Forgive me, dear readers, for my extended absence from the blog. I feel so guilty picturing all of you glumly clicking "Refresh" over and over, hoping in vain for a new post . . .
I've been reaaalllllyyy sick. I guess 2008 didn't appreciate my "Self-Indulgent Whining" post and decided to show me that I hadn't seen anything yet! But, hooray for antibiotics once again, I am now feeling much better.
Having spent most of my time lately laying on the couch, there is very little new to report. However, Cameron and I have moved on to a new book on CD. Still on our Beverly Cleary kick, we have begun "Henry and the Clubhouse." Early in the story, Henry's neighbor is hauling an old bathtub out of his house. "Want to go to the dump?" he asks Henry, as he loads the bathtub on a trailer. "Sure!" responds Henry, "Can I ride in the bathtub?" Whoa. Hold the phone, says my internal monologue. The neighbor isn't actually going to let a kid ride around in a bathtub strapped to a trailer hooked up to a car, is he? Oh yes. He is. Is this actually the way it was in Henry Huggins day? I suspect that is was, as my dear Granpa has shared with me that he built a plywood playpen in the back of his car so that my mother, aunt and uncle could play, unrestrained, while he drove. That would never fly today -- the one time I forgot to buckle Cameron's five-point harness he screamed "WAIT!" in terror before I had even put the car in drive!
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1 comment:
I remember Harvey, Beth and I riding in the back of Grandpa's pick-up. We thought it was very cool.
We also used to fight over who could ride in the camper on the back of the pick-up while Grandpa was driving. It was the most fun if you were on the top bunk that sits over the cab. I don't think it ever occured to us that this wasn't safe.
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