Fourth of July

Why people publish many many photographs on facebook of things like fireworks and buildings that everyone has already seen pictures of escapes me. Unless you are a talented photographer like Robyn O., or the day you are viewing the Eiffel Tower there happens to be a ladder of kittens hanging from the top, we do not need to see these pictures. Should put yourself in them, or just not post them. I think.

I love kissing Surprise's salt and pepper belly.

So today.

I had EVERY INTENTION. EVERY INTENTION SCOTT of going to softball. Then I opened my eyes this morning, thought it was raining. It wasn't. Realized I was disappointed. But I knew Hannah would string me up by my nipples if I backed out of going, so I was just lying there, resigned, when I received a magical completely out of character text from Hannah saying that she didn't want to go anymore. I latched right onto this.

Now, I LOVE going to softball. I love to play softball, I love to bat and catch and throw and- well, the running I could do without, but I love to go. However I considered that I could use as an excuse the fact that I took a header into a pile of rocks last night and rolled over three times before scudding to a stop giggling like a loon. Could say I had damaged my knee. But this was not true, I was fine and I realized I didn't want anyone thinking I was some sort of delicate flower.

So that all worked out. Received a minorly scathing voicemail from Herr Wichmann which I disregarded completely and deleted before it finished playing. Idle threats.

So got up. Received text from Robyn and Ginnie inviting me to take the dogs to the river. I was game, but didn't know what that meant specifically. In my family, this sort of thing means packing up six coolers, washing the car, making hotel reservations, getting someone to feed the cat and stopping at Hardee's for breakfast. Robyn said we could be back in two hours, which worked out well, as I had long standing plans with myself to make very impressive cinnamon rolls.

So we go. I take Surprise downstairs when they arrive to show Ginnie, as she took a shine to him weeks ago and would have adopted him if she could have gotten it by her boss. This went over fairly well, with only one choking hiss issuing from the kitten when he was nearly eaten by the German Shepherd.

We go down to the Pony Pastures. The dogs all poop immediately, except for Piper, who doesn't poop anywhere over the property line. Alice feels it her obligation to poop everywhere she goes. Bella is just permanently overstimulated.

I told R+G walking Alice is like walking a hot dog bun. You would understand.

Today the bottom of the river was covered in slime and grease. This is fun to me, because when I am not (in my imagination) nimbly scampering from rock to rock like Pocahontas from the movie, I can crawl around from rock to rock like some sort of scary forest hunter. Bella swam all over the place. The whole time making noises like she was passing a cantaloupe. Alice momentarily forgot herself and swam out a goodly ways. Then realized it and promptly became a cement statue mid-marsh.

Piper doesn't do the swim thing.

So after much mud and bleeding, we went back to the car and I was taken home.

I showered, didn't wash my suffering hair because I had forgotten to get shampoo, and put on what I considered to be an appropriate sundress for baking in my kitchen.

I then watched two episodes of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant." This show is hysterical. Not because of these situations people find themselves in, but because of the acting that is required to reenact those situations. Also the stunt babies that are cast are comparable to large Butterball Turkeys. Then the narrator will say, "Miraculously, at 12 weeks premature and only 4.36 ounces, Baby Timothy was healthy." Then they show "Baby Timothy" overflowing his mother's arms and learning how to ride a bicycle.

So then I had to go buy yeast. Which Tom likes to remind me at all times are bread farts.

So then I go home and make these buns. Made dough. Dropped 13 pounds kneading dough for twenty minutes. Then flung the dough out mashed it up into a rectangle, covered it with unspeakable amounts of butter and cinnamon and rolled it up. Baked it over at a friend's house where I was invited to grill out. Weren't that good. Were fine. I shouldn't have put them in the oven. Always I prefer dough over baked dough.

At this party were many U of R graduates. Many "men" wandering around secretly being 23 wearing mauve seersucker shorts delicately embroidered with masculine icons like foxes and shrimp.

Lots of girls in "sexy tops." Some very nice people. I talked to a lot of them. I was very pleased with myself. I ate my first rib, and got myself arranged to help a new friend of mine gut one of his kills next hunting season.

There was a very nice middle-aged man there passing out glow-sticks. I got one.

Also a kicking game of what appeared to be THROW THE FRISBEE IN THE FLOOR AS HARD AS YOU CAN taking place in the back alley. I spent a lot of time observing this.

Hannah was at a party across the alley. She and I and John and Paul Major met up and walked over to the goose pond in Byrd Park to view the 'works. I loved that. Those hateful nasty conniving geese were all marooned out there on their crappy little island because they were out-numbered by people. Hah. Nasty hateful geese. They will try to kill you.

The fireworks went like this: Firework. 90 seconds. 2 fireworks. 120 seconds. 3. Several bursts of three in a row. The end.

Walked back to the car accompanied most of the way by someone's very drunk fiancee in a yellow dress and overdone eyeliner speaking dramatic French to a four year old boy who had no interest in discussing anything other than the fact that he had made the decision to propose to his cousin.

Drove home. Went over some really big holes in the alley. Love that. My father used to drive the church bus to pick up and take all the kids to choir practice and I would always sit in the back row and holler "GO FASTER OVER THE BUMPS, DADDY!"