Well, that's done, and there's still sun. A clot of kids are sitting on the corner of the lot; earlier today, I saw the girls out there doing yoga. Not in my yard: on the actual road. The way the road is curved (an archaeologist of my aquaintance says "these roads are BUILT to shed water!") I think must make the back bends they were doing comfortable. And they were on the less-trafficked portion of the intersection; so I didn't go all middle-aged homeowner-lady and go outside to shoo them off because they were unsafe. These kids have known my dog most of their lives. My role, to them, is to be Siddy's mom, a largely unidentifiable appendage to the awesome dog.
I watched the back-bending for a minute, and remembered my own childhood playing on the asphalt at another corner not so very far away from here. Maybe roller-skating. Maybe popping tar bubbles with my thumb. Maybe just touching the rust of the manhole cover, or the rim of the sewer's opening. I was half these girls' age, and my protector was watching me. I let the girls get fit, and felt the heat of the asphalt in my memory, in my mind. I could imagine the slant of that water-shedding curve. I smiled like the middle-aged broad that I am, and finished the dusting. Not like I haven't done far weirder things, and sometimes every bit as publicly. I dork-dance in grocery store aisles. I don't want to see inhibition clamp down.
And now the house is clean, and Type O is playing with a tinny echo on my laptop, and I'm going to pull off my shoes soon and start removing polish and filing and buffing. And probably BuffY-ing, watching the final two eps of Season 2 while the pampering begins. But first, another post. And now a bit of TSOL. Heh. Sounds of laughter, indeed - like a child, so young and carefree. You forgot to add a lyric about yoga, asphalt, and clear sunlight, guys ...
1 day ago