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Nothing Remained But A Heap of Ashy, Sulfurous Paper Bits And The Aftertaste of Sausage

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Welcome back to the real world. The Matrix has belched us all out again, and thus the Song of the EveryDay—a hymn of low, mournful tones—fills the air as those of us in the USA look past our weekend of summertime revelry. Time to set aside those incendiary devices for another year and we can now only ponder if it would, in fact, be possible to consume any more beer or chargrilled, tubed meat than what we gorged upon over the past three days.

Yes, another Independence Day has come and gone. And with eyes blinking against the blazing light of the sun dancing overhead, we must get back to work.  Literally, like, a lot of people have to put on shirts with actual collars and frown as they pick up their shiny work shoes instead of sliding the dogs into a pair of sandals that are as comfortable and well-worn as an old, reliable friendship.

Indeed, this morning most of America is coping with the dreaded Summer Holiday Hangover. We took a day off, and made some extra bonus weekend fun.  We played in the sun, we beered, we boated, we blew stuff up, and basically had a shiny good time.

But now it’s over, and I didn’t even have a chance to make some ice cream*. 

Even worse than that, my oldest son has begun to realize how little fun it must be to live as an adult, yoked to The Man for cash and prizes.  Indeed, he actually chuckled at me last night as he headed off to bed, knowing I’d be up before him, shuffling off to work in my business casuals. Because when you’re a grown up, summer isn’t one weekend-esque day after another punctuated by trips to amusements parks and possible a beach.

It was almost enough to make me sad, but then I remembered something he won’t understand for another 20 years. Sure, he got a chance to revel in my somber adult responsibility today, but little does he know that summer is effectively over. For an eleven year-old kid, it might not seem that way, but as a man with 41 complete trips around the sun under his belt, I am the wiser. You see, to me, it was just last week that I remarked about reaching the second week of summer break. And now, in was little more than the blink of a sun-blind eye, we’re wading into the sixth week of it. That is, already beyond the halfway point.

Those meddling kids have merely five more Fridays to enjoy before the dark specter of The First Day of School will beckon like a witch with a candy hut in the forest.

Laugh at me, will you, Oldest Son?  Your laughter will be short lived! Now that the fireworks have been lit and the potato salad days are in our past, we begin the slow/fast creep down the hill towards a new school year.

Mock now, I say, while you can. Because tomorrow, or very very soon, I’ll be buying your notebooks. 

And the more you laugh, the more likely I’ll be getting you the glittery pink ones**!

Hope everyone had a great Independence Day (if that’s a day with meaning for you).

Now get out there, have a gallon or two of coffee, and have a great week!

Pud’n


*I will be remedying that oversight soon enough!
**Okay, not really. He’ll be starting Middle School and even I’m not that kind of monster.

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2 comments on “Nothing Remained But A Heap of Ashy, Sulfurous Paper Bits And The Aftertaste of Sausage

  1. We should all just make a container full of ice cream and pass out spoons!!!!

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  2. Summer ends with my birthday steak don’t you know? After that, it’s back to pretending I’m an adult:) 4th of July is just the all star break for parents to remind them to panic, rush out, have a good time, and prepare for the educational extravaganza to commence:)

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