Haunted Plastic Mansion 1: Bouncy Castle 0

We had a fun fair at my daughter's school yesterday. For my daughter this is always an exciting entertainment option right in her backyard. For us parents it is a cheap form of entertainment that spells the beginning of summer, a chance to reconnect with other parents after all those dozens of hurried drop offs and pick ups.

What's not to love? Balloon animals,a lollipop pull, two big bouncy castles, prizes and treats. Our school pulls out all the stops and we always come home laden with great flea market finds and cotton candy and treasures. At the flea market, we picked up a few little things for rock bottom prices including this (above) haunted mansion matchbox toy that my son was captivated by. Not bad for $2.

However, after that, I was kind of wishing we hadn't bought so many tickets because all my son wanted to do was play with this toy. He plunked himself approximately 1.5 metres away from a BOUNCY CASTLE and drew kids in like moths to a flame. They played and played with a play car he had smuggled in and moved it up and down the tiny chutes, ramps and elevators in his tiny haunted mansion over and over. He took a small break to grab a drink but he blithely ignored all the other marvels all around him in which he was simply no longer interested. Ironically, if we had got the same toy and brought it directly home, it would have held his interest for a lot less time.

Comments

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...

the words fell out

Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out. They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch. Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable. Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions, accusations, reflections, words...

I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

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