continuity of time, in the eventuality of an unraveled knot when each day things seem to grown more confusing?

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