Little Orphaned Undies & Other Tales

I bumped over into the pathological with my too-busy ways this past weekend when I signed up to be in two places at exactly the same time.

Even I knew that was crazy.

I had signed up to work booths at our annual Town Day both as a volunteer with our local ABC program and as a Board Member with the Multicultural Network, both from 11:00 to 1:00. How was I going to do that?

Also an out-of-town colleague had written me the night before asking me to stop by the bookstore booth with as many ABC guys as I could collar so we could all meet Brian Walker, author of Black Boy White School. Oh and then there was the two-hour graduation ceremony in the middle of everything.

This was all the day after I had three young male house guests, all members of the Class of 2011, all joyfully reunited now after a year at their different colleges and here to see their brothers from the Class of 2012 graduate. From my bed I had heard the popping of Nerf Guns ‘til 2:00 in the morning. It was like being in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. When I staggered downstairs four hours later to make the coffee, every rug in the place sat slightly askew from their circuits they had run to catch and shoot each other.

They were all still sleeping when I tossed my water bottle in my backpacks and hurried downtown to keep my promises. It was spitting rain and when I got there not only was I damp on the outside, I was damp on the inside: the water bottle, poorly closed, had spilled all over the inside of my backpack.

I looked for but never did find the Network booth. I did work the ABC booth, met the author Brian Walker and brought one of the ABC scholars to meet him too. I also bought his book, bought Sourpatch Kids for the boys, attended graduation, and drove out into the country with David to see family members.

This took place on Sunday and I  haven't stopped yet. There was my column to file, food to buy and cook same as always and all the linens from my young male houseguests to wash , along with that pair of Pirates of the Caribbean underpants I found over by the bookcase. A truly dashing pair of boxers, are they not?

All these days later, I still feel jangled in part because when that water bottle spilled it wet one of my electronic devices whose little screen immediately clouded over like a cataract in the eye of an old hound dog.

“Bury it in a bowl of uncooked rice till the moisture gets absorbed,” one of the house guests advised me. "Don't try turning it on until three days have passed!"

So today is the day I get to take it out and make that try. If it’s dead it'll be a lesson for me all right and one I should embroider onto a pillow:

“You’re Only One Person” it should say on one side and on the other “Slow Down Babe. Nothing  Beautiful Happens to Hurriers.”

Litt