30 July 2011

GF recently injured her back. She feels more comfortable lying down than sitting. However, we do not have a television in our bedroom (how un-American), meaning that she cannot zone out to Project Runway while healing.

In a fit of inspiration, I dragged our bed (mattress) into our living room.

I performed this task on Thursday. The new feng shui (literally “found suede”*) helps us feel as if we are on vacation (or holiday for our readers in the United Kingdom).

However, the “found suede” also makes us feel as restless as an illiterate kitten in a cat library. (Where one can find the collected works of William Shakesfur and D.H. Meowrance.) So what better solution than to explore our suburban neighborhood?

After walking up a hill in the heat, we spotted a house.

We were almost taken in with the pastel porch when we spied a serious message.

Despite knowing we were under the “Watchful Eye” of the neighbors, we slogged on in the searing heat.

And speaking of watchful eyes, here’s where you go when you’ve sinned and you’re in God’s dog house.

However, if you repent you can attend the festivities.

GF then contemplates the joys of heaven and the wages of sin. (Or perhaps just considers the watermelon.)

After our near-religious experience we happened upon something else sticking to the straight and narrow.

Fascinating.

So, we continue on, wandering in a part of the neighborhood unfamiliar to either of us. Ahead, some brick spire things. (I’m sure astute readers will recognize them.)

As we began speaking of Slurpees and milk shakes, we saw a chimney GF’s father would appreciate (for its precariousness) and one dog a-barking.

We finally saw our destination ahead and knew the difficult walk, the profuse sweating, the threats of surveillance and the punishments for sin were worth it. We made it. We hit the summer mecca. The height of heat-busting enjoyment.

After much debate, GF settles on her beverage of choice.

We ended the journey with a stop into a European market (where I purchased jalapeno chips and some non-US version of a Mounds bar) and a front-row stand for construction work.

With sweat, salty chips, a new perspective on our neighborhood and an invitation to a watermelon social, we trudged back to our cool apartment.

 

*Many years ago I internalized the deft prose of Dave Barry.