Skinner

Life is good when you can spend the day with your friends. Today I spent the afternoon with two of my favorite people. We went to a baseball game, which is something that we all enjoy. We had a few beers and there were some peanuts involved too. These two friends are difficult for me to write about. I have to admit that I have a tremendous amount of love for both of them. And love is always a difficult thing to put down in writing.

The most significant thing that came out of the afternoon was that the two aforementioned people encouraged me to write to a friend that I haven’t heard from in a while. He was my big brother in my fraternity in college. A fantastic person who, for some reason, I have just lost track of. The last time I talked to him was September 12, 2001 – he lives in New York. But it shouldn’t take a tragedy for two old friends to get together. So I sent him an email tonight. I hope he still likes Dandelions.

I have said for a number of years that my wife is my best friend. It’s true. The unfortunate part of our friendship is that we have to put up with all the bullshit that life throws at us together. And sometimes the bullshit is more than we want to handle, so we argue about it. That’s life, right? I guess that’s what separates spouses from best friends. The commitment of friendship may actually be the same, but you don’t often have to go through the tough times with friends like you do with a spouse. Times spent with friends are just good.

I still don’t know what I can say about the two friends I spent the day with. As close as I am with both of them, and as close as the two of them are to one another, I have a different relationship with both. One is a person that has always knocked the sense back into me. The other always just listened and cared. My life without them could not possibly be the same and my future without them would be dismal. Mostly, I hope they both read this and know how much I care about them.

Recently I have mentioned, on more than one occasion, that I don’t know why people like me. I think that I’m a pretty good guy but I can’t explain why people go out of their way for me. Through the years I have had a tenuous relationship with my parents but through it all I almost have a ‘favorite child’ status. I only know this because my siblings wonder why. They do everything right, all of the time, but I get better birthday presents. I recently received a birthday card from my wife’s aunt, only to realize that neither my wife nor anyone else in the family gets birthday cards from her. I don’t know why I did. One of my favorite stories deals with my wife being congratulated at our wedding by some of my friends’ mother’s – including one of the previously mentioned friends. My wife had never actually met those women, but they were ecstatic about her marrying me. Honestly, I don’t get it. And I mean that, honestly. I don’t consider myself an ass-kisser or a brown-noser. As a matter of fact, I always thought that I pissed people off more than I impressed them. But for some reason people like me.

And that leads me back to the friends that I spent the day with. The years and times and conversations and moments that I have spent with each of my friends cannot be counted. The encouragement and support and the love exchanged between each other cannot be totaled. I find it difficult to put any type of adjective or adverb on the way I would describe my friends. That’s what makes the feelings so strong.

The Year of the Cicada

If you were born in one of the following years you were born during the “Year of the Cicada:”

1902, 1919, 1936, 1953, 1970, 1987, 2004

For most of their lives, Cicadas are quiet, docile creatures. However, when they do want attention, it is noticed by everyone. Those born in the year of the Cicada may seem to be introverted but explode when they want to be heard. They play loudly once they come out of their shell, but spend an inordinate amount of time trying to mate. Cicada people have been known to have their limbs dismember from their body when their middle left toe is pulled. Cicadas do not get along well with those born in the years of the Cricket, Mole or Windshield.

Famous people born in the “Year of the Cicada” include:

Charles Lindbergh, Ansel Adams, John Steinbeck, Bobby Jones, Guy Lombardo, John Dillinger, Ogden Nash, Strom Thurmond, Jackie Robinson, Shah of Iran, Eva Peron, Nat King Cole, Slim Pickens, Malcolm Forbes, Liberace, Alan Alda, Roy Orbinson, Don Drysdale, Buddy Holly, Jim Henson, Mary Tyler Moore, David Carradine, Wavy Gravy, Burt Reynolds, Wilt Chamberlain, Michael Landon, Burt Reynolds, Tony Blair, Alex Van Halen, George Brett, Donny Most, Hulk Hogan, Pat Benatar, Louie Anderson, Kim Basinger, Robert Cray, Kathie Lee Gifford, John Malkovich, Tim Allen, Andre Agassi, Uma Thurman, River Phoenix, Jim ‘Papa Rox’ Humbert

The next time you’re looking for the connection between Strom Thurmond and Donny Most, or Guy Lombardo and Wavy Gravy or John Steinbeck and the Shah of Iran, now you know – “The Year of the Cicada.”

