don’t squirt me…I need therapy

Summer is here and the heat brings out the crazies.  The craziest of crazies seem to be trying to out do each other.  Cannibals, zombies, murder and more….tell me these aren’t bad signs.

The day of the summer writer….

Sitting on the back porch jamming to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Blizzard of Oz” and it is a beautiful day.  Tesla has mastered the art of riding her bike and is thrilled by all the neighbor kids hanging out with their bicycles.  She is waiting for her best friend and cousin to come over and join them.  They have a stockpile of water guns and can’t wait for the war to begin.  I’ve already warned them not to squirt me because my arm hurts and I go to therapy.  Both statements are true though they have nothing to do with me getting wet by the squirt guns.  It just sounded like a good medical reason at that split second when asked, “Can we squirt you?”  This summer vacation from school is the best ever for me.

I think about my mom and how summer was back in the late 70’s and early 80’s.  Life was good and our little gang that hung out on Bluebird Lane had the world by the ass, we just didn’t know it.  My brother Joe and I were close in age and spent most of our time together.  The neighborhood kids consisted of boys, which was annoying at first, but later kept things very interesting.

Mom was always home with us kidlings.  Joe and I rode our bikes everywhere.  There is no doubt in my mind my well-developed calf muscles are from days and days of riding my bike.  Living in the country had its perks.  The neighbors all knew each other and their children got along better than one could expect.

If the weather was nice, we were outside.  We rode our bikes on the road without wearing a helmet.  We swam in the Conewago Creek and Pinchot Lake without contracting any diseases that we were aware of.  When very thirsty and had no other options, I drank that creek water and survived.

Listening to Meatloaf “Bat out of Hell” now…takes me back to the late 80’s.  I heard about Meatloaf from a friend and co-worker named Melody.  Everyone called her Mel and she had a super cool last name: Devine.  That must have been interesting growing up as Melody Devine.  I don’t think she even sings.

Life is so screwy.  Hit or miss.  Ups and downs.  Excitement and disappointment.  My eight days with Tesla are flying by at lightning speed.  I know I will miss her more than she misses me when she returns to her dad.  She is kept busy there and that is a good thing.  I’m surprised how little John and Tesla have been in contact.  She shows little interest in calling but I offer to dial (or just dial it) for her.  In the past three days he has answered the phone once.  That conversation with Tesla lasted a few seconds ending with, “I’ll call you right back.”  Which never happened.  She didn’t even bother to let a message last night…pushing the End Call button and stating “He can call me.”  Which he hasn’t.

Maybe this is reverse psychology on his part.  If I don’t call or answer her calls, she will miss me and want to come back.  He has taken this route in the past, not with Tesla, but with me.  It’s all part of John being John.  The downside to this type of approach could be the realization that no one misses you.

Ouch,

~P.

Go ahead...take a swing. I'll duck and listen.

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