london. the olympics. london. royalty. sports. underdogs. top dogs. gold. silver. bronze. these are just a few of my favorite things.
simply put, i am obsessed with the olympics!
as i was filling my cup with coke, i looked to the side to plot out my next course of action: grab a top, a straw, and some napkins when all of a sudden, the coke decided to act like champagne and bubble out everywhere. i put the cup on the drain while it continued its fizzy thing so i could clean up the spillage on the counter and on my hand/arm. a woman was sort of hovering nearby.
me: oh, sorry. am i in your way?
her: don’t worry about it. i’m in no hurry.
me: *continues cleaning* *refills cup without spilling* *moves off to the side to organize self + put top and straw on the cup*
a girl, the daughter of the woman i previously apologized to, siddled up to the fountain beverage machine and filled her cup with coke and wouldn’t you know it? her drink did the same thing as mine.
me: i’m glad to know i’m not the only one that happened to.
girl: *laughs* *cleans*
her: that coke is foamy! i should have warned you. i saw it happen to her. *looks over at me*
i can’t help it if people learn from my mistakes, but refuse to pass along that knowledge, so i just nodded goodbye.
that coke was worth all the stickiness on my arm because once i stepped out into the simmering heat, it tasted even more glorious than usual.
i’ve previously talked about my weekly phone calls with my mom’s mom, maga. they’re usually short and sweet and filled with the weather, updates about family, and discussions about sports.
our calls from the previous two weeks were quiet calls which mirrored the weeks we’d each had. when a third phone call threatened to be as news-less as the previous two, maga set out to have something to report. it was a day with nothing on the calendar other than living it best as her 91 year old self could, so her caregiver took her on a journey to meet a specific lady. this lady is another client of maga’s caregiver and she’s the grandmother of the rock star who wrangled me the passes to meet guster.
maga’s mind has always been younger than her physical self, but even so, it was hilarious to hear her declare the other woman as elderly, seeing as at 91, maga’s no spring chicken either. it reminded me of the way i feel much younger than my 31 years and it’s only when faced with people younger than me that i remember i’m not as young as my brain thinks i am. i’ve often described these young people as babies, which is essentially the same thing as maga describing one of her peers as elderly.
we’re 60 years and hundreds of miles apart, but we’re more similar than just in our genes.
at the end of that phone call, she apologized for not having more fun things to report. WHAT?! i said. you met someone new yesterday! you get out and about every day. you’re kicking butt and taking names. i’m the one who should apologize for not having more gossip, more stories, more interesting things to tell.
but that’s the funny thing about brains and expectations.
you perceive yourself in a particular manner (younger than you actually are) and with a weekly chat, you hope to experience something that’s big enough to make it a conversation. it doesn’t matter if you’re 91 or 31, you still want to entertain and enlighten an otherwise lonely soul.
(1) this is the way baby mac reads.
(3) this is the way she began.
(4) this is the way MMM and i read together.
(5) this is the way my nephew L reads and shares and smiles.
(6) and this is the way i started reading. (the lack of joy on my face is, i can only presume, because i was annoyed at having my reading time interrupted.)
how did YOU start reading? or, simply, what makes YOU smile?
slowly but surely, i’ve run into little things that remind me of my current (abandoned for no reason) WIP.
okay, UNIVERSE, i can take a hint. i’ll get back to writing.