And when we got sick, we called the doctor. If we got sick at night, we waited until morning. If we got sick over the weekend, hopefully the cure-all, Tylenol, would hold until Monday morning when the doctor reopened. Just as well since in our household if Tylenol didn't do the trick then no amount of penicillin or its variants would have helped. Forget aspirin, for us, Tylenol was the real wonder drug that worked wonders. Emergency rooms were for broken bones, car crashes and old people.
Somewhere twixt now and then, however, doctors started operating after-hours clinics. Maybe they always did and we just had the misfortune of having the best pediatrician (Dr. Harper) who still subscribed to the antiquated notion that kids should only get sick during business hours. Life was so inconvenient back then.
All of this is an extremely long-winded way of saying I spent a decent chunk of Saturday afternoon with Marisol and Buster in the after-hours clinic. He had what turned out to be a sinus infection. A pain, yes, but nothing serious.
Conformation of a revelation nevertheless: I'm not sure there's much sadder than a sick child. All the moaning, coughing and irritability can't help but melt even the hardest of hearts and one will do anything to make the child feel better. Miss school? Eat ice cream for breakfast? Great. Common sense be damned. Hence our post-doctor trip to the cinema to view Madagascar 2.
Buster had been jazzed about seeing the flick since we first saw the previews sometime in February. Or so it seemed. In preparation he had forced Marisol to endure the original some 50 times and the big production number (I like to move it, move it) had replaced the soundtrack to Mamma Mia as his song of choice to sing at any moment of silence. Needless to say, he was as excited about this weekend as any kid could possibly be and the possibility of disappointing was a burden we'd prefer not to bear if at all possible.
His three big questions on Saturday:
- Where's Mama?
- What's taking so long?
- Are we still going to the movie?
It's just a guesstimate but those three were asked in that order about 1400 times Saturday afternoon. So post-doctor and after a brief stopover at McDonald's we headed to the aforementioned cinema. Luck smiled us as the feature was just about to start. So rather than the attending the subsequent showing as I'd feared, we timed it perfectly.
As we eased into our seats I was hoping that once things got underway, Buster would hone in on the flick and forget his illness. The power of brightly colored, talking animals trumping everything else. Peace and prosperity would return to all nations, etc. I can't speak for Marisol, but I was awfully proud of our ability to save the day. We promise him something and by gum, we come through.
He was asleep within 15 minutes.Which is not to say that Saturday was without its frivolity. I set a PR for 11 miles on Saturday morning, 1:37. It was the type of run that keeps me doing this whereas anyone with a brain would have ceased long ago.
The town also had its annual We Hate Bambi Too So Fire Away Festival for hunters on Saturday. To get in the spirit, most townsfolk dress in camouflage or something equally woodsy.
I wore my day-glo (ahem) blue Deerhoof shirt which must count for something. Right?
In addition to the usual assortment of hawkers offering all manner of stuff, bric-a-brac and outright junk there was a car show as well as some hot, rocking live entertainment. It's all very family-oriented and probably fun if you like that sort of thing. Alas, there were no cloggers. Therefore I was ultimately bummed.
I didn't stick around for the whole shindig but if history is any indication, most performers were of the gimme-that-ol'-time-relijun variety with a sprinkling of country and a dash of western thrown in. We may not know much, but we know our target audience.
Except for the one band I did see.
Not sure of the name, but I can only guess it was Sexual Chocolate. If it wasn't then a name change is in order. With three dynamite chick singers out front and a coupla dudes holding down the low end, they most definitely got their 'Quiet Storm' swerve on with tunes that were slightly...erotic. Basically, the perfect soundtrack for an early afternoon hunting fest in early November in rural Georgia with a largely white, elderly audience.
Anyway, the toe-tapper I heard seemed to consist of little more than the promise of some "good, good lovin" over a slow jam from an increasingly excited Miss Thang. No one got up to groove. Whether her amore was directed towards the numerous blue-hairs in the audience or the handful of camo'd families is unclear. Since that's all that was watching, it must have been one or the other because she clearly meant it, man. Sadly, no one took her invitation. Undeterred, she was left to suggest if you couldn't find someone to love you then just love yourself. They (Sexual Chocolate) do it all the time.
EMTs rushed from coronary to coronary. Parents put ear muffs on kids. I laughed and laughed.
Clearly, Obama has already united us in ways he couldn't have imagined.
1 comment:
You need a video camera with you... always.
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