Summer's Fifth Night

Summer's 5th night. I don't know where this comes from or what it means, but at Utica Square it means Thursday and it means music. Last night it meant Red Dirt Rangers and hundreds of people. I love that people are so willing (and eager) to make an event out of nothing. Make-shift tables with silver ice buckets, gourmet salads, wine in fancy plastic glasses (some people even brave enough to bring everyday "crystal"), kids with balloons, dogs in silly clothes, couples in matching shirts, and people who dance, dance, dance. The guts that people have when it comes to dancing. That's a whole 'nother story.

I wish I had those guts sometimes and could give up the inhibitions that keep me from flailing my arms and really moving to the music. Every now and then it happens and it feels so good. Where does that self-consciousness come from? Upbringing and culture play a big role. Growing up Baptist plays a role. Other possible reasons? Not having dance lessons as a child? No rhythm?

Some people can't dance and they don't care. They just like to move. Damn that perfection streak I was cursed with!

Dinner Talk

A former nun, a former gymnast, a phone booth cleaner, an old hippie and someone who painted stripes in parking lots. Seemingly dissimilar people and yet what great dinner companions we made -- and surprisingly at this stage in our lives we had a lot in common. Current job overlap, thoughts about what we'd do when we retired and didn't have to worry about getting paid, an appreciation for where we've been and how we got here.

I don't think we realize when we're living a young life that we're creating memories and experiences for later on. That we need to savor the now. We're so intent on getting past the present that sometimes we don't acknowledge it, let alone enjoy it. And it's not even just when we're young. It's now, it's still. It's hard to be in the moment without thinking about what comes next. We're always looking ahead. Sometimes it's called planning, sometimes dreaming.

So, at what point does it become more fun to look backwards than forward?

Saturday

Sometimes the most difficult thing in the world is to do nothing. My Saturday to-do list is in a repeating loop in my head and each item involves getting dressed, making choices, using energy. I want to do nothing. I want to sit and watch the sun play with the leaves. I want to listen to the rhythm of the wind dance through the azaelas. I want to forget how many minutes are in an hour. I just want to be.

1886 Bakery, Driskill Hotel, Austin, Texas

Rule number one. Don't order oatmeal in a restaurant unless (1) it's been highly recommended by someone you respect or (2) you've actually seen a bowl of it. I violated my own rule and ended up eating only the berries and golden raisins and then asking for a bowl of the granola instead, which although "homemade" won't go on the record as being "freshly homemade." The coffee, on the other hand, was dee-lish. Two cups at the counter with a couple celebrating their 38th wedding anniversary and the breakfast hour, even with bad oatmeal, was enough to leave me with a smile.

Friday Morning at the Gym

I took the day off work to volunteer at the Spring Garden Fest but it poured down rain, and although the plant people were still carrying in things to sell, it didn't make much sense to sit in a wet tent all day with wind and occasional lightning. I opted to spend the morning at the gym which proved to be a surreal experience for a Friday morning. Since I usually go after work, I'm more accustomed to middle-aged dads trying to get rid of the belly and women fighting their saddlebags. This morning it was if I walked onto the set of Coccoon. Everyone had white hair. They were gathered around, drinking their (free YMCA) coffee and getting their social fix. It was like junior high fast forwarded. The flirt was there, the coy one, the jokester, and the quiet ones. I was reminded of the philosophy that however you are at 30, is how you'll be at 72. Looking at this group, I probably have to agree.