Friday Night TV

With the last episode of Friends, and for that matter Frasier, the topic of great TV shows has recently raised its head. I don’t think that either of those shows would make my top ten. Both are good. Both are funny. But top ten? Well maybe. I can’t say that I have one favorite show that I have to watch every time it is on. I do have a preference for a few shows. My favorites are probably the Simpson, The Andy Griffith Show, Cheers, WKRP in Cincinnati, MASH and All in the Family. All of those shows may have their problems, but I like them.

“A dog can't get struck by lightning. You know why? 'Cause he's too close to the ground. See, lightning strikes tall things. Now if they were giraffes out there in the field, now then we'd have trouble.” – Barney Fife

I have no need in life to know who or what is number one. There seems to be a need in our society to know who is the best. Every year after the College Football season there is controversy over who is the best. A team can win 12 games and only lose one and they are not the best. Some other team that went undefeated was the best. The problem is that the team that was 12 and 1 had to have been a very good team, but because they weren’t the BEST they are considered to be losers. I see this a great problem with our society. There is no reason to have to be the best. Why not just try to be really good?

“You tried your best and failed miserably. The lesson is ‘never try’.” – Homer Simpson

I do my best not to have favorites. I like the Andy Griffith Show as much as I like Cheers. I like the movie Animal House as much as I like Caddyshack. I like The Who as much as I like The Rolling Stones. I like my friend Kevin as much as I like my other friend Kevin. I don’t feel the need to choose who or what I like better. I’m content liking all of those things equally.

Now at this point I feel I am just rambling so I should probably look for a different direction. Let’s just throw out some quotes:

“As god as my witness I thought turkeys can fly” – Arthur Carlson

“I knew what you were up to Penguin so I gently coated my stomach with buttermilk” – Batman

“It’s a dog eat dog world and I’m wearing Milkbone underwear.” – Norm Peterson

“Hey! Just so you know: it’s not that common, it doesn’t happen to every guy, and it IS a big deal!” – Rachel to Ross

“People who work putting shoes on fat women who wear dresses should not have 20/20 vision” – Al Bundy

“I'm sick of hearing about the wounded. What about all the thousands of wonderful guys who are fighting this war without any of the credit or the glory that always goes to those lucky few who just happen to get shot?” – Frank Burns

“You don't need to hire a dog therapist. You just need to wake up at 7 am and open the fucking door!” – Ozzy Osbourne

“I always get the feeling that, when lesbians are looking at me, they’re thinking "That’s why I’m not a heterosexual". – George Castanza

“I like my beer cold, my TV loud, and my homosexuals fa-laaaaming.” – Homer Simpson

“The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumb ass.” – Red Foreman

I’ve had and idea for TV Land or Nick at Nite or any other TV programming executive that may actually read this. Put together the classic TV line-ups for an entire season. Give us the 1980’s Thursday night line-up for an entire season on every Thursday night. The 1970’s Saturday night shows would be great. Even the Friday night Incredible Hulk-Dukes of Hazard could be fun. These shows were good and a lot of fun. I would appreciate them the way that they aired originally.

From Hollywood Squares:
John Davidson: “What do you get if you cross a cow and a buffalo?”
Alf: “Utter Chaos. What do you get if you cross a donkey and a game show host?”
Davidson: “What?”
Alf: “A smarter game show host.”

I Miss My Friends

I have a very blurred recollection of watching the last episode of Cheers 10 years ago. It is only unclear due to the amount of alcohol consumed while sitting around on that Thursday night. I was in college and we had a mini-party – only 25 or so of our closest friends. We were all drinking heavily and having a pretty good time laughing at Rebecca marrying the plumber and Woody winning a city council seat. I’m pretty sure it was a lot of fun. A few days later I saw one of my very good friends’ girlfriend, now his wife, and she apologized for them running out so fast after the show ended. I honestly didn’t recall their exit. She said that he, Andy, had gotten very emotional because he saw himself graduating soon and leaving behind his friendships. That was the premise of that last episode – friends going in their own direction. And apparently it was more than my friend could handle.

I miss my friends.

Tonight, on my answering machine I received this message: “You have an answering machine? I can’t believe it. It is I – you know who. I’m just calling cause I haven’t talked to you in a while. Anyway, enjoy! Talk to you – bye.”
I do know who it is and we don’t talk enough. Strangely enough I told a story today about his father – he is full of stories. I miss him too. Hopefully, soon enough, I will see both of them.

