Play dates

C & I had homeowner business to attend to on Saturday, and we took it very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that we slept on it till noon.

However, having fully contemplated through morning drowsing what we were about to do, once up, we grabbed the weekend with a vengeance.

New refrigerator to buy? Check.

Really nice dinner at Eleven in The Strip? Check and check!

Cramming in to a small bar performance space in Lawrenceville to hear a co-worker's band? Check!

Oh, and the band? A bunch of dads (i.e. old guys) but awesome in their joy at rocking on a Saturday night.

I thought about play on Sunday, dumping off newspapers and catalogs at the local Abitibi drop boxes by the library. There was a group of kids in the parking lot, 3 or 4 tween boys, a couple tween girls, flipping a Frisbee among themselves, laughing and yelling.

The girls were so cute, headbands and ponytails; one wore shorts, socks and tennies, the other leggings and tennies. So cold outside, but they were oblivious, the skin they hadn't covered bright red.

A long time ago, in France when I was a little girl, I remember watching boys bicycling to school in the coldest of temps, wearing shorts. Their skins was the same bright red. And they seemed oblivious, too.

For older people, play is hard work. But when you watch kids at it, you recognize how worthwhile it is.

Best line from the band audience on Saturday? The 60-something bald bass player went to the bar to get water for the 50-something drummer with the cramping finger and here is what I heard:

"That is, like, the coolest old dude ever, man!"

Play on!