And The World's Alright With Me

We're having a sultry little heat wave here in SD. Of course, we're usually having one of those, but since today is the last day of February, it's a kind of surprise. Today was around 80, with a warm breeze that brushed the back of the neck, whispering that change is always on its way.

We started the day with a purge. That sounds just terrible, and so unlike me. What I mean is, we gathered up a bunch of VCRs, printers, monitors, cables and related junk that formerly resided in our garage, and drove it around the corner to our local middle school, where a bunch of city trucks were waiting in honor of an e-waste (that sounds terrible, too) recycling event. My satisfaction in handing over a trunk full of plastic junk was rich and lingering.

From there, we trekked to a park up north (Jarrah was pretty excited about it, since it was off Carmel Mountain Rd.--if there's anything better than caramel, it's a mountain of caramel) for "Family Day," an event we attend every couple of months with our Animal Crackers group. Back in the day when we were freshly home from China, Animal Crackers was sort of a "mommy and me" thing, but like Google, it's diversified. One of the branches is Family Day, and it's kinda just like it sounds. There are families, and it's a day. At the park. With snacks. It was lovely to peel stunningly sweet tangerines and catch up with some of my girls. (There were boys, too. And babies.)

There was time for a quick lunch on the way home, and we sat outside enjoying the sun. I tried not to be annoyed that they'd given me brown rice instead of white (I suffered some trauma at the hand of brown rice as a child) and then, in fact, I was not annoyed because it was tasty. As if she'd been replaced by another child, Jarrah sat quietly and ate her entire meal without complaining, and even told us how delicious she found it. (I should have checked for a hidden panel under her hair at this point, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.)

I arrived home with just enough time to turn back around and head to Point Loma, where I was meeting Lorenzo for Hedda rehearsal. I haven't discussed my most recent theater production in this blog, but the show is fast approaching--just a few weeks away now. I've been tragically remiss in learning my lines, but today we got a lot done. We met at The Living Room, the coffee shop in a historic old house across the street from the theater, with its banging screen door and woeful guitarists on weekend nights, not to mention a devoted population of Point Loma University students packing the tables with their laptops and iPods and serious study faces. I had never been there on a Saturday afternoon, but we ended up on the back porch, where the sea breeze whispered in the trees and my Italian soda was impossibly cold and sweet as I quizzed Lorenzo on his lines. Which he totally knows--I'm the slacker. There was one other couple out there, and they were macking on each other in the corner, all trucker hats and black eyeliner and "I dare you to judge me by my cover" expressions. Didn't deter Lorenzo a bit--he cheerfully informed them (while I cringed) that we needed an audience, and even threw a script over so they could prompt lines. And you know what? They were attentive, and helpful, and gave great feedback. Then they asked us when the show was, and said they hoped to come. So much for my Judgy McJudgerson ways. Before we left, we also met this man, who came sailing down the ramp on his electric cart, dressed in full Western regalia and turquoise jewelry. He's 95, and didn't look a day over 70. His companion (wife?) took down our show info in her Blackberry. I tell you, Point Loma is overflowing with love and good cheer. I want to move there.

On the way home, I swung by the market, which I love to do when I can use TWO eyes to choose the food. Jarrah has a way of flailing wildly and frequently into the displays when she accompanies me, so shopping without destruction has become a delightful novelty. I picked up some pre-marinated pollo asado that I had my doubts about, but I chose to ignore those doubts in the interest of an easy dinner.

At home, David was weeding the garden, as I'd asked. I took over in the front, getting down in the dirt with my pokey metal thing, enjoying every satisfying thwuck as a weed pulled loose. Of course, after a while my back was screaming, but I chose to ignore that, as I always do lately, with a thought along the lines of "When I was younger, I never even thought about my back" or "Some people make their living pulling weeds, and they don't complain." Works every time. Jarrah amused herself in the driveway, first hauling out a beach chair so she could "soak up the sunshine" (it was getting dark) and then riding a broom across what passes for our lawn cackling "HEH-hee-HEE." Otherwise, I didn't hear a peep out of her for 45 minutes, which, now that I think about, should have made me look for that panel after all.

When the sun was down, David threw the chicken on the barbecue, and--as promised--in 5 minutes we had pollo asado. With caesar salad and mango-papaya salsa and organic tortillas. And I hadn't done a damn thing. And again, Jarrah ate it all. What is going ON with that child?

And now she's in bed. She let me brush and floss her without complaint, and allowed me to read her about 87 Shel Silverstein poems before tucking her in. I loved those poems when I was a kid, and while I think she has no strong feeling for them, she's become aware that I need to be humored where they are concerned.

Which, once again, is pretty darn cool.