Saturday, March 28, 2015
Friday, March 27, 2015
On Wednesday, the following costume ideas were sent home for Bob's school project about America taking place on Friday. (In case you had that old Johnny Tremain or Betsy Ross outfit hanging out in the back of your closet.)
We bucked tradition and instead of the powdered wig Ben Franklin garb, we went for the classic:
I mean, it IS red, white, and blue.
God bless America, and everything.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
In my mind, I flashed forward thirty or so years to when my peers and I would enjoy a similar living situation. Certainly the musician in our Starbucks and Burning Man themed lobby would be playing "oldies" such as "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and "Head Like a Hole." What would we be wearing? Denim overalls and concert t-shirts? A flannel and orthopedic combat boots? (Great idea, I know. That's my gift to you Doc Martens.)
Would we bring our own era with us, or is there a set expectation of what elderly looks like? Certainly the assisted living of 2045 will have tenants with tattoos, full sleeve tribal ink sticking out of their dressing gowns. Instead of rolling into the beauty parlor for a blue rinse and a wash and set, will there be a dread specialist at our salon? Will we still be getting blow outs when our hair is white?
What innovations will there be? Maybe we will be riding on Rascals fueled by jet packs. Perhaps our nurses will be pleasant and attentive robots, our vitals checked via arm implanted computer screens. I foresee a future of Saturday nights, sitting in dark rooms watching movies like Breakfast Club and Fast Times at Ridgemont High, sipping our mochachino flavored Ensures.
I'm five short years away from the prime-time to buy into extended care insurance. I'm not planning on making the move anytime soon, but when I do I'll expect to crowd surf my way into the building.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
The underpants show up everywhere; the couch, behind the big chair, under the kitchen table. Often, they are left on the bathroom floor, still inside the shorts they have been riding in all day. The dirty socks, are launched off of little boy feet onto the piano keys and the dresser mirror. The t-shirts bunched up in a pile next to, but never inside, the hamper. The interior of the house is a treasure hunt of cast-off clothing.
Pokemon trading cards rest under the bed pillows. Deflated soccer balls litter the yard. Chewed and still spitty dog toys are underfoot, giving a loud squeak when stepped on. Video game controllers hide in the couch cushions. Leaves from outside are tracked in through the front door, the side door, the backdoor.
On the kitchen counter, empty coffee cups ride a wave of last week's homework. A garden rose in a vase drops petals into a breakfast plate. There is a passport, a cycling jersey, a box of pencils, and a favorite wooden letter opener carved in the shape of a seahorse, each must be moved in order to set the table. And the books, the books are all around.
This is our place, where we do all the living.