Summer Plans

You ever been in a hammock before? They're real neat new-fangled things you tie up to trees and swing in all summer long. Like this:

We have two very nice, strong hammocks. Only we don't have perfectly-positioned trees. Or hammock stands.

Luckily, Miss Ruby and I have plans to use the hammocks anyway. Like this:

Everyone wins, there's no weight limit, and there's no chance of falling off and hurting yourself.

I Am This Happy

(via)

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Work

Well, three funny things, actually.

Firstly: Tulsa is still recovering from a major blizzard, record amounts of snowfall, and a decided inability to plow its neighborhood streets. With these factors in mind, I decided to park my little car safely on the street half a mile from work and hoof it the rest of the way through the neighborhood.

Secondly: Shortly upon exiting my car, I immediately took a tumble on the icy road. I spilled my lunch all over the street, laughed at myself, and went on my merry way.

Thirdly: A few moments later, I happened upon a car spinning its tires and trying to get out of the middle of the road. I pushed, the tires spun. I pushed harder, the tires spun harder. The driver exited the car. Noting that he was at least 6-foot-6 and 250 pounds, we decided that perhaps he should push and I should hit the gas. Eureka! And jackpot! Off he, too, went on his merry way.

Now, these three things may not seem to be connected or interesting. If I were just going to broadcast three random-- and rather mediocre-- life events to the world, I would be posting mundane facebook status updates, not shaking the dust off of this poor abandoned blog. But as any reader of O. Henry or W. Lechner will attest, everything matters. Everything is connected. And these three events, as I discovered just an hour ago, came together to make for a very interesting revelation.

You see, I wore snow boots to work today. I also brought along a pair of regular shoes to wear around the office. It was time to take of the boots and put on the shoes. I reached into my bag and, with great apprehension, pulled out a lone shoe.

There is only one shoe.

My sweet, sweet, black patent leather shoes, the only shoes I own with ergonomic insoles and non-slip soles, my practical, grown-up, only-shoes-I-wear-all-winter, are now separated.

The left shoe now lies like an abandoned salmon on my office floor, dejectedly beached and no longer even flailing its pathetic little fins as it gapes at me. "Where is my brother?" it asks with its last shuddering flap of a gill, its slowly congealing insides, its dimming eye.

My right shoe, the beautiful black salmon, now lies in one of three places. Revisiting the events of this morning, I imagine it, too...

Waiting patiently in my little car: safely parked half a snowy and freezing mile away.

Lying shivering in the dirty mounds of iced-over snow: which, if we are to believe local meteorologists, will be joined tonight by an additional eight to twelve.

Or, the most vaguely hilarious option: staying warm and dry in the passenger seat of a six-foot-six, 250-pound stranger who has long since exited the neighborhood, my new friend who was happily sent on his merry way just hours, and a lifetime, ago.