I don’t intend this to seem depressing. I do miss my friends but I accept that this is the kind of path that life seems to take. I don’t live down the street from all of my friends like I did in High School. I don’t live with a bunch of friends like I did in college. And vacations are more and more difficult to coordinate with children and vacation days. I am just trying to say that I wish I could spend more time with these people. Heck, that’s a positive thing.

I miss my friends.

Tonight I watched most of the last episode of Friends. I did not tune in on the night of its original airing and I probably would not have watched it tonight if the Reds game hadn’t ended quickly. But I watched it nonetheless. I knew Ross and Rachel would get together – who didn’t? Chandler and Monica deserved a baby and twins were a nice touch – Phoebe had three. And by the way, where in the hell was Emma? You know, Rachel’s daughter. Was she hanging out at the coffee shop by herself? The show was not as great as Cheers or MASH or All In The Family or Seinfeld. And certainly not better than one of my personal favorites, The Andy Griffith Show. But obviously it struck a chord in me and now I am writing all of this down for everyone to see. These six characters and actors have been together for ten years and now they have to say goodbye to each other. That has to be difficult. I can honestly say that I have had friends for more than twenty-five years, and I don’t think I could ever say goodbye to them.

Because I miss them.

During lunch today I had a conversation with my co-worker, a.k.a. brother-in-law, about a few guys that I used to see quite often – Ken, Tom, David, Mike, Scotty, Brian. When asked why I didn’t see much of them anymore, I couldn’t give him a direct answer. There really hasn’t been a fight that caused a fallout. No one decided they didn’t want talk to one another. Life just changes and times are spent differently. Maybe spouses don’t understand where those friendships come from or children aren’t old enough to comprehend them. That’s just the way life goes sometimes. But if anyone reading this knows Ken or Tom or David or whoever, don’t be afraid to drop them a line and say hello from me.

I miss my friends.

My father once made the comment to my now-wife that you may have to break a leg in order to get in with our group. In one respect, that makes it seem as if we don’t like outsiders. But that was not what he meant. I am very happy to belong to what has always been a very close-knit group of friends. They have more than accepted my wife – I think, actually, they have pitied her. They know me well enough to understand much of what I put my wife through. They have been putting up with my ramblings much longer than she and I’m sure they all hope this shit will end soon. But it really doesn’t matter to me.

I still miss my friends.

Friday Night with Otis

I have spent most of the day doing nothing in particular. Well, that’s not really true. I have spent most of the day playing on the computer. I have not done anything particularly productive. No laundry. No dishes. No yardwork. No vacuuming. I did take out the garbage, but only because it was garbage day - that just makes sense.

So now I am sitting here on Friday night listening to Robert Randolph and the Family Band. My cowboy hat is firmly in place and I just noticed that the bracelet that my wife recently put on my wrist matches the Scooby Doo shirt that I am wearing. Did I mention that I’m on my fourth beer? Life is good.

It takes a lot of guts to wear black socks with sandals. I have recently failed the gut-check. Not necessarily because it creates a horrible image, it was too hot out for me to wear socks. I don’t have a problem putting on some golden-toe, knee-high, super elastic black socks and then slipping on my Birkenstocks. I feel that I have the guts. I know I have the socks and the sandals. So for those of you that may be reading this that do not know me, the next time you see a guy wearing black socks and sandals – and possibly a Scooby Doo shirt and cheap cowboy hat – stop him on the street and introduce yourself. It just might be me. For those of you that know me, be prepared – there will be a showing sometime soon.


From the Rug-Files: Does anyone actually ever TAKE a shit. Don’t you just leave one?


