August 15, 2003

• While Xanga Was Down -

  
  

  I got into trouble.  In spite of having been given strict orders to take it easy, I spent yesterday morning cleaning the house, and then after the kids and I finished school, I went out to mow the yard.  Come on, it had to be done.  First there was rain, then I was sick, the the neighbor kid who was trying to mow it for me broke a blade and the litle wheel that keeps the mower deck level fell off.  (Do you get the impression I'm rough on my equipment?)  So Michael ratted me out to his Dad.  "You have to come home Dad.  Mom is outside sweating and she's gonna get sick if you don't come home and stop her."  So he did, he came home - at 4:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday.  Weird.

  
  

  So today I took the boys to the lake.  I mean how much trouble can I get in at the lake?  Maybe you'd like a peek into my afternoon ...

  
  

  Bob Seger’s running against the wind, again.  I wonder about the woman lying on the mesh chair a few feet away from me as she pushes the button on her CD player and the notes roll out across the sand. I think she looks at least 5 and maybe as much as ten years older than I am. I speculate, she first bought this album on vinyl, then got the eight track for her first car stereo. Now she has the CD. And she’s here at the lake. Alone. Wearing a suit that exposes the rolls of her flesh to the sun and to the gaze of the other people.  She's listening to a song that's brought a faraway look to her eye as she lies there baking in the late August sunshine. 

  
  

  Mama, Michael splashed me again, well Tucker pinched me first and second Mama, will you bring me a juice?  It’s too hot for me to walk across the sand my feet just won’t do it, but I’m really, really, really, really, really hot and thirsty.  I refuse to be distracted, "You don’t have to walk up here for a juice, but since you’re coming for a time out, you can get one for yourself."

  
  

  The beach at Deam Lake is small. And I’ve thought that the quirkiest people in the area all gather here. That’s part of the reason I like it. Whenever we come here, there are migrant workers speaking Spanish and cooking fragrant spicy things on the grill. I’ve seen people who speak only Hindi, and there’s one family that sounds Eastern European. I can’t imagine how they all came to find this lake in Southern Indiana where we are surrounded by hay and cornfields for several counties in any direction.

  
  

  It’s a game I play, who’s the oddest duck on the beach. Some days it’s obvious even to my kids and I have to caution them to "be polite," and "don’t stare." Last week I set up my chair next to a woman who told me about her seven husbands. "Not all at the same time you understand, no I got so good at divorcing them that I did all the paperwork for the last two myself. What is your stand on legalizing Marijuana? Oh, then you probably won’t turn me in when I light this joint And before I forget to ask, do you know Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior?"

  
  

  Today there are several contenders vying for the honor. In addition to the woman addicted to Bob Seger, there is a man who is fishing off a raft. Not the wooden raft that graces the deep end of the swimming area. He has a lime green blow-up mattress. Lying back in the sun, drifting around in circles he casts and reels, casts and reels. I wonder what he would do if he accidentally caught something. I know it would be an accident because I can see from here that he’s not using bait.  I also have the wicked desire to see him catch his mattress and I giggle to myself imagining the result.

  
  

  On a cotton blanket about 30 feet away there’s a man who seems to my eye to be about the same age as the woman. He has shoulder length golden hair and is tanned to an even brown all over. He looks like someone who takes tanning seriously. I don’t want to look at him, but when he stands and walks into the water I watch from the corner of my eye. The leopard print speedo looks like it might have fit when he bought it. But now, his belly hangs low over the front and the elastic digs into his hips.  He catches my eye and I’m embarrassed.

  
  

  I watch my son playing in the water and don’t pay any more attention to the man until I’m releasing Tucker from his time-out. "Mama, that man’s penis is really big." I didn’t mean to look, I really didn’t. But, I thought, "Oh my God, is he a flasher? Do the kids and I need to leave." No, he’s lying on his back. The faint smile on his face tells me that he heard Tucker’s remark.  He opens his eyes when I look at him, and I see that he has an erection. I’m glad that I’m at least 30 feet away.

  
  

  I tell Tucker I’ll race him into the water. And I stay in the water until the man zips himself into a pair of denim shorts and folds his blanket. As he strolls away, I hear the line again – "I’m older now, but still running against the wind."

  • 4:21 pm
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