Uncle Roger's Notebooks of Daily Life
My life is, to me, ripe with frequent challenges, occasional successes, spontaneous laughter, adequate tears, and enough *life* to last me a lifetime. To you, however, it surely seems most pedestrian. And therefore, I recycle the name I used previously and call this my Notebooks of Daily Life. Daily, because it's everyday in nature, ordinary. These conglomeration of events that are my life are of interest to me because I live it, perhaps mildly so to those who are touched by it, and could only be of perverse, morbid curiosity to anyone else. Yet, I offer them here nonetheless. Make of them what you will, and perhaps you can learn from my mistakes.
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Sunday, May 31, 2009
As many of you know, for the past three years I have been writing for the website ParentDish (originally Blogging Baby). During that time, it's gone through a lot of changes in format, style, and personnel. Through all of that, I managed to hang on, despite my notable lack of talent. I was even selected to be one of the writers for the seasonal blog Holidash. On Friday, however, just shy of my third anniversary with ParentDish, I got an e-mail that said, in part, "effective today we will no longer need you working on ParentDish." Ouch.
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"Princesses are the most important thing in the world," Sara explained breathlessly. "They make the air for us! They make everything!"
How could I possibly not know that?
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So we're at the Hootenanny and the organizer is up front introducing the next band. Sara runs up and tells him something.
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"We are going to be late, because you are crazy!" Sara wailed plaintively from the middle row of the minivan.
Actually, that could explain a lot. "I'm not late, I'm crazy."
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So I picked Sara up from school and we were chatting about her day. She told me that the day before, she had watched a movie with Miss Juliette and described what she remembered of it. It took me a moment to remember that Juliette had mentioned they watched Mary Poppins but then I asked if that were the movie. Indeed it was.
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