she's just saying...

Clearly I spoke too soon

When we last checked in, life was, for the moment, good. Then I walked back into the house, wrote the previous post, and answered the door to a neighbor who came by to complain about all the trouble my son and his friends have been causing in the neighborhood. I heard about plum battles, broken sprinkler heads, someone throwing a watermelon at a truck and various other hoodlum-like goings-on. Protestations of innocence and questionable stories on all sides. He also informed me that "someone" called the police on them and officers were going to visit the school the next day.

Then today, I came home to an official notice to call more police or receive a $330 citation. Seems my dog was At Large. (Henry: "Where's Large?") It appears that another one of those innocent children left the gate open and Bindi went dancing around on the street after I went to work. Some helpful neighbor called the police rather than looking at her tags and putting her back inside. The pleasant officer said to me: "You know how it is, she looks like a pitbull and people think they're all killers." She seemed pretty docile to him so he put her back in her pen rather than hauling her in to the pokey. Thank you, Mr. Policemen. I wonder if he was the same one who lectured the kids at school today.

So somehow we've become one of those families who get the cops called on them twice in one day. I don't know how that happened. I guess life is still good, but we might have to move.

A bad boy and his killer dog.

Just how good is life, anyway?

If you're a diligent reader of this blog, you may know that I really dislike the t-shirts and caps and bumper stickers that proclaim in happy-go-lucky type that "Life is good." 

Life is good: it must be true 'cause it's trademarked.

I feel it smacks of self-satisfaction and complacency, a sort of thumbing the nose to much of the world who is struggling to get by day to day. Or maybe I'm oversensitive.

Anyway, tonight, after I put away the groceries and was starting dinner, I realized I didn't have any onions. In my cooking universe, that's akin to not having olive oil, lemons or tomatoes -- I can't go on. So I went outside and called down the street to where a pack of boys were skateboarding. "Henry! Here's a dollar - run down to the farm stand and get me a yellow onion." Surprisingly (he's 13), he grabbed the dollar and skated off with the pack following. As I walked back up the street, enjoying the late summer air we've been briefly blessed with, I thought to myself: you know, at this moment, life is good.

To be continued...