Lemon Out

Today is the ten year anniversary of the Columbia disaster, rest in peace to all astronauts who died in the name of exploration. Two main memories of Columbia stand out for me, the first is turning on the tv on a Saturday morning in my college apartment and slowly piecing together what was happening. The second is taking a tour of NASA a few years ago with my friend and NASA employee Brandon, who casually tossed out one of my favorite sentences ever, “And here is where I train the astronauts.” He showed us a big display from Columbia, set up partly as a memorial, but mainly as a reminder for NASA employees to be alert and aware that every detail matters in their jobs.

I have no transition from that.  It’s the same thing that happened recently when my friend and seminarian Kellaura was in Haiti for three weeks and I sent letters to her house containing only the most trivial of topics.  The big exciting thing in my life and hope for the future of the planet–two healthy children who are being raised in a stable environment!- can only be described by mundane details.  Life is chuffing along.

Yesterday was pajama day at school. We got the tires rotated on the van this morning and moved the last of Tate’s stuff into his shared room with Rush, converting Tate’s old room into a temporary playroom by pushing the crib into the corner. Tate is napping and Rush is asking me every five minutes if his nap is over, chipping away at my sanity. Tonight is pizza night.  It’s a really beautiful day.

Yesterday our iron stopped getting hot.

I’ve started filling my water bottle with Diet Coke.

I’m sending this idea out into the universe, because I it’s something I want, but don’t have the rhythm to start.  There should be a exercise class where everyone does what the chorus of a Broadway musical would be doing to prepare for a production.  It would pretty much be A Chorus Line.  I already run to the Hairspray soundtrack so I can pretend that I’m preparing for my role as Penny (my former neighbor/personal trainer informed me that no one else does that – individual!) and during Zumba I imagine that I’m preparing to be a Puerto Rican in West Side Story.  I’ll allow a pause here for my family to laugh at that image, gangly whitey thinking I could dance with the Sharks.

---

So, someone get moving on that Broadway class please.  Go ahead and take my idea, but I would like free admission to the class.

Have I mentioned 30 Rock enough on this blog that I need to comment on the end of the series last night?  I’ll get to that as soon as I finish eating a sandwich and reading this book about Jane Goodall.

Wait, but seriously, I have an unread copy of In The Shadow of Man on my bookshelf.  Trent honey, bring home a dozen donuts and some night cheese.  It’s Friday night.