Lost At Sea and A Sinking Ship: Part 2

After a particularly long day, a no-nap-kind-of-day, an Arby's-mah-fah-free-roast-beef-sandwich-day, a did-my-stomach-just-touch-my-boobs?-kind-of-day, a let's-sleep-this-day-gone-kind-of-day, I decided that I would take dinner to the park on foot as a last attempt to rectify this... day.

And so, Terry, the kids, Banjo, and myself walked to the nice new park in our neighborhood. We crossed over the street that is shared with drug dealers, hookers, horny pilots (we live near the airport and often see them walking to their crash pads with an attendant or 2), scared and disoriented hotel guests that have ventured across the street to Arby's (free roast beef sandwich day remember?) in their khaki shorts and blinding white socks and sneakers, and other neighborhood characters deserving their own chapters in the book I've not yet written entitled, "We Still Owe How Much On This House?"

So, over the road and through the cemetery. I'm not kidding. And there's a man named "Okay" buried there too.

Pass the nursing home, strangely (or strategically) placed next to said cemetery.

Pass the baseball field, which I've yet to see used for baseball.

Pass the unidentifiable gray building that has people dangling out of it's windows. (I have no idea why.) When the charm is just not there, I like to cloud gaze. Dera, just keep your eyes above the horizon!

And then, boom, there you are. It's the nicest, most out-of-place (but I'm not complaining) park grounds you've ever seen. Paths, lush sodded greenspace, tennis courts, ergonomically propelled high-design play things, picnic tables under cabanas, bathrooms (!), and a huge chimney thing that's really old and cool. It's the park oasis among rows and rows of boarded-window homes. Again, I have no insight... we don't ask why, we just ignorantly and blissfully propel ourselves in an ergonomic fashion. (We should attend a few more Neighborhood Association meetings, huh?)

To add another layer of lovely, conversation en route went like so:

(Sirens blaring, as fire trucks and police cars whip through the intersection between the aforementioned street and the entrance to the cemetery.)

Neve: "That engine has a fire in it, right?"

Me: "What's that?"

Neve: "That engine. It had a fire in it. Right?"

Me: "No. That fire engine is going to put a fire out in a house or a car."

Neve: "Right. Because of the fire in it's engine."

Me: (whispering to Terry) "What is she saying?"

Terry: (goes on to explain fires, engines, and fire engines. I walk ahead, leaving him to it.)

Fiona: "Mom?"

Me: "Yes?"

Fiona: "What is there, other than fire?"

Me: "Hmmm?"

Fiona: "Other than fire, what else is there?"

Me: "Everything other than fire is something other than fire. This sign, the grass, the air, water that puts out fire, the houses that are not on fire, dogs, that man over there and dinner. All things OTHER than fire. Is that what you were asking?"

Fiona: "Yes. (pause- one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four...) But then there's fire gas."

Me: "Terry? Wrap things up with Engine Fire. I need your help with Fire Gas now."

Sometimes I think they're just screwing with me. I mean, if you heard their tone or saw their faces as they spoke to me you'd think they were genuinely interested in getting to the bottom of these hard-hitting questions. But, I think they conspire after hours. I think they try to scheme the most bizarre conversations or non-sequitur opportunities for confusion for the following day. Just because they like to watch mommy sweat.

Between our unpleasant surroundings, our go-nowhere conversations, and our Arby's and Horsey sauce glow, I was ready to lay down next to Okay and cloud gaze. Give me a good night sleep, something fresh to eat in the morning, and a sunny day, and watch me answer those hard-hitting questions, rapid-fire. Good night, Okay and friends.