In the foreground is a pot that one of my kids decorated, probably back in kindergarten. It holds no significance to me. But it’s not broken, and it seems heartless to throw it away. So I put it on the ledge. When it gets knocked over by a basketball and smashed to bits, I’ll gladly sweep the fragments into the trash bin.
In the middle is some sort of weed/herb that grows unchecked beyond my usual bi-monthly mowing. It tastes like a combination of oregano, mint, and basil.
In the background is a window that is enjoying its last week on earth. Structurally, this corner of the house needs (my) help, and as much as I hate to lose any natural light, I’d also hate to see my house collapse.
Geez I’m tired. I shut the water off yesterday morning. (One must flush wisely in these situations.) 14 hours later water once again flowed through the fully re-routed pipes of my house. Let it be known that I am indeed a plumbing phenom. After one month of toil, and $1000 worth of copper, I am finally done with this pipe raising business.
Working 14 hours left me no time to do my main job, which is to be a dad. With Mom at band practice, the kids were left to their own devices. This morning I let them sleep-in, since they had gone to bed at an unspeakable hour. I don’t know what kind of nerds I’m raising, but nothing makes them more angry then being allowed to sleep-in and miss an hour of school. Kids these days!
Last Friday I returned to the site of this awkward scene where a band called Old Man Markley rocked the United States of America. Maybe it’s just an Old Man thing, but I do not speak in hyperbole when I say it was one of the top 10 shows I’ve ever seen. No YouTube videos seem to capture the raw mayhem of their act, but if you focus on the washboard playing in this video, you will get the idea.
Tonight I play my first-ever game of pick-up basketball. Indeed these are the salad days of my physical resurgence.
September 28th,2011 |
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Orange bins full of empty, bad beverages
Every day, amid the splendor of fall’s magnificent colors, my fancy dog and I stroll the rolling hills of West View, Pennsylvania. My favorite day of the walk-week is Monday, because Monday is recycling day. That is, I get to see what my fellow citizens have been drinking. While I strive to live a life free of judgment toward my brethren, recycle bins overflowing with empty cans of Diet Orange Faygo and Natty Ice expose the supercilious wickedness hidden deep within my soul.
Asia "don't call me Amélie" Neill and her new doo
In other “news”, Asia has a new doo, and has taken up the trumpet. Her venerable songwriting skills have been on display of late, as she recently penned several future hits: “We’re the gangstas, the preppy gangstas” and “I got the bad man blues”.
Asia "Don't call me Louis Armstrong" Neill playing her trumpet
September 21st,2011 |
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Just before Labor Day, Mrs. Neill jetted off to Nashville for a business trip to do whatever modern women do on their business trips. Lacking a better option, I took the kids camping, something of which I generally disapprove. If you’re “trying to get away from it all”, then I don’t see the point of sleeping several steps from a community salted with loud boozed rednecks up all hours of the night. But a weekday just before Labor Day? I was pretty sure we’d have the place to ourselves. And we did for about an hour. That is, until a gentleman and his three young daughters set up shop RIGHT NEXT TO US. After grilling the intruders at length, I learned that they were far from home (NYC!) and that they were half-way through a 120 mile bike-trek along the Great Allegheny Passage. (Which would explain why they didn’t have a car.) Before long, my kids were having a great time with our new neighbors.
For three days, we hung out with our new friends, biked (18 miles), hiked (jungle-like and with lots of waterfalls), and whitewater rafted (guess who did almost all the paddling for 4 hours) our way around Ohiopyle, PA. If camping was always that awesome (and mosquito free), I would live in a forest.
Sorry Paris, Ohiopyle was the highlight of my summer.
Z and A, still pajama clad, say goodbye to their new friends.
