mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary
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Finding Nemo
The weekend was spent on the other side of the mountains, camping and hiking in the Esmeralda Basin. My poor pooch ran himself ragged in his excitement and is still limping about the house like an arthritic old man. Watching his agony has brought me to new lows as a pet owner. Two nights in a row I've gone off to the market to purchase T-bone steaks for him, which Pete then grilled, and I cut up into teeny tiny pieces and fed to him as if he were a small child. I just can't stand to see the little guy down. Okay enough about Desmond. I have vowed not to be the person who talks endless about her pet and then call it a journal entry. Let's check out some pictures instead.
Here is a waterfall. What's odd here is that this makes the trail look super
lush which it was not. It was actually quite sparse and rocky and dry.
Here is a view of Mt. Rainier. Seeing Rainier semi-regularly is one of my favorite
things
about living here in Washington. Actually, catching a glimpse of any mountain
range can
bring a smile to my face. Yep, I'm a sucker for snow covered peaks.
I am also a sucker for any sign created in the 1950's. We saw this off I90 near
Cle
Elum and I had to get a picture. I like that this place felt the need to make
multiple
mention of the French bread they used. I wondered if they thought at all of
altering
it in recent times to Freedom bread. Remember, this was out East where every
house bears an American flag and there's no such thing as owning too many rifles.
Last one - this is from the same locale. It says Coney Island. I take pictures
of anything that references Coney.My grandmother and grandfather would go dancing
at Coney Island back when they were courting. My dad grew up in Coney picking
muscles off the rocks which his family ate for dinner. I misspent many a youthful
day in Coney drinking forties under the boardwalk and watching the sideshows
over and over for my $1.00 admission fee. It's one of the few things I miss
about Brooklyn (aside from friends and family, of course). But like so many
things I long for, it's not at all as I remember it. Last year, I went there
with my parents and found myself close to tears. Completely different and so
was I. Since then I've learned the true meaning of Coney Island of the Mind.
I keep my memory of the place stronger than the reality. Sometimes you need
to fool yourself.
Let's see....what else is new? Oh, I heard from the Campfire Girls. They are sending me some paperwork to fill out and then there's a background check but the ball is in motion. I'll keep you in the loop. Thanks for all the kind encouragement and guestbook lovin' given in this matter.
In an attempt to make you take back all your nice compliments, I'll tell you a tale from my trip to the grocery store last night. Pete and I were standing around the fish counter trying to decide on something to eat when a man and his five year old son came along. The kid, let's call him TIMAY (pronounced like the character on South Park), was not a happy camper. The last place he wanted to be was the supermarket. His dad would point out a fish and say "Would you like salmon for dinner tonight TIMAY?" and TIMAY would stomp about and scream "NO!" "How about some shrimp TIMAY?" "NO! NO! NO!" Stomp, stomp, stomp! "I WANT TO GO HOME!" "NOW, NOW, NOW!" He was a little too old for these types of tantrums. His fits were getting on my very last nerve. I would have never been allowed to act like that in public but Dad was the type of parent who lives in oblivion, allowing his kid jump about and wail, with no regard for those around him. He was content to point out fish after fish to TIMAY while the rest of us waited for them to make a friggin' selection so we could be waited on. I knew I had to take matters into my own hands or we'd be there all night. I approached the fish case where a huge, headless, halibut lay on display and exclaimed loudly to Pete "Look Pete! I've found Nemo and he's dead. Let's have him for dinner." "Nemo," whined TIMAY. "Nemo's dead. Daddy they're going to eat Nemo! I don't want to eat Nemo - I WON'T eat Nemo!" And so began a crying jag so violent that it that finally set the father in motion. Off the two of them went to the parking lot and peace and solitude was restored at the fish counter. Another fine days work done.
10:41 a.m. - 2003-07-01
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