Saturday in the park, I think it was not the Fourth of July

This has been a hard week. I've had a pretty bad cold and have been stuck in the house with Jonah since Tuesday while it's been beautiful and sunny (though relatively cold) outside. No walks, no friends, no trips to the store or coffee shop... I counted the hours every day until Tim comes home from work. How sad is that?

I feel much better today. The baby seems fine too. Cross your fingers, but I don't think he ever got my bug. We even went out for a walk today in a new direction from our house - to a nearby college campus, which is very picturesque. It has a lake and a trail surrounding the lake. We walked past the football field, on which were two teams playing rugby. I asked Tim about how the game works and he said that it's just a whole bunch of guys in a pile. That's what I figured looking at the soccer players turned bullies swarming around the field grunting and moaning. Tim commented, almost trying to convince himself, "They do have a ball."

The referee, who in his bright green shirt and tiny shorts looked like a granny smith on toothpics, almost got gobbled up by the crowd of shoulders and butts each time the game started anew. He was the most ignored person on the set.

"What happens in the pile?" I asked Tim. He basically said that the guys just touch each other's parts, which also seemed true. The players didn't have too many fans. Just a handful of girlfriends with dogs on leashes and a couple of thick-necked dudes shouting, "Rock n' Roll!!!"

We walked past a pretty outdoor amphitheater by a lake. A couple of students were meditating on the benches. Tim goaded me on to get up on the stage and fart, but I didn't feel the audience was worthy enough to witness my talents.

The other thing we noticed was that college students these days don't like wearing much clothing even if it's nearly freezing outside. Tim and I were both wearing jackets and winter hats, but the kids would walk by us wearing hippie skirts, tank tops, and flip flops. Or just t-shirts and shorts. I got colder just looking at them.

Then we decided we hadn't eaten out in a while, so we drove to a cafe and had us some grub. I think the cooks decided I haven't had my fair share of carcinogens in life, so they blackened my homestyle potatoes and the outside of my grilled sandwich so I had something to remember them by. Homestyle. Well, some people like their food on the burned side, I guess, in the style of "my roommate made this."

Because our wait for the table was a little long, we decided to browse the store next door, which was what I call a new age one-stop-shop. Everything one needs to decorate one's new age meditation gathering spot was there- crystal balls, wind chimes, steaming fountains that light up with the colors of the rainbow, books on how to find one's perfect spiritual soul mate, and much more. The man that worked there seemed a bit confused. Perhaps he would have been a better fit at a farm feed store or in front of the blackboard in a tenth grade math class. The music he had playing instantly put me in a trance - computer generated astral sounds - a perfect soundtrack to spice up your average Saturday afternoon.

My favorite item for sale was a standard paper size card of a mysterious function with a painting of a muscular, bare-chested blond man in ecstasy, his waist draped in light purple fabric. His body glistened as he looked up in rapture at the light source above him. Below him was the word "declaration." I pondered this curious item and thought, I must come back here and purchase this card for someone I know. It will make that someone very, very happy.

As we were leaving, Tim pointed at another piece for sale, "Hey, it's a woman having sex with a bird." Sure enough. This was a small print of a painting of a woman on the shore of a lake. She laid there, Barbie-like, arching her back, with a swan up over her. They were touching crotches, a pose that left you "guessing" and gasping for air. What did all this mean? Surely something more spiritual than one artist's rendition of one possible way to get the avian flu. Who was the target audience for this image? I could see grumpy, unshaven Czech city bus drivers plastering their dashboards with the likes of these candid yet fantastic scenes. The lady doing it with a swan would look so good beside the Czech immitation of Pamela Anderson on the hood of a ferrari. I doubt Czech bus drivers frequent this new age joint, however. But the poster might explain what the farm feed guy was doing working the counter of this fine spiritual establishment.

While we waited for a table back at the restaurant, the most voluminous spit up burst out of baby's mouth onto the restaurant floor, much like lava errupting from a volcano. I derived secret pleasure from watching the guests' faces, which involuntarily contorted into the most blatant expression of shock. "Ladies and gentlemen, and our special today is our legendary (drum roll, please) cream of wheat. Bon apetit."

As we were approaching our car, we passed by a guy in a black turtle neck, just a regular guy taking a Saturday walk. Except he wasn't pushing a stroller, holding hands with a girlfriend, or walking his dog. On his leash was a little black goat with a bell. What? I did a doubletake as did most others walking down the same street at the same time. Were we dreaming this? A sweet little black goat with a big belly, shaped much like one of our overweight cats. It was curious too, sniffing everything in its path, stopping to be pet by anyone who dared. A lady with a swan and a guy with a goat. What is the world coming to?