The annual Ann Arbor Art Fair is going on this week. I remember loving this time of year when I was a kid. We would wander from booth to booth looking at people's work, and when we got home I would go into the basement, and try to create "art" from things I found down there. Mostly things like ball jars and brillo pads. Hey, it was the 80's. I was a modernist.
This morning Jack, and Nipper, and I, walked over to the playground around the corner from my parents house. They have a swing there that is like a little nest. It's large enough for a parent to sit in with a toddler on their lap. We sat in the swing, and watched the clouds in the sky. The wind in the trees sounds different here. The air is clean, the skies are blue.
After the park, we went to Zingermans for lunch. It was in this post cloud watching, Zingermans, swing day, that tragedy (and stupidity) entered our little holiday. I was in a dreamy haze walking home. A friendly man who was selling golf balls 3/$1, gave Jack one for free. He was thrilled. He was gleefully throwing it up in the air, and then chasing it where it landed. Walking ahead, I turned to say to Nipper how funny it is, that the free thing, or the box the toy came in, is so often his favorite thing, when I saw the ball, flying through the air, headed for the road. For some reason I lept into action, iphone in hand and blocked it, racquet ball style with the iphone. Nipper looked at me, and said "That was smart". I smiled, and then looking down, realizing my screen was smashed to pieces, I gasped. What was I thinking? It seemed totally instinctual to swat at it, like I was at wimbledon. But what the hell kind of instinct is that? Apparently this is the week I smash stuff. Look out America!
I have an appointment at the apple store for the morning. Apparently they have a package for situations like this. It's called, "you give us $200, and we'll fix your toy dumb dumb."