Jarrah is feeling better, finally. She missed nearly a week of school, and has gotten rather skinny, but she's chipper again. We are having fun learning to tell time, as we've finally found a math-related area in which I feel confident. Sure, subtraction taxes me, but anyone can tell you that I'm always prompt.
David is still excited about his race car driving. Tinkers on the car, learning to install brakes (good lord) and whatnot. I guess I'm glad he's having fun without drugs.
I am attending several rehearsals a week, and despite wishing I had more to do, I am in love with the whole process. Learning the songs, and singing them in four-part harmony with other people, makes me incredibly happy. Speaking of happy, I'm pretty sure this is the nicest cast ever. Just hanging out with them would be reason enough to like rehearsals.
As the weather improves (like, from '60s to '70s--we really suffer here) I've been taking a lot of brisk morning walks. My main motivator is a little thing on my iPhone called "AOL Radio" that someone told me about. It has all these theme stations that continuously delight me, like "Gay Anthems" and "Party Tracks" and "Super '70s." Speaking of the latter, I have always bragged that I'm the ultimate expert on '80s music, and now I discover somewhat soberly that it's really '70s tunes where my powers of recall are unmatched. What a crazy decade, spanning disco, folk and classic rock--and all of it has its place on my walks.
Walking gives me a nice overview of the neighborhood, as I first pass two churches (Lutheran and Mormon) then the sprawling park where the ladies sweat at their morning Boot Camp Class (lots of pulleys and medicine balls, very scary) the municipal pool with gals in flowery bathing caps bobbing to the music, the library where I love to inhale deeply, the middle school. Then around to the main street where I pass the bank, the supermarket, a gas station, a taco shop (tantalizing early-morning tortillas wafting out the vents) the 50-year-0ld diner, the donut shop and dressmakers, a nail salon and finally, the shiny, new whorehouse.
Whorehouse, you say? Surely you jest. Well, help me out here: It's called "Massage Spa" and has a big "GRAND OPENING" sign hanging over the doors. Which are smoked, opaque glass, and there are no windows. With no advertisements of any kind listed--no menus, price lists, descriptions of the KIND of massages available therein. There's one of those neon "OPEN" signs that seems to be lit 24 hours a day. And I never see anyone go in or out. Yup, I'm thinking it's our spanking-new, friendly neighborhood whorehouse. Every 50-year-old neighborhood with the largest population of octogenarians in the county needs one, don't you think?