Gummibunny

I just finished my Harry Potter book. It was good, but quite different from the others. The first three had drama, suspense, etc., but were overwhelmingly happy books. The fourth one didn’t end as happily as the previous ones, and now the fifth one was even darker. It was the kind of book that revealed a lot and moved the plot forward, but wasn’t as fun because the characters went through a lot. But, it was still a very good book that I devoured obssesively.
I always hate coming to the end of a good book. It’s like being really hungry, eating wonderful food, and cleaning your plate only to find you could have eaten a double-portion. I’m still hungry. And that almost 900 page book was a pretty big portion.
It’s probably best that I have a break though. I think the book had begun to take over. I would go to work, come home, cook, eat, spend my evening with my nose in the book, then sleep. I think Lee had begun to feel abandoned, and the laundry and house cleaning and even the job search had come to a halt. Now it is time to re-enter society and impatiently wait another several years for the sequel.

Friday, Lee and I finally mustered up the courage to confront our neighbor about the leaves. She was friendly and apologetic, and said she was already planning to clean them up. “We just ran out of bags,” she explained. I wanted to point out that we live within walking distance of several stores that sell bags, and regardless, her lack of bags still did not justify putting the leaves on OUR property – but I refrained.
Today, to our delight, they cleaned up their mess, and even raked the alley/trash area so that it looks better now than before. We must’ve scared them. We’re pretty intimidating – right.

I am halfway through a plate of chicken fingers when I hear it – the loud drone of a metal roof being pelted by large raindrops. My brother hears it too. “Don’t say anything. Maybe dad won’t notice,” I say. But soon, I see him look up at the roof, realization on his face. Concerned, he and my Uncle Barry rush to the window to watch the rain falling in sheets outside. Soon, lightning and thunder join the cacophony – then the lights flicker out. At that, my father and uncle cheer. This is what happened last year. A good sign.
42 of my family, friends, and friends of friends are gathered at the Three Dollar Cafe for an annual ritual. My dad’s all-time favorite band Chicago is playing at Chastain Park in Atlanta. For many years we have gone to this concert, and as our numbers have grown, we have met at the cafe to eat together first. We have dubbed the night, “The Chicago Experience.”
Chastain Park is a great, outdoor venue. The rows of seats are spaced out far enough that you can put a small table in front of you. Concert-goers can bring food and drinks. Some people go all out, bringing silver and china and gourmet dishes. Almost every table has a candle.
Back at the cafe, we are all concerned about the weather. A terrible summer thunderstorm is beating down, and I can imagine sitting through the concert soaking wet. Last year it had rained while we were at the cafe, the lights had flickered, and then the rain had given way to a beautiful night. We are all hoping for a repeat performance.
After passing out umbrellas and rain coats, we run to our cars. Sure enough, during the 10 minute drive to the venue, the rain stops. By the time we towel off our seats, you can see patches of blue sky.
We spend a good half hour setting up our area, opening bottles of wine and champagne, and getting ready. Then, the first notes of Chicago’s first song echo into the park, and the party begins.
I like Chicago, and I enjoy hearing them live. But my favorite part of the concert is always watching my father. He’s not usually a reserved guy, he likes to have fun. But at Chicago concerts, his fun is knocked up a notch. Maybe 10 notches.
He sings. He dances. He turns to the people around him and encourages them to dance and sing too. He knows every word of every song, and they pour out of him without the slightest hint of repression. He even brings a small tambourine so he can play along. In the months leading up to the concert, he keeps the instrument in his car so he can practice while he drives. He doesn’t want to just play, he wants to play it right. I can only imagine the looks he must get driving down the Interstate. Here is this grown man, in his gold Buick LeSabre, singing at the top of his lungs and beating his tambourine against the steering wheel. Priceless.
At the concert, he gets some stares. In a sea of people he stands out, thoroughly engrossed in the concert and the moment and not afraid to show it. But I have often found that rather than being annoyed by his displays, many people either join in, or say they wish they could join in. One woman seated in front of us leans up toward dad and says, “I wish I was drinking what you’re drinking.”
Yeah, there is champagne, but that’s not what makes dad dance. It is the drink of good music from his youth that gets him going. By the end of the concert, almost all 42 of us are on our feet dancing and singing. But dad has to take it further. He is standing on top of his seat. Singing. Dancing. Playing his tambourine.
I love it. I think it’s wonderful that my dad can be so passionate about his music. Life is too short to worry about what everyone around you is doing. I think every time we see Chicago, he adds a year to his life. It keeps him young. And he makes me proud.

When I got married, I was happy for a lot of reasons. One of which, was that I would have a life-long roommate with whom I not only get along – but love dearly.
I had some bad roommates in college. One was mean and bossy, three left me stuck with bills, another stole my VCR and sleeping bag only to act surprised when they were in her possession, and one encouraged her dog to perform lewd acts that I won’t describe here.
With Lee, all that disappeared. We are a team, a really good team. But now, we must band together to fight a new foe. Neighbors.

Read More

I love having a new book. I love the way new books feel, the way they smell. I love the smooth texture of their unbroken spines, knowing by the time I’m done they’ll look worn and ragged and appropriately loved. Today I have two new books. They are really thick, but the kind I know won’t take me long because they’re that good.
I bought the 4th Harry Potter (in paperback finally) and the new 5th Harry Potter book. I read the 4th one more than a year ago, but didn’t own it. I decided I wanted to re-read it before launching into the new one, and it was on sale. The new one was also marked down 40%, so I couldn’t resist. I was worried after the mania wore off, the new one wouldn’t be quite as cheap.
When I read the 4th one last year, I had to get it from the library and was a little embarrased to find myself in the children’s book section. But I’m over it. Yeah, the series is written for kids, but I like the books. Anna does too, so there.
I especially respect Rowling, the author. I think if I were ever a writer, I would write non-fiction. Or if I tried fiction, the characters would likely live a life with which I am familiar. But Rowling has now written 5 books (two of which are very long) about a world she invented completely. She had to make up a whole separate way of life, with new words, new ways of doing ordinary things, new rules, new everything. I know she’s not the first – Lucas and Star Wars is an example. I admire all writers who use their imaginations so fully.
I’m also excited about the buzz surrounding the book. It’s nice to see kids getting so excited over an 800 plus page novel. At the bookstore today, there were a bunch of them in the back, excitedly playing Harry Potter card games and talking about the characters and the book. Sure, part of me looked at their pale faces and wondered, “Shouldn’t you kids be outside, playing?” But if they are going to be inside, at least they’re reading, or talking about reading, or buying a book to read.
I, for one, took my book to the beach to read. The best of both worlds – a book, and the beautiful out-of-doors.