Didn’t need to see that…

We rolled in with all the troops to Target today with the intention of picking up a few quick items and returning a few things.  My wife took a detour into the little Starbucks outlet to aquire fuel while I went to customer service to return some breast pumping equipment.  In case you’ve never checked out breast pumping apparatus (the first time I ever saw a breast pump was when I bought a hand pump for one of my friends on his 13th birthday) it’s positively medieval looking stuff, save for the fact that it’s made out of plastic.  At any rate, I plopped the equipment on the desk at customer service and declared that it didn’t work.  The woman asked me what I meant, and I said I couldn’t get it to produce any milk, so it must be broken.  She didn’t see any humor in what I was saying, but I did, so I thought I’d subject you, the reader, to it here.

1.5 hours and two shopping carts later we rolled out of Target.  We were there long enough for my wife to use the bathroom twice.  In my book, that means we were there too long.  I doubt if Yuri Gagarin even used the toilet once when he accomplished the first manned space flight.

Our 2.5 year old daughter was disappointed because we wouldn’t buy her Thomas the Tank Engine underwear.  I tried to explain to her the problem I had with her proposal:  1) she’s not potty trained and 2) Thomas underwear is only made for little boys.  She saw no merit in either point, but her reaction never amounted to more than an occasional pout, so we were good to go on that score.

What wasn’t so good was what I saw on our way home from Target: a large crow flying with a baby bird in it’s mouth, and two smaller birds (presumeably the parents) flying frantically in circles around the Crow’s head.  I’m really sensitive about stuff like this, more so than ever now that we have kids.  Some examples:

In the days when I was a B-52 crew member, I was generally more concerned with a fly that was trapped in a sandwich baggie in my flight lunch than I was with the millions of human beings I was armed and trained to put to a terrible death should someone in leadership find value in launching WWIII.

 I used to shoot other kids with my BB gun when I happened upon them trying to shoot birds.

So, I always have been a little wierd in this regard.  But the bird thing killed me.  So help me, I would have raised by BB gun to that Crow had it been withing reach.  God forgive me.



Ray of Hope

While boarding the blood red city bus on the mean streets of southeast Rochester, Ray’s post gave me pause. Having hoped for a French press followed by a French kiss on my way out this morning, and having been granted at least the former, I found myself in the mood for expansive thought. His post provided a vessel from which I drank deeply. Maybe the cheesey fact that I was listening to FYC‘s “Good Thing” on the iPod as I squinted at Ray’s tsunami of optimism populating my blackberry’s Dick Tracy screen blew my skirt up a bit.   Or perhaps the fact that I also have young(er) daughters got me all caught up.  At any rate…
Picture being able to travel abroad – proud, for the first time in so long, to be an American.   Or, better yet, being accorded the ultimate international honor of being treated as an international agnostic.  That’s heavy stuff that could perhaps happen in our lifetime if Ray’s optimism ends up being actualized.   

On my mind as well today is the fact that my 87 year old mother has, over the last two days, been in and out of the emergency room.  I look at her as you would expect a son to do, but am recently troubled by the apparition of the cash register strapped to her back.  Yeah, having access to a health plan similar to that of the somewhat criminal body we call the U.S. Congress would be cool.

But the cynic in me warns that Obama, the consumate politician, potentially represents somewhat of a toxic milkshake.  Mind you, he strikes me as genuine – but nobody alive can make the call on what’s going to happen when the rubber meets the road when it comes to political figures.  But the good news is that, given the field, there’s really no choice to be made… so we can snuggle back into complacency until Obama gets a chance to burn his tires in the Oval Office.  At that point we should feel free to rear our funky little pundit heads, fire up the popcorn, strap on the monday morning quarterback lazy-boy,  and blather on in woulda-coulda parlance.