aag

If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. You could also get new content delivered directly to your inbox. Thanks for stopping by!

An enjoyably large portion of this summer’s writing has sprung into existence while I’ve sat on the porch, an elevated perch from which I can both observe childish play and still be invisibly tethered to the wireless connection emanating from some dozen feet away inside the house.

This is the first summer I’ve felt comfortable enough (though by no means secure) with the children’s play to watch from a distance of more than six inches.  This is partially due to their greater maturity and partially due to the locks I’ve placed on the gate.

I feel truly blessed that I have this place where we can work and play together.  The only drawback (other than mosquitoes, thrown sand, possible broken bones and the ingestion of mulch) is that the sun heats the deck to somewhere near the temperature of the Earth’s core in the morning hours.

So it was with great interest that I spied a patio umbrella at a yard sale down the block from my house not long ago.  I caught a glimpse as we drove past on the way to a play date; the sight hit me with nostalgia so strong that I vowed to stop for a closer look if it was still available when we came home.

I thought about it all through the play date.  You see, we’d had an umbrella similar to the one I’d glimpsed when I was a teenager.  Sunny yellow vinyl on the outside gave way to a green, orange and yellow pattern of stylized poppies on the inside.  Hanging from the scalloped edge was a longish fringe of mop-like white twists.  I hoped it would still be there when we were done.  I wanted it to be exactly the same.

And it was.  Right down to the dented aluminum base filled with sand.  Right down to the creaky handle.  Right down to the faint scent of mildew that came off of it as I stood in its shade and handed over a bill.

The children were enchanted at the existence of such a large umbrella despite their cognitive dissonance in learning that this umbrella was meant to be open in the sun and closed in the rain.  With assistance from a half-dozen clumsy (but enthusiastic) hands, we set it up and immediately commenced enjoying our purchase.

They wandered off some time ago but I stayed put.  I told a friend (on the phone) about my find; I waxed poetic about how it reminded me of my teenage years.  “You really want a reminder of your teenage years?” he asked dubiously.

“Well, it’s like my teenage years minus the emotional abuse and threats of loss of love, yes,” I answered.

And later this week, I’ll have the singular joy of welcoming another blogger onto my porch.  Figleaf and his family will be passing through my small city on summer vacation, and if plans hold, we will enjoy sandwiches and fruit while our offspring romp in the yard.  I can’t wait.

Figleaf, you won’t mind the slight smell of mildewy umbrella, will you?

——

Take a moment to visit Viviane’s Sex Carnival to learn more about blogger and Fleshbot Sex Round-Up contributor Jefferson’s legal issues.  Please help if you can.