The Single Rider

“Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it – every, every minute?

- Emily Webb, Our Town

And how can we, when we are born knowing absolutely nothing? I think it’s one of the cruelest things about life – that we are born not knowing jack shit, and we have to make a bunch of serious mistakes before we learn and grow and start getting in right. I’m not really sure how we are supposed to appreciate what we have when we’re so young and inexperienced we’ve got nothing to which we can compare it.

I had to go through cancer to understand how precious a working body is. I had to go through years with the wrong man to understand how fragile relationships are, and how irrevocable heartbreak can be. You can learn things by the example of others, certainly, but there really is no substitute for experience. I look at my young nieces and I wonder what trials they are destined to endure in order to reach the place where they realize at least part of life, while they are living it. They have no idea. How could they?

Still, I refuse to believe that the essence of youth is “wasted” only on the young. Most of the time, I feel like I’m around 12. Most of the time, my inner adult gladly steps aside and yields to the fun, fun, fun of unencumbered singlehood. I think I’m making up for lost time. I think I’m doing all the things that were forbidden or at least frowned upon when I was young and controlled and repressed – and I didn’t know jack. Jack and I, we’re more than just acquaintances these days, and we both like to have fun. Jack definitely realizes life – every, every minute. Jack is my hero.

This is the week that Niece No. 2 and I are sitting on the beach doing absolutely nothing productive. I thought I’d give you all an update on what she meant when she updated her Facebook status a few weeks ago, stating that she “never wants to be a parent.

She was babysitting and the kids were apparently being exceedingly not well behaved. She says she thinks about all a parent has to go through, and “ewww, um, NO!”

I’m wondering if it’s something in the DNA…???

Other thorts I’ve been thunking: I’ve been reading The Secret. If the Law of Attraction states that “like attracts like”, then how do we explain magnets and “opposites attract”?

Posted by Wordmobi

A friend directed me to some resources regarding “The Law Of Attraction”, and while I was reading there, I discovered that one of the authors had made use of a Ouija board to receive guidance. I have a healthy respect-from-a-distance for Ouija – meaning, I won’t play. No sireee bob, you cannot make me, and I will leave the premesis if a Ouija board makes an appearance.

See, I read The Exorcist when i was ten. Yes, you read that right. I was ten. I read lots of things I should not have read at that age, but The Exorcist is the story that left it’s mark on my psyche. I’m just never, ever going to stick around to watch what happens when someone pulls out a Ouija board.

I’m not at all sure that it’s true that “spirits” communicate via the Ouija board; I think it’s just as likely that the subconscious minds of the players are at work sending “messages”. But I reason that the Universe is all about balance, and *IF* there are good spirits, then there are also bad spirits. I’m pretty sure that if you open the door to the good ones, you cannot guarantee that the others won’t piggyback on in somehow, too.

Whether by Ouija or other means, if one should encounter a spirt…how would one know that it’s one of the “good guys”? How do you know it’s not an evil spirit who will take possession of your body, slap your grandma, kick the cat and burn down the neighborhood or something?

I am so bad at boyfriend radar (I have ZERO romantic radar), I shudder to think how profoundly bad I would be at spirit radar. I can just see myself going along, lah ti dah, thinking I’ve got a Seth or an Abraham communicating with or through me, and all along it’s, like, Hitler or Rasputin – or someone REALLY evil, like… nope, not going there.

I remember when I was a kid growing up in Queens Village, NY, my parents would periodically load up the Vista Cruiser and take us to Jones Beach. Embarking on such a trip with four kids was an epic; I look back and do not wonder at all why we didn’t go more often.

Each person in the family required towel, t-shirt, dry clothes, flip flops, whatever sand toys were coming along, lunch, snacks and drinks. Additional requirements: umbrellas, beach blanket for the kids, and chairs for the adults Oh, and if there happened to be someone still in diapers, that was another thing to add to the pile.

All of this stuff was hauled down the thirteen steps of our front stoop to the car, which was more often than not parked around the corner on a side street, where it was safer from crashes than it would have been parked on our street. For those from Queens who might be reading this – we lived on “Franny Loo”, between 94th and Jamaica Avenue). The people doing the majority of the hauling were the two oldest, me and Big Bro. Hauling it down those 13 steps was one thing; hauling it all up again was quite another matter!

Into the Vista Cruiser we piled, traversing what felt like the road to forever. Along the way, we tried our best to one up each other with staples such as, “Get on YOUR side!” (this references some unseen but far from imaginary line splitting the back seat) and, “Stop LOOKING at me!”. OH! And let us not forget the ever-popular, “Mom, he’s BREATHING on me…”

Once arriving at the beach, we unloaded – only, this time the parents had to help because making multiple trips down the boardwalk was not desireable. Find an appropriately sized square of sand, unfurl blankets and umbrellas, sit down, AHHHH!

And then, it happens.

“Mommy, I hafta gotuhduh bafroom.”

“Go pee on the water.”

Pause.

“Mommy…. I hafta MAKE.”

Really LONG-ass pause.

Sigh.

“You didn’t go before we left, did you? I TOLD you to go before we left!”

Kids are maintenance. Families are work. Sometimes I wonder how the human race survives, why mothers put up with their young instead of eating them.

I hear this is the reason Mother Nature makes babies of all species cute. It’s to give the mother pause, ketchup bottle poised mid-air above our delicate skin….

“Aw, crap. I can’t do it. She’s too cute.”

I’m sitting here thinking these thoughts as I laze upon Bowman’s Beach on Sanibel Isand. I’d like to show you what I brought with me this morning.

It took me less time to pack the backpack chair than it took me to type this post. This leaves my hands free to snap pictures, tweet and pick up interesting shells while walking from the parking lot to the shore. My mother would never have been able to do that.

Posted by Wordmobi