July 30, 2008 -At the Firehouse

I'm here at the firehouse so Bob can update our new phones. I'm not even really sure what that means. I am lucky to be loved by Bob. His truck got called out for a carbon monoxide report. I am left in the back room to babysit cell phones.

There were kids in gang colors all down 95th street asking for donations. Drug sales must be down this month.

A funny man was selling bubble guns on 95th and Stoney...filling the often threatening intersection with absurd silly goodness in the shape of five thousand floating balls of ironic joy with every pump of his ridiculous gun.

I saw a baby maple bent over from the fierce but short storm, and I denied my urge to pull over and straighten it up. Why? I am regretting that choice now. It would be cooler to write about that as something I did.

My dad came by last night to do an estimate for my neighbor's driveway repavement. He was worn out and thirsty and hungry. I gave him grape pop, a baggie of grapes (green, red, and black), and I warmed up his gross coffee. I do all of these things with a happy heart. Nothing icky is anywhere near my consciousness. Am I learning forgiveness? or have I gotten better at not identifying with the past, with people, with forms? Regardless, I can spend more moments with peace inside me. No nervousness. No discomfort. Just me.

I hear the firetruck backing in...beep beep beep beep beep beep.