Mayor Marsha, Banquet After-Bask, and The Rubinator 2.0

"Ignorance is bliss."
Last year, before the pitiful pinewood performance.

Yesterday while running, I thought: “Maybe, if I can train myself to be more numerically minded, I could become mayor. I’ll shoot for age 50!” (These are the kinds of crazy thoughts I think when I run. These and lots of other, more productive, practical thoughts.) I came home and reported my fantasy to Tom, who said: “Many mayors don’t think numerically.” A likely assessment from the human calculator.

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Five days ago was the biggest night of my work year, our annual fundraising banquet. Besides the unanticipated tedium of centerpiece placement (my fault—in my “creativity,” I had incorporated about 12 elements into each centerpiece) and a technological crisis the night before (again, my fault—overconfidence in my PowerPoint creation skills—hallelujah for the rescue efforts of a faithful friend the morning of), it went very, very well. So well, in fact, that we exceeded our goal of $46,000. This relieves and inspires me greatly. (Spoken in true British reserve. I’m a Bolton, after all.)

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Now that the banquet’s over, we’re on to the Pinewood Derby! This Saturday, my son’s car must achieve one goal: Outpace last year’s abysmal performance. After Reuben’s well-painted but poorly designed car placed dead last in every run for which it was eligible (which turned out to be not many), he recruited Mom to help him improve his chances. I ordered a “Pinewood Secrets” book right away (the market is flush with this stuff) and started studying up about 2 weeks ago. My good friend Jack generously donated his earnest wood-working efforts (read: mediocre, but better than mine!), and I’ve made several shopping trips to gather the necessary supplies. Reuben has helped design, sand and paint his Pokemon-themed car. And today, we test it!

I would post a photo of The Rubinator 2.0, but I don’t want to give anything away before race day. Check back on Saturday.

Rockette Apparition

Filling out a picture order form just now, I started to write the home address of my parents, the place where I grew up but where I haven’t resided for a decade and a half.

http://www.paranormalplus.com/new_page_9.htm

This mistake might have something to do with the fact that, earlier this evening, I saw myself on stage as a girl nearly two-and-a-half decades younger — in the form of my eldest daughter, Vivian. In her first scene, as a “Rockette” in the A-Town Middle School production of Annie, Viv resembled my younger self so much that I gasped when she appeared, like an apparition from my adolescence.

In another time-travel moment*, Viv’s best friend Shannon appeared on stage wearing the very same tan calico romper dress that I had worn as an orphan in the same show, on the same stage, in 1989.

I know, I know — “it’s not about me.” But sometimes there are these moments, while raising kids in one’s hometown, that time seems warped, and experiences seem timeless, and it’s hard to remember which decade we’re in.

*that’s for you, Leena ;)