There was something special about the past two days.
Last night I was running late on the way to a graduation party in Westerville with Dana after a quick fuel-up and some beef jerky. It was a beautiful June evening and we had Barenaked Ladies cranked up, and as I gasped at the sight of the sparkling water in the dam before us, Dana shouted "DETOUR!" and took a sharp left into the dam park's parking lot. Walking to the near edge of the construction, we looked down in awe at the monstrous stream of water gushing from the concrete side into a calm shallow pool with tiny herons floating in it.
Walking back, I glanced to the side of the path on the other side of the guard rails and saw hundreds of little wild daisies. And since daisies are my favorite flowers, I went scrambling over the railing to pick some, skirt and heels and everything. Dana followed me over, and as I plucked a blade of grass to tie around my bouquet she leaned against the guard rail and began to make a daisy chain. (I know, are we girls or what?) Enthralled with the concept, I began making one of my own. There was something peaceful about it, listening to the geese and the water, watching the sun set with spectacular sunbeams behind a huge black cloud...and then it wasn't until after we had tried on our daisy chains that Dana noticed the tiny bugs crawling through them.
"I have an idea," she said. We ran back over to the calm side of the dam and threw the blossoms out over the water. Hers fell in a perfect ring on the surface. We then went for a bout on the swings (to those of you paying attention, yes I was still wearing a skirt, but I found a way to make it work), feeling with delight that jolt that occurs when you swing so high and have that moment where you just...hang in the air, like a star. Walking back to the car, I realized that this was going to be one of thost days that she and I would remember. One of those memories where we'll say "Remember that time we made the daisy chains with the bugs in them?" and those 30 minutes will come rushing back with all their warmth and beauty.
I made another memory I'll remember this morning. It's Saturday, so I had breakfast with Josey, and the Columbus Arts Festival is this weekend, as our waitress reminded us. Since Josey wasn't going to be able to go back downtown, we zipped down there and made an hour of it. We got there around ten in the morning, the sun still fairly low and the shadows of the city buildings still long and dark. We got to watch the festival rub its eyes and yawn itself awake; the farther we walked down the river, the more vendors were unrolling the doors of their white tents to invite spectators and hopefully buyers. Josey and I saw things that were lovely and endearing and enchanting, each tent housing a different style, each style from a person who was almost certainly from another state (Washington, New York, California, and the list went on...). It was better to go early because the vendors weren't yet sick of people just looking and not buying, so they were far more gracious to us. One artist demonstrated Bach on this beautiful string instrument he had constructed; if bells were strings, it would sound like his craft, because each note when played resonated ever so slightly against every other string on the board. Another woman had these amazing african watercolors, somehow capturing not just the creature but the motion of the creature as well, as she did in a magical way with the mother cheetah and the horse's mane. But as we walked around there I had the feeling again that this would be something Josey would I have to keep and remind each other about it.
I love summer.
(and the title is a line from You've Got Mail)
Last night I was running late on the way to a graduation party in Westerville with Dana after a quick fuel-up and some beef jerky. It was a beautiful June evening and we had Barenaked Ladies cranked up, and as I gasped at the sight of the sparkling water in the dam before us, Dana shouted "DETOUR!" and took a sharp left into the dam park's parking lot. Walking to the near edge of the construction, we looked down in awe at the monstrous stream of water gushing from the concrete side into a calm shallow pool with tiny herons floating in it.
Walking back, I glanced to the side of the path on the other side of the guard rails and saw hundreds of little wild daisies. And since daisies are my favorite flowers, I went scrambling over the railing to pick some, skirt and heels and everything. Dana followed me over, and as I plucked a blade of grass to tie around my bouquet she leaned against the guard rail and began to make a daisy chain. (I know, are we girls or what?) Enthralled with the concept, I began making one of my own. There was something peaceful about it, listening to the geese and the water, watching the sun set with spectacular sunbeams behind a huge black cloud...and then it wasn't until after we had tried on our daisy chains that Dana noticed the tiny bugs crawling through them.
"I have an idea," she said. We ran back over to the calm side of the dam and threw the blossoms out over the water. Hers fell in a perfect ring on the surface. We then went for a bout on the swings (to those of you paying attention, yes I was still wearing a skirt, but I found a way to make it work), feeling with delight that jolt that occurs when you swing so high and have that moment where you just...hang in the air, like a star. Walking back to the car, I realized that this was going to be one of thost days that she and I would remember. One of those memories where we'll say "Remember that time we made the daisy chains with the bugs in them?" and those 30 minutes will come rushing back with all their warmth and beauty.
I made another memory I'll remember this morning. It's Saturday, so I had breakfast with Josey, and the Columbus Arts Festival is this weekend, as our waitress reminded us. Since Josey wasn't going to be able to go back downtown, we zipped down there and made an hour of it. We got there around ten in the morning, the sun still fairly low and the shadows of the city buildings still long and dark. We got to watch the festival rub its eyes and yawn itself awake; the farther we walked down the river, the more vendors were unrolling the doors of their white tents to invite spectators and hopefully buyers. Josey and I saw things that were lovely and endearing and enchanting, each tent housing a different style, each style from a person who was almost certainly from another state (Washington, New York, California, and the list went on...). It was better to go early because the vendors weren't yet sick of people just looking and not buying, so they were far more gracious to us. One artist demonstrated Bach on this beautiful string instrument he had constructed; if bells were strings, it would sound like his craft, because each note when played resonated ever so slightly against every other string on the board. Another woman had these amazing african watercolors, somehow capturing not just the creature but the motion of the creature as well, as she did in a magical way with the mother cheetah and the horse's mane. But as we walked around there I had the feeling again that this would be something Josey would I have to keep and remind each other about it.
I love summer.
(and the title is a line from You've Got Mail)
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