Have you seen the video for Jessica Simpson’s version of “Take My Breath Away”? First of all, let’s deal with the actual song. Berlin should have quit with “The Metro” before selling themselves to a cheeseball movie. That’s right, Top Gun was crap. From the point when Tom Cruise took a Polaroid of the Russian pilot to when Val Kilmer knocked his teeth together in the locker room, it was a cheeseball movie. Of course, the Berlin hit wasn’t the worst song on the soundtrack. That award goes to Mr. Movie Soundtrack, Kenny Loggins. Anyway, back to Jessica Simpson. This is a woman that has gotten a rep for being stupid yet beautiful. Any time her name happens to come up in a conversation a woman points out the she is stupid. I have to tell you, when I see Jessica Simpson I am not exactly thinking about discussing world politics with her. It’s kind of like when a woman points out fake boobs. Who cares? They’re fake? So what? Jessica is dumb? What do I care? I’m never going to meet the woman. Let me have my stupid little fantasy. Let me put her on the list.
There have actually been a number of remakes released lately. Just tonight I heard John Mayer perform “Message in a Bottle” by the Police. It was a pretty good rendition, but not nearly as good as when Sting sang it solo for The Secret Policeman’s Other Ball. One band that has made more than a few remakes is the Foo Fighter’s. Their take on Darling Nicki is very good. I’m amazed the FCC hasn’t banned it throughout the world.
One last word on Jessica Simpson - does anyone really know that she is stupid? There is a long list of actors and actresses that have portrayed stupidity, with a lot of ingenuity. Harpo Marx never spoke a word and his comedy was brilliant. Burns and Allen would never have made it without Gracie playing the idiot. And no one has portrayed a bigger dumb-ass than Carroll O’Connor as Archie Bunker. Maybe I’m putting Jessica on too high of a pedestal, but I think it is just as bad that women focus on her lack of intelligence as men focus on her beauty.

But it wouldn’t surprise me if she thought Dandelions were flowers.

Two Days in Bombay

I have spent the last two days working at a company that is owned and managed by Indians. That is, people from India - not people incorrectly identified as Indians, but more on that later. I have to admit that I do not have much experience with Indians. Most of what I know about India comes from the movie Ghandi, studying the Kama Sutra, the Beatles friendship with the Maharishi and from Apu on the Simpsons. In recent times I have seen various reports on 60 Minutes regarding Indian schools and businesses and I have developed a curiosity regarding Indian people and their culture. When recently asked what country I thought would be the next great empire, as the United States fades, I suggested India. I was immediately reminded that much of their people live in poverty and starve in the streets. Apparently, unlike here, they do not make their homeless register with their local city hall. But I can’t really make a great argument for why India might be the next great nation - I am really just curious to learn more about it.

Early on Monday morning I had a conversation with an Indian man. Just small talk really. He has been in the U.S. for nine years. It turns out we attended the same college and we both attended high schools of the same name. My St. Xavier was in Cincinnati while his was in New Delhi. The conversation only went so far as to how nice the weekend was and how we both did some yard work. I, of course, mentioned the overabundance of Dandelions in my front yard. He looked perplexed. "Dandelions?"
"Yeah, you know, the little yellow weeds that seem to grow everywhere." Apparently there are no Dandelions and maybe even no weeds in India. So I gave him a brief explanation.
"Those are weeds? Those pretty yellow flowers are weeds and they will take over my yard unless I kill them? That is too bad. They are so pretty."
I know.

With more thought, I realize that in my studies I have read a few things regarding India. When I was in London ten years ago I read and attended the play Indian Ink by Tom Stoppard. I can’t say I remember much of it though, and perhaps I should read it again. I do remember that the lead actress had a nude scene. I have also read one of the more critically acclaimed modern novels titled White Teeth, by Zadie Smith. It does not actually take place in India, but it deals with an Indian man raising his children in modern-day England. I have also read Life of Pi, which I enjoyed greatly. A friend told me that he wished the book dealt more with the religious and spiritual aspects of the character. But I mostly enjoyed the creativity of the ending. There is more than one way to tell a story and sometimes the more creative, the better.

At what point do you think Columbus realized he did not reach India? Okay, I understand that this guy was looking for a different route to India and his reasoning of how to get there was, if not genius, at least revolutionary. So he lands on an island that he thinks is part of India, he sees some people and calls them Indians. Makes perfectly good sense! But if by the time he headed back to Spain he knew he hadn’t found India, then why continue to call the people Indians? Maybe he didn’t really know. So how many trips did it take, going back and forth over a rather large ocean, before he realized he hadn’t found India? Did the Pilgrims who landed on Plymouth Rock think that they were in India? That was only a little more than 100 years later. And as Hallmark history goes, the first Thanksgiving took place between the Pilgrims and Indians. They had a deep fried turkey, oyster stuffing, cranberry jelly from a can and watched the Cowboys beat up the Buffalo Bills. Maybe it was the Native Americans themselves who continued the misnomer: "White man call us Indian. We no live in India. Stupid white man. But no point argue with white man. What we care. It only name. Stupid shmucks."

