When I was little I had an umbrella. I loved it. I would go outside when it rained just so I could use it. And stand dry beneath well I heard the crisp pop of drops landing on plastic.
It had strips of white and blue. You know, classic umbrella style. And on each white strip there was a picture of a little girl also holding an umbrella.
One day something strange happened. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the little girls simply disappear leaving one plain strip of white. It happened so quickly. But the little girl that was me was pretty sure it had happened.
And then it suddenly reappeared.
I looked my umbrella over carefully. After a complete investigation it was clear that every white strip had a little girl. And so I lowered myself to a quick search for secret buttons. Even though I was old enough, or just simply logical enough, to know I wouldn't find any.
I let my mind wander to fairies. But only briefly. I definitely knew better when it came to that.
I had no choice but to file it as freak. Imagination. An unexplained phenomenon. And to know that I would get laughed at as childlike source of humour if I tried to tell anyone.
And then I forgot it.
Fifteen years later I've suddenly remembered it. But now I'm too old for it to hold any sense of mystique. Life has taught me a few pretty straight forward explanations. Like, say, blind spots. A phenomenon...maybe. But one completely explainable through science. One that would've intrigued the four year old me. But disappointed me at the "simplicity" of it. To know that there are plenty of people out there capable of telling me exactly what had happened. Something so much more complex, but maybe not so cool, as secret buttons.
But not all is lost. The other day I brought a row of cows into the parlour. Suddenly, from between two of them, falls a pen I'd never seen before. Freak? Imagination? And unexplained phenomenon?
Definitely enough to respark my curiosity anyway.
Maybe when I'm thirty I'll suddenly remember it, grin to myself, and then tsk at the simplicity of the answer.
I hope not. There should always be something to make one wonder.

How come you don't realize when you forget?

I find the term, "Ah...We're camping," to be somewhat flawed. Indeed your camping. At least I hope you are, if you're going to say it. So, first of all, it's a statement of the obvious. Second of all, it's an over used excuse. I dropped your sandwich, that's o.k. We're camping. I haven't shaved in a week, but yeah, we're camping. Ah, screw it. We're camping.
Most importantly, that statement is flawed because physically, scientifically, and emotionally you are still the same as when you're at home. Well, besides being a bit more sunburned, happy, tired, and carefree. But your germ tolerance doesn't officially go up. Your standards of beauty don't have any real reason to go down. Unless you're generally prettying up for the guy at the office. If you're that kind of person, you're probably not camping in the first place. You shouldn't be able to stand sand in your bed any more then usual simply because you're in a tent. "A little dirt never hurt anyone" should be as relevant in the backyard as around the campfire.
All the same, we use it. We use it like crazy from the first minute we set up our tarps and throw on our swimsuits. And, somehow, we come out better for that casual embrace-it attitude.
Ah, I was camping.
I played volleyball and wrestled on the beach. Stayed up late playing with coals. Whispered to the next sleeping bag. I went skinny dipping, and hiked trails. I windsurfed, dived from the dock and had to give in to sunscreen. I laughed. I ate s'mores after supper and smokies at midnight. I pulled on my hoodie well still wet from the beach, and sat around the campfire playing Mafia. I went rock climbing, repelling, and tried to out sing my cousin, to start the list.
In short, I enjoyed this years vacation. Did I really need to say that?

Liquid nitrogen feels weird when it splashes in your ear.
Other then that, I've been uninspired. What? Are you mocking my, "other then that"?
Last night we there were nine of us line dancing at a double beat. All good fun.

There. Because you're such nice people. Note: the problem with digital cameras is you take twenty and then can't decide what you want. Oh well. Btw. This is me raw and uncut. Very unprettified. Oh, and sorry that I'm sideways. I'm sadly ungeek. Maybe I'll keep working on it until work.

Heh heh heh. I just posted a "picture" of myself. To see if I could make the photo upload thing work. And then I promptly deleted it. Wouldn't do to have it go down in history, eh? So now that's one less bad picture of me to haunt the world.

Things that are bad if you're a teenager on driving probation.
Summer.
Music with a beat.
windows that roll down.
windows that are non-exsistant.
music from when you were twelve.
getting a kick out of going around corners at twice the recommended speed.
road trips.
Cops with nothing worthwhile to do.
School Zones.
owning cars.
split shifts out of town.
enjoying driving.
Life.
Summer.

I sat up rubbing my eyes. Ahh, evening naps on the couch at times when I could hardly keep my eyes open any longer. I told myself I shouldn't make a habit of it. Because it throws my sleep schedule even more out of wack then it already is. And it's a pointless waste of time, this lying about with ones eyes close. I also told myself I should go lap swimming. As had been my intent for a while. When a girl is used to hours of judo and hockey a week summer can be slow.
"So, Kris, if it's not past 7:30 we'll go." I smirked to myself in my brilliance. For it was most definitely at least eight. But my faithful clock defied my conclusion. Dang.
"Ah yes. Lap swim is only two days a week. We shall check our schedule and go if it's today." Happy with my brillaince I entered the bathroom (where I keep my schedule for some random reason) and flipped through. What? No esta possible. But it was possible. It proudly told me I could attend lap swims on Mondays.
So I loaded up my old lady bag. No swim cap. No goggles. Just about forgot my towel, and zipped down.
I've never been big on the lap type of swimming. I love messing about in the water, any random lake pastimes are fine. But the idea of paddling back and forth in stuff that's more chlorine then water never much appealed to me. But, it would be good for me, no? Good for my knees, about which I worry. Good for my joints in general. All of which worry me. It was an old person's sport.
Ten minutes later I slid into my lane. Only two other people showed up. Two big buff hairy men. Their muscles bulging in anticipation as they snapped their goggles into place...
Oops.
I began two swim. Probably at a rate of more then a lap a minute. By the fifth lap I was ready to quit. Oh good grief. I have got to go longer then these five minutes of my hour. Man, I paid good money for the opportunity. So I struggled on.
Front crawl, back crawl, breast stroke, jelly fish. Up and down the pool. Well on either side of my the two buff young men, and the buff older man (who'd joined us) whizzed by in solid front crawl. I began breathing loud enough I wondered if the guy on the lifeguard chair could here me. No doubt that smirk was in humour at my attempts.
I began to breathe in water as I desperately tried for air. Having been a little kid, I know what all the little kids before us were doing in there. Pace yourself Kris. Just take it slowly. Well, let me tell you. It's a deadly trap. The slower you go the longer you have to go between breaths. The sport of the elderly. Pah.
However. All's well that ends well. I kept up my tiring rythem for the whole hour. And suspect I could've keep going. Although I started breathing every couple strokes on my front crawl. The better news, all the big guys got out before me. They took time to stretch out their tired limbs. Score one for the teenager!
front crawl, back crawl, breast stroke, jelly fish.
At last I emerged. Wet and tired. Red rimmed eyes from prolonged exposure to too much chlorine. But no bruises! No crude talk in the change room. No smashed up knees or aching elbows from arm bars.
But I'm still sticking with judo. The senior citizens (or big buff guys) can keep their lap swims for now.

Dude. Don't you love it?
Once again we salute essy and thank her for her creative blog designs. Long live geeks! Cause we probably wouldn't without them (not that you're a geek, ess. But you sure do a mean template).

Grease stained hands. Makes me feel like I've been doing something. Although in reality I was just swatting mosquitos and getting in the way well Dad worked on my car. Pretty much all I did was the tire.
The manual always makes things seem simpler then they really are. And that's pretty sad, since to just read it is extremally complicated to me.
I wish I was more mechanically minded then I am.