I don't know about you, but last night I was hanging out at a ukulele jam. Yeah, I took Jack down to the local fiddle and guitar shop, where a group of ten or so ukeleleists were putting their own particular spin on "Sewanee River," "You Take the High Road, I'll Take the Low Road," and that great old Elvis Costello tune, "(What's so Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding." Would you believe me if I said it was incredibly cool?
Ukulele jams definitely fit under the category of "Homemade Good Times." If I sometimes long for days when folks sat on their porches and chatted and played guitars and fiddles (and, maybe, just maybe, the odd ukulele), it's because there is something about making your own fun that's awfully, well, fun. And there are no commercials to sit through, nothing to make you cover the kids' eyes.
Do-it-yourself entertainment: the wave of the future?
Second fiddle lesson yesterday. Why is it that at home I don't screech or squawk at all, but as soon as I sit down in front of my teacher, it's like my fiddle has turned into an outraged chicken?
Saturday I took Will to a birthday party at another one of those birthday party warehouses, the kind with giant inflatables and kiddie slot machines. When it was time for cake and ice cream, we were led into a small room where a college student dressed like a basketball ref served the kids pizza. If I could have discretely slipped this kid a tip, I would have. He put up with a lot of smack and smart talk (including, I'm afraid, some from Will, who has unfortunately decided that he's a comedian), all with good cheer.
It reminded me of the various lousy jobs I had during summer breaks, including telemarketing and camp counseling. Telemarketing was the worst; I lasted three days. As I recall, being home during the summers when you're a college student isn't much fun in general. I quit doing it after my junior year, choosing squalid, un-air conditioned apartments with a multitude of friends over having a curfew and watching the 6 o'clock news while eating dinner on TV trays, the air chilled to a perfect and constant 72 degrees.
It is way too hot for June. So why have I started knitting a cardigan for my dad? Because Christmas is coming! Will this be the summer I actually get my Christmas knitting done by September?
Um, yeah, I think we all know the answer to that.
Your Tiny Hand Is Frozen
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