This morning I woke up with my head throbbing. It wasn’t the usual too-many-beers headache. It was a concentrated pain right in the middle of my forehead. As it turns out, it was a very large zit. Looking in the mirror, I realized it wasn’t the type of pimple that was going to puss all over and create a huge whitehead. It was the kind that was going to grow unnoticed under the skin and cause me discomfort every time I blinked. Throughout the day I thought that everyone I saw was staring at this large protruding golfball on my forehead. People in cars passed me, laughing and pointing at their rear-view mirror. I swear the girl at the burger joint asked for her break right as it was my turn to order. And as I sit hear now with my pets I know they are thinking about it. Queenie, the smart dog, thinks "wow, I’m glad I have fur on my face." King Elvis, the not so smart dog thinks, "oh boy, I wish I could lick that. Ooh, ooh, ooh I bet that thing tastes good. If only he let me lick it!" And then there is Jack the cat. He looks at me and meows in a whiny sort of way. I interpret it to mean, "So you have a zit. I’d still eat you if you were dead."
If while reading this, you are remembering the Indian theme of the piece, you realize where I am headed. Working with Indian people all day and then knowing I will be working with them again the next day, I have psychosomatically caused this pimple to grow on my forehead, just so I could have a "dot" and be like them. I honestly don’t even know what that "dot" means or stands for. I really don’t even know that the "dot" is exclusive to Indian people. Come to think of it, I can only recall women displaying the "dot". So before this turns into an episode of Seinfeld, not that there’s anything wrong with that, I need to look up the "dot."
I found a pretty cool website, www.indianmirror.com. Not only does it explain the Tilak or Dot or Bindi, it gives some good detail about many other Hindu and Indian cultural aspects. Did you know that the Swastik was a Hindu symbol before being adopted by the Aryans? I always thought it was Christian. If you have time, which I doubt after reading this long, drawn-out, useless diatribe, then check it out.
By the way, I also found a very good Kama Sutra site - animated. But you’ll have to google that one on your own.

While at work today I noticed two very strange looking insects. The first was black with yellow dots and had amber-tinted, transparent wings. The second had orange stripes, and although it had wings, walked in a very zig-zag manner. It may have had more than twelve legs and certainly had at least three abdomen. Upon seeing the second of these unusual bugs, I thought to myself, "they sure do have some unusual insects in India." It only took me a few seconds to realize that I was in the middle of Ohio.
Stupid shmuck.

Sacrifice Fly

The following is an excerpt from my weekly article posted at getsportsinfo.com.

The all-time career leader in Sacrifice Flies is Eddie Murray with 128. He’s followed closely by a few other baseball greats such as Ripken, Yount and Aaron. In 2003 Jeff Conine lead the majors with 12 sacrifice flies. And so far this year Miguel Tejada is the league leader with 6. But now stop and ask yourself, who has lead your life in sacrifice flies? That’s right. You know very well that the answer is your mother. How many times did she drive you to baseball practice? How many times did she wash the grass stains out of your uniform? How many packs of baseball cards has she bought you? This Sunday is her big day, so don’t be a putz - take your mom to a baseball game. I took my mom to a game a couple of years ago on Mother’s Day, just the two of us, and my brothers and sisters are still mad that they didn’t think of the idea. Plus, the ballparks provide a free present! In Anaheim all mothers will receive a very lovely Angels picture frame. At the Skydome in Toronto all moms in attendance will receive a free shower curtain - and I didn’t even know they celebrated Mother’s Day in Canada. A beautiful Precious Moments Figurine will be given to all mothers going to Wrigley Field on Sunday. But the best giveaway that I have come across is an awesome Oakland A’s floppy-hat. After seeing this gem I am tempted to book a flight for me and mom straight to California. I just have to make sure she’ll be willing to give me the hat. Heck, what’s one more sacrifice?

