Thursday, July 7, 2011
In our new neighborhood it is not uncommon to see elderly women doing things you would normally not see elderly women doing. Why, just today I saw quite an eyeful previous to pulling into our driveway. Upon first glance, I was almost certain that when this particular car conveying two people drove past I would see a pair of long haired hippies who were imaginably married on 4/20, listening to toker tunes like Bob Marley or Tom Petty, using words like "far out" or "uhhh?" They continued to drive by in their half painted maroon 1980's Subaru, with two much less than expensive mountain bikes tied to the rear and I was pleasantly surprised to find that they were indeed not hippies. Two elderly woman, most likely breaching their 80's with pink visers, suncheaters that were big enough to shade their entire face, fluffy white hair, cigarettes in hand, and husbands perhaps napping in their graves. Such is our neighborhood when finding an older woman with no partner. The sad thing is you never see it the other way around. Men are always the first to go. My explanation for seeing these diamonds in the rough, usually in pairs, riding motorcycles, scooters, or anything that could shorten their lifespan, is simply that they have lived their lives and are now free to do whatever they want while they can. How else would you explain such a thing? I think it's great. It brightens my day and I'm sure the rush of wind struggling to make its way through their teased cotton white hair, mounting a Harley, brightens theirs as well. I pulled into my driveway pondering what I just saw and continued to imagine what they had come from doing. My strange awareness envisioned them dodging trees on a treacherous biking path, drinking from a camelbak filled with mountain dew, an ipod headphone in one ear, the other left naked to hear if Mildred is still following close. I love my neighborhood.
The other day...well it really wasn't the other day more like a couple of weeks ago, but the other day sound much less complicated. The other day we were stopped at a gas station before headed up to the mountains to meet up with Christoph's family. Like usual, Christoph was filling up the gas tank and recording how good our mileage was this time around. It has never really changed from time to time, but he still insists upon checking and telling me every time. "19.8 miles to the gallon! Much better than last time!" I had recalled that last time was 19.1 mpg. In the back seat slept our precious little Elliott, exhausted from the hardships of eating, pooping, and laughing. I looked back at him to see if Christoph's leaving and shutting the door had awakened him. Placed ever so spidery above his head was a perfect little spider, spinning her web and was centimeters away from landing her spidery appendages on my sweet sleeping child. My face turned from a satisfied smile to a horrifying scowl. How dare this spider. If I wouldn't have though Elliott was in Immediate danger, I would have snapped a picture because it was absolutely perfect. A sleeping child with a nasty looking spider about to land on their head. Unfortunately though, I crushed that spider in between my fingers as fast as I could, dismissing all my spidery fears. Poor Charlotte.