First I drove Zachary to school...
No first I said, yeah, I can drive you to school, dragged myself out of bed, peed (is that a word?), washed my face, pulled on my new size 12 Lee jeans that make my ass feel nice, and the multi-blues plaid shirt, made just enough coffee to fill the flip-flop ("slippahs" in Hawaii) themed travel coffee mug from WalMart, grabbed an apple banana (the best kind - I'm sorry Jennie and Allie that you never got to try one), told Jasper, "Yes, you get to come sweety-pie, Mommy isn't going to leave you home alone," put on his leash, my blue "Locals" and went out the door. Jasper wouldn't go up the sidewalk until he was sure Zachary was coming too. Loyal dog. One dead cockroach on the sidewalk, three live lizards (this is before we even get in the car), grab today's Honolulu Advertiser off the mailbox.
Drive down Wilhemina Rise, Zach's talking about how uninteresting school is and the lame assignments they get and the ridiculous amounts of time they're given to do them in. I tell him the story of how when I had a student job here in 1979 (yes, I'm that old), at the end of my first day at the Newborn Research Facility I brought my coded sheets and punched keycards (yes I'm that old) to the supervisor. She looked up at them, at me, and said, "That was supposed to take you all week." Connect the dots yourself. This isn't hyper-drive Cambridge - not that, of course, he didn't receive innumerable lame assignments in the Cambridge Public School system.
Dropped him off, drove down Diamond Head Road to the beach park. Walked the dog, drank coffee, read headlines, decided not to bother rolling up my jeans so I could continue down the beach where the high tide was blocking the way. Walked past rich tourists wandering down from the Kahala, homeless people sleeping in groups on the beach or sitting in trucks in the parking lot, a former marine with a small dog and faded tattoos.
Instead of coming right home drove around Diamond Head down Kapahulu to Leonard's. Grabbed three quarters from the parking meter stash, stood in line, ordered "one original." Sat in the parking lot biting into the rich but not too rich sugary goodness of a just made malasada. Got malasadas? Yes I do.
Home, fed the dog, skimmed through a couple days worth of papers and ran across this (the reason I sat down to write this entry in the first place):
From Sunday's New York Times column by Bob Morris titled "All in the Timing"
"So, like Einstein's notion of time itself, being on time has become relative. Ten minutes late is the new on time. Twenty is the new 10. A cellphone call that someone is running 15 minutes late means you won't be seeing him for 30, at least. Our clocks might as well be dripping in a Salvador Dali painting."
There's more of course, but that's what I like best. Actually what I mostly like is "Ten minutes late is the new on time." So who knew? I'm always on time!
Time to relocate to the lanai so I can see Diamond Head and the ocean and the banana trees and Jasper can lie in the sun in his "sun spot" while I work on tomorrow's lectures.
Drive down Wilhemina Rise, Zach's talking about how uninteresting school is and the lame assignments they get and the ridiculous amounts of time they're given to do them in. I tell him the story of how when I had a student job here in 1979 (yes, I'm that old), at the end of my first day at the Newborn Research Facility I brought my coded sheets and punched keycards (yes I'm that old) to the supervisor. She looked up at them, at me, and said, "That was supposed to take you all week." Connect the dots yourself. This isn't hyper-drive Cambridge - not that, of course, he didn't receive innumerable lame assignments in the Cambridge Public School system.
Dropped him off, drove down Diamond Head Road to the beach park. Walked the dog, drank coffee, read headlines, decided not to bother rolling up my jeans so I could continue down the beach where the high tide was blocking the way. Walked past rich tourists wandering down from the Kahala, homeless people sleeping in groups on the beach or sitting in trucks in the parking lot, a former marine with a small dog and faded tattoos.
Instead of coming right home drove around Diamond Head down Kapahulu to Leonard's. Grabbed three quarters from the parking meter stash, stood in line, ordered "one original." Sat in the parking lot biting into the rich but not too rich sugary goodness of a just made malasada. Got malasadas? Yes I do.
Home, fed the dog, skimmed through a couple days worth of papers and ran across this (the reason I sat down to write this entry in the first place):
From Sunday's New York Times column by Bob Morris titled "All in the Timing"
"So, like Einstein's notion of time itself, being on time has become relative. Ten minutes late is the new on time. Twenty is the new 10. A cellphone call that someone is running 15 minutes late means you won't be seeing him for 30, at least. Our clocks might as well be dripping in a Salvador Dali painting."
There's more of course, but that's what I like best. Actually what I mostly like is "Ten minutes late is the new on time." So who knew? I'm always on time!
Time to relocate to the lanai so I can see Diamond Head and the ocean and the banana trees and Jasper can lie in the sun in his "sun spot" while I work on tomorrow's lectures.
posted by shellgirl at 10:15 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home