I’m starting to think that the park experiences that don’t match my vision of the park experience is actually the park experience.
How’s that for an opener?
This week, we visited a local suburban one, Swaim Park. To be fair, I’ve been here before, as have the kids but it was awhile ago so they didn’t remember. It has the best suburban parks offer – rolling hills, a playground, baseball fields, basketball courts. It’s a manicured place there you’ll see lots of pretty parents and their pretty kids.
I like my parks are little less predictable, but truth is I was there for another reason.
Last weekend was my thirtieth high school reunion and yes, all clichés apply to that statement. I didn’t attend because I was busy quacking it up. Had I gone, I would have felt a lot was missing because some of the folks I wanted to see weren’t there.
One of the noticeably missing would have been my friend Stephanie. She’s a busy out-of-town, opera singing mother of three who happened to be in town to celebrate the birth of her brother’s first child. She was kind enough to invite me and my family, so we were able to combine it with our park requirement.
It was a good idea for many reasons – seeing good, solid friends from the past is grounding. Nectar for the soul and all that.
On a more practical level, we were homebound most of the day thanks to Hurricane-turned-tropical-depression Bill. The rain cleared up just in time for the party, so while I hung around chatting with people who used to be such a constant presence in my life, the hubs and the kids explored.
My outfit was entirely non-conducive to monkey bars. Sorry, folks.