a rugs life

Rada made puppets a few days ago:

… and here is the show:

You can just see Rada’s arm and forehead behind the ’stage’.

7 year-olds saying goodnight:

“Caio!

…peace out.”

Poul is a grown-up. When I play chess with Poul, I really try to win. It’s tough to accept when he’s cornered my king and shakes my hand and says “good game”. I smile graciously, always the elegant loser, but inside I want to send my stealth weapons to bomb his backyard or stick out a foot and make him trip (not really, but you know).

When I play with Rada, however, its hard to take it very seriously. She jumps up and down when her favorite piece gets to move. She makes a face when I take her piece or growls when I do something she doesn’t want. And she has her king and queen play lovey-dovey while waiting their turn. Rada likes to win, but mostly chess is a just a way to pass the afternoon.

Though we appear all relaxed and easy going on the outside, Poul and I are deadly earnest, each in it to win. But Rada plays it as something to do: a diversion.

I was good today.

I like my self.

After dropping my daughter at school, I headed to work on my bike. As I cycled down the main road just past my house, I almost collided with another cyclist who had come out of a side street on the wrong side.

Furious, I considered the lunacy of people who ride the wrong way in that treacherous gutter between the cars and the sidewalk. I prepared to lash out at him with some terse words about: “making the streets unsafe for everybody” and worse: “drive on the right side of the street you jerk!”

And then I noticed him. I saw who he was.

With stained pants, teetering on a rickety bike, he was holding a huge plastic bag so packed full that it dwarfed him. It had the bulk and mass of what must have been 50 empty soda bottles. And then I noticed his swarthy face, and calm vigilant eyes, and saw that it was trash day and he was obviously bringing in a haul of soda cans for reimburse.

In that moment I realized he probably didn’t speak English, and that he could very well be getting cash for food for his family. And that he was, in whatever way he could, making a living.

In that split second, I decided to keep my sharp and righteous words to myself, swerved to avoid hitting him and continued on my way.

… and the audience is assembled.

Do you remember these?

When I was a kid, I made a million of these for appreciative aunts and grandparents.

Don’t say anything, but Rada’s grandmother is going to get one for her birthday this weekend.

…after a long day on the construction site.