Things I’ve discovered/remembered since arriving here:
parents’ house, which is not the house I grew up in, is nevertheless full
of the stuff I grew up with, but it’s all in the wrong places. For example, the yellow checkered hamper
in which I deposited my dirty clothes as a child now collects garbage
under the kitchen sink.
father never stops at stop signs, yet never receives a ticket for failing
to do so. Where are the Cleveland cops?
have real, honest-to-god thunder storms here, the likes of which we never
see on the west coast. Last night
it roared and rumbled and flashed for hours, causing the children to huddle
in their beds and shriek with terror/delight at every KABOOM.
should write more about my nephew Chip (also visiting this week), because
he’s a really neat kid. Chip is a
walking encyclopedia of zoology.
Just yesterday he informed me that vultures enjoy dining on ostrich
eggs, and that the musk ox (which he was pretending to be while walking on
all fours) once roamed the earth with the mastadons and the mammoths.
a sizable Jewish community here. In
fact, there are more synagogues within a mile of my parents’ home than
there are in all of the Seattle. And the guy at the next table here at Starbucks
is wearing a yarmulke.
learned last night that if you are six feet above the ground on a
fast-swinging swing, and you let go to brush the hair out of your face,
you fly through the air and land on the ground with an uncomfortable thud
while your mother runs over to see if you’re dead. Well, actually, that could’ve happened
in any city.
- If you
go to the El Rodeo restaurant on Wednesday night, hoping to see the clown
they advertised would be there, you will go home with sad children because
the clown apparently downed too many margaritas and passed out at his last
And so, all in all, we’re having a spiffy time in the
Vacation Capitol of the Midwest. But I’ve never understood why they call it
the Midwest when it is obviously in the East.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back and make
sure the children haven’t locked their grandparents in the broom closet.