Acting teenage mucky

born to be a majorette, originally uploaded by your neighborhood librarian.

Well, it did rain this weekend. It rained and rained and there was no question of anyone going up on stilts, even if they weren't broken (long before I bought them on eBay, and don't think I don't have words for that seller). The neighborhood fair was beautiful in the rain, and people came anyway and huddled together and laughed, because it was LUDICROUS how much it was raining.

Our front raingutter overflowed impressively during that storm. As I surveyed the 8-foot-wide waterfall hammering down in a line 5 inches from the foundation of the house, I pictured that water seeping through the cracks in the foundation and into the basement, and, without pausing to evaluate my chosen course of action, I shucked off my shoes and socks and most of my clothes, hopped up on the porch rail and ran my hand down the length of the gutter.

This got me wet. Wet like all the water in the gutter poured down my arm and sluiced down my body. Wetter than you get in the shower, because I was (basically) dressed, and what clothing I had on was also wet, supersaturated with rainwater. What is more, I did not clear the gutter. The gutter was clear. The blockage was, not surprisingly, in the downspout.

So I hopped back up, Bob handed me a stick, and I reached up and curled my wrist around, and jammed that stick down into the downspout, and cleared the blockage. Yay me!

And then the stick broke off IN the hole I had created in the blockage, and the downspout was blocked again, and I went inside.

Last night we watched My Side of the Mountain, the so-so movie made from the great book. As I tucked the kids in, I said to Mao, "Promise me you'll never run away and go live in a tree, ok?" He said, "All right," and, as he turned over, added, "I'll start unpacking tomorrow."

Sassy little twerp. The little one is a skillful artist and (relentless) raconteur, but if this one grows up to be funny, well, hey, I'll be more than satisfied.