5. For those who doubt the sustainability of yesterday’s “zoo of imagination” idea, I submit to you this: My son spent half an hour giving sticks to a bear that wasn’t there for anyone else but him.
(Not that the bear didn’t appreciate it, mind you.)
4. Once I thought about it, son, I see your point. An empty bear enclosure with a picture of a bear is just about as good as an enclosure with an actual animal in it. Half the time you can’t see the animals even if they are there.
(I wonder if they’d be any money in designing an entire children’s zoo around this premise? Call it the “zoo of imagination” and you could “stock” it with just about anything you’d like. Only charge a pittance just a little over what you’d need for upkeep, and I’d bet you’d do alright.)
3. Speaking of money, if you read the flyer carefully enough to see where it said admission for children 4 to 11 was half off, you read it carefully enough to realize ages 12 and above were full price. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.
(The clerk is obligated to appear as if they believe it was an honest mistake on your part even after you continue to argue the point with them. I am not so restricted, however.)
2. When you go to a crafts booth and buy a little handmade something (in this case, a set of yarn finger puppets for L.), provided both craft and creator are worthwhile, you do realize that a lot more effort went into the creation of said craft than the creator is asking you to pay, right?
(For the record, ma’am, I, for one, was happy to give you the dollar apiece you were asking for your puppets.)
Rather than repeat myself on my thoughts regarding Memorial Day (again), this year I’d like to focus on some of the thoughts that occurred to me as I took L. to his first real Memorial Day event:
1. Have you ever noticed at any public gathering that is supposed to be “fun,” just how few smiles there are compared to the number of frowns?
(They’re not all going to be like this, but I thought I’d start with the gloomiest thought first.)
Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven’t fallen asleep yet.
– Anonymous
Yesterday I had a need to consult The Devil’s Dictionary, and, much to my surprise, I couldn’t find the word I needed in the Ambrose Bierce edition, so I went to a more . . . direct source for what I needed:
CONTRACT, n. – A legally binding document created to protect your interests as well as mine . . . but mostly mine.
As I considered what entry I should make here today, I found myself contemplating where my mind was at around this time in other years. Fortunately, I have something of a record to consult, so let’s see:
In 2009 I’m invoking an Irish blessing to cheer myself up because my car had been in an accident the day before (An Irish Blessing).
In 2010 I’m considering past life lessons and using a title that was way too long (Lessons I Learned From My Childhood (That Were In NO Way What Was Trying To Be Taught To Me At The Time) (Part Five)).
In 2011 I’m thinking about how the world had failed to end (Could Be Worse).
In 2012 I’m thinking less than kindly about politics (With The Veneer, There Was At Least Less Excrement).
In 2013 I’m feeling mentally sluggish and looking for a creative workaround for an entry (Retrospective Perspective).
In 2014 I’m asking myself if this style of entry is really such a good idea (What Was I Thinking?).
As I’ve said before, fatherhood has its share of frustrations . . . things that nobody tells you about.
Sure, you think you know about diaper changes, maybe you even do have lots of experience changing diapers, but then you drag yourself out of bed one morning and face a diaper that goes beyond war crime level and is more akin to an offense against sanity itself. The type of diaper that after changing you are tempted to bypass washing your hands with soap and water in favor of using a flamethrower or a potato peeler instead, and no matter how thoroughly you clean, you’re just convinced something from the diaper you changed must be lingering somewhere, perhaps under your fingernails, because that miasma can’t just be a lingering memory, can it?
At times like that though, at that moment right there, do you know what makes it all worth it?
Absolutely nothing.
Cheer up.
For every person bemoaning the fact that there were so many candles on their birthday cake that they set their hair on fire when they tried to blow them out, there are at least two people bemoaning that they don’t even have hair to risk anymore, and easily twice that many bemoaning the fact that they no longer have the breath to blow out their own candles anymore, and even more than that are incapable of bemoaning anything at all anymore.
So it could be worse . . . a lot worse.
This candle’s for . . .
Um . . . on second thought, you’ve probably had your fill of candles for one year.
In the words of Red Green, “Remember, I’m pulling for ya. We’re all in this together!”
Candles & Curses 