I’m on the Beavers’ call list. I think it’s because I was calling them last year to ask for donations to our employee morale organization. In any case, they offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse: $5 for opening night tickets.
Tara and I caught the game tonight. It was a fun girls night out. She is a delight to watch as she grows into her emerging self. Twelve years old is very mature and very immature together. She is a marvel and I adore her – snippy retorts and all.
She wound her long hair into a braid so the blue hair wove through the natural blonde and showed along the length of the braid. Wore her black, oversized Humboldt sweatshirt, and knee socks different colours with her blue cargo capris. Also her new Converse all-stars with comic strip excerpts on the sides. Crazy mix.
We parked under a church, that apparently charges for evening parking. …cuz no one’s at church then! Ha! What a good idea for a money-maker. Walked several blocks to the park and got there in time for the fireworks.
The Sacramento River Cats jumped ahead in the top of the second, and we stayed through the 5th inning, but never saw the Portland Beavers score a run. Too bad. They seemed to have a pretty good pitcher, but the River Cats had some darn good hitters. It got cold and the girlie got tired and she asked a few times if I wanted to go home before she eventually confessed that she wanted to go home.
Planning ahead, I had purchased an extra Widmer’s Hefeweisen that remained untouched at that point. I turned to the group behind me and offered my beer. I tried to explain that I had an extra beer and asked if any of them wanted it. After the third explanation and not getting through to the patriarch of the family, I picked up my beer and showed it to him. He took it gratefully with a smile. Ahhh, to much effort with the words sometimes, when words aren’t even necessary.
The girlie and I had a lovely drive home, oooohing and aaaaahing over the bright lights and tall buildings all decked out for the evening. “This could easily be a sidestreet in New York,” she said. “You know, in the poorer part of town.” I knew what she meant, not the poor part of town, but the less glitzy part of town that we had seen. True, Portland is no Times Square – thank god.
It’s a bit of a pleasure to me that my kid can compare her home city to Manhattan. I want to give her SO MUCH. I want to give her Life. And Experience. I am not wealthy, but I am bullheaded, so that makes up for a lot. Nothing will get in the way of my goals. I simply refuse.
We came home and after she brushed her braces, I tucked her into bed and as she turned back from 16 to 12 years old again… we sang all the Disney songs from Alice in Wonderland that we could remember.
I give myself very good advice
But I very seldom follow it
That explains the trouble that I’m always in{just then, one of the neighbor cats down below her bedroom window began yowling}
Be Patient is very good advice
But the waiting makes me curious
Will I ever learn to do the things I should?
I take my man to the airport in the morning. He’s going home to Boston to comfort his mother this weekend. She is feeling the stress of trying to care for and protect her sister’s family while she tries to have a full life and support herself as well. She has no one to lean on except Mark. He’s going to be a shoulder for his mom, which is a very sweet thing for a man to do. He’ll be home Tuesday.
That means Saturday I have to take Tara to her first volleyball game of the Spring season by myself. At least I know the gym we’ll be playing at; I like her coach; and Tara loves volleyball. That’s better than the recently completed basketball season, which Tara was only partially convinced she liked playing.
Busy busy weekend for me. Should I plan rest time? Nope! I think I’ll plan a trip to visit my 90 year old Grandma Trulove in Sandy. That should pack things up nicely. If the sun ever shines again, I will work in my yard.
Conscious Engagement 