So, why did it amuse instead of infuriate you when the man under the Ballard Bridge stuck his face in your open car window and said, "Hey Beautiful, hey babeeee. You can kidnap me any time", then let loose with a Louis Armstrong-esque laugh, proceed to amble to the bus stop and flip open a girlie mag?
You are a bundle of contradictions. And not always in a good way.
Downtown Saturday you saw a sketched out guy huddled over a garbage can, attempting to mix a cocktail of liquids he found in the bottoms of paper cups. He was making a show of it, as if he were behind some shiny bar rattling stainless steel shakers and dipping glass rims in shallow dishes of salt.
Then there was Captain America in Capitol Hill, with the marionettes and creepy flute, bashing a Barbie on the sidewalk. He had a small bowl of coins that said, "Leave some if you can, take some if you need."
Back in your sleepy neighborhood, you are getting ready for school to start. Second grade for Max. Kindergarten for Claire. Only other parents understand the magnitude of this. Kindergarten. Both kids in the same building for six hours per day. Time! Ohmygod, TIME. You have so many plans for it that your head whirls.
Sunday, you and the family went on your annual blackberry forage. It had been a rocky week for you and J. Exceedingly rocky. It was good to be out all together. To be kind to each other. To watch your kids get excited about something as homey as picking berries.
Your sister had surgery Monday. Big surgery. Like, remove-several-organs surgery. Though the two of you don't talk often, you thought of her all day and hoped she wasn't afraid or in much pain. You love her. You wish you talked more, though you mostly blame yourself for being out of touch.