Sammy Sosa and the Mazda Miata

At a stoplight on my way home this evening I found myself behind a Mazda Miata. It is a car I had once thought about getting when I was looking for something cool to drive. It didn’t take me long to look elsewhere. It’s sporty, but not a sports car and it takes a special kind of person to drive one. The Miata just makes the driver look prettier - whether the driver is female or as in this case male. But anyway, I’m behind a white Miata and the first thing I noticed was a Sammy Sosa bumper sticker. Which is okay, even given the fact that I’m about 300 miles from Chicago. Next to the Sosa sticker was another Cubs sticker. So the guy’s a Cubs fan - big deal. But to the left of the Sosa is a bumper sticker reading Acts 2:38. A religious guy and a Cubs fans?! I guess if you’re going to be a fan of the Chicago Cubs a lot of praying is required. But what’s so special about Acts 2:38? I figured I’ll write it down and maybe look it up later. As I wrote it down I noticed that this was no ordinary bumper sticker. This person got the individual letters and digits and put them on his bumper. They were kind of like the stickers you’d put on your mailbox. Apparently, this guy appreciated Acts 2:38 so much that he went to a hardware store, bought stickers of each letter and number - he used two minus signs for the colon - and then put them on the bumper of his white Mazda Miata right next to Sammy Sosa. Now I’m intrigued.

So I get home and start typing this thing when I realize that I don’t have a Bible. That’s right, no Bible. I have the complete works of Shakespeare in numerous forms, no less than six editions of A Tale of Two Cities, various collections of Mark Twain and really just about every other significant piece of literature from The Iliad and Beowulf to Life of Pi and White Teeth. However, this is not my first actual realization of this fact. Not so long ago, while in a book store, my wife asked if we had a Bible. Upon my answer of "no" we headed over to the section where they could be found. After more than a few seconds of staring, she asked me, "How in the hell can there be so many different Bibles? Don’t they all say the same thing?" To make a long story short, we didn’t buy a Bible but I did pick up a nice book on the introduction to Buddhism. So we still do not have a Bible, and here comes the bad pun of the piece…thank god for the internet.

Acts 2:38 reads, "Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost."

I have one dollar for the first person that can tell me what that has to do with Sammy Sosa. I have another dollar if anyone can tell me what the "gift of the Holy Ghost" is. And still another if anyone can tell me why Microsoft Word doesn’t recognize "ye" (yea, yen, yep yes, yet but no ye.) So bring those answers to me and you can be a winner. As for the guy driving the Miata, he’s a winner too. If his only plan was to make someone, just one person, look up Acts 2:38 then he wins. And for now he’s just not quite as much of a loser as most other guys that drive Mazda Miata’s. Did I mention he had a dolphin figurine hanging from his rear-view mirror?

I'm a Cowboy, Baby

I have taken to wearing a cowboy hat while writing. I still wear pants and even a shirt. But I prefer to have this cheap, five-and-dime cowboy hat on my head. In some ways I think I look pretty good in it. And that makes me feel better about what I am writing. I have also been listening to a lot of music lately. As I type this, Hey Jack Kerouac by 10,000 Maniacs is playing in my background. What could be more inspirational than Jack, Allen or for that matter, Natalie? I have discovered only recently, that not only have most people not read On The Road, most people have never heard of it. And if you are under forty years old and you have read Howl, then you can join me in some very rare company. Hell, for that matter most people don’t remember that Natalie Merchant used to be in a band. It’s not that knowing Kerouac, Ginsberg, or the Maniacs are crucial to making it through every day life - they just help.
There are many people who think that just because they know of things more than others, they are superior. I have to admit that I come close to falling into that trap sometimes. I have read most of Shakespeare, I know British history all most as well as I know American and I'll’ll take anyone on in Baseball trivia. But that knowledge, for me, is only good if I can apply it to my life. That is why I’m writing. I think I can connect the dots that are moving through my mind and maybe bring a clearer picture to myself and anyone that may read this.

Or at least I can impress the hell out of chicks.

Chicks like cowboy hats.

And pretty flowers, like dandelions.

Rainy May Saturday

As the months seemingly move faster,
Times spent in puddles become fewer.

Children, dogs and ducks enjoy the rain,
Adults complain and endure it.
Worries of dripping ceilings and muddy prints
Remind us of the separation created by maturity.

Today, or on your next rainfilled Saturday,
Set aside the worries of grown-up life;
Find a place amongst the tall trees and
Listen to the raindrops echo in the leaves;
Find a playground of children or animals and
Watch as they stroll through the many puddles;
Find your own puddle, muddy or clear, and
Touch it with your hand or feet or rear.

The difficulties of adulthood are trivialized
When wearing wet pants and soggy socks.