matching tracksuits

The summer’s end nears. Morning temperatures are back in the lower seventies, and return to eating breakfast on the deck occasionally. Bagels for us all, but the Girl prefers to dip hers in maple syrup. In a sense, it’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.

Here in the south, the end of summer is about the only time we can go outside and play comfortably. In July, it’s still 90 degrees as the sun sets. We try to head out sometimes for a little outdoor time, but no one wants to melt.

Still, there are options. And does it ever bring back memories: a few minutes of running through misted water on a hot summer afternoon was my idea of paradise when I was a kid. A few overlapping garbage bags fastened to the ground with whatever one could find would sometimes serve as a slide, though never for too long. Since we don’t have a sprinkler (they’ve all broken), L has somewhat limited options. It’s more fun for me, though.

The last of the crape myrtle blossoms begin falling.

And in this end is my beginning: a new school year both sparkles and looms.

In the first installment of the Toy Story series, Woody, thinking he’s been left behind, falls to the ground and decries his new, depressing status: “I’m a lost toy!”

Surely there can be many things more terrifying than being lost. One of our great childhood fears is getting lost, being separated from our parents and unable to find them. It’s the stuff of every child’s nightmares, and in a modified way, the plot of great books of the past.

Losing something dear to us is like losing a part of us.

Today, before Mass, somewhere between getting out of the car and walking out of the restroom, L lost her Madeline doll. “She may be teeny tiny, diminutive, petite.” L’s Madeline doll was all those things, and she even had a scar from having her appendectomy.

I walked back to the car, looking for the doll that I thought surely would be easy to find. No such luck. K and L went back to the restroom. No doll. After Mass, I talked to the ushers. Sadly, there’s no lost and found bin anymore, but they informed me that people often leave lost items on the tables outside the sanctuary. No Madeline. We checked the bathroom once more and looked carefully as we went back to the car.

No luck; no Madeline.

Fortunately, L was not terribly attached to the dolls, so a few tears and it was all fine.

But I’m genuinely curious about what happened to that doll. Did someone take it? If so, why? Isn’t it obviously a lost toy? If someone found it in the parking lot, isn’t it a reasonable assumption that the owner will return to look for it? In short, who would simply take a toy when it’s obvious where the owner is? Who would take a doll from a church parking lot?

Perhaps it will show up next week. There’s always that hope — the idealism that led me to be a teacher still says, “Someone will play with it for a week, then return it.”

Facebook is truly becoming ubiquitous, to the point that it can be used in Polish religious advertising.

Below was a poster at the entrance to one of the many churches in Krakow.

“Bóg” (“God”)  is pronounced much like the English “book,” but with an obvious “g” instead of “k.”

“Dodaj boga do twoich znajomych” literally means “Add God to your acquaintances,” but a more Fackbook-eque translation would obviously be, “Add as friend.”

K grew up so close to Slovakia that it’s fairly easy to pick up Slovakian programming from her folks’ home. Indeed, that part of Poland used to be Slovakia: there’s still a weekly Mass said in Slovakian,  and K’s father’s high school exit exam was in Slovakian.

The program itself has hints of the old communist form.

Shortly after she woke up, L declared, “I’m ready! Let’s go to the zoo!” Never mind that she was still in her pajamas, still unbreakfasted, and still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. We’d promised a trip to the Atlanta zoo (K wanted to go to Ikea, see?), and she was ready.

Much larger than our quaint (but lovely) zoo in Greenville, the Atlanta zoo has many species that L had never seen before. The first new friends: warthogs.

I’d never seen them myself except in The Lion King, which hardly counts.

They were shockingly ugly, like the product of some kind of cross-breeding experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. Yet like most things we deem “ugly,” they were oblivious to their decided lack of charm.

Then again, these creatures must certainly enchant someone.

Just down the path, though, were animals whose grace and beauty were inversely proportional to the warthogs’. Black horses with white stripes or vice versa, the zebras were lovely in a stark and simple way. Supposedly they are very difficult to domesticate, but certainly many have tried: who could resist?

For me, though, the highlight of any trip to a zoo is the great apes. It’s as if we’re watching ourselves, they’re so intelligent and anthropomorphic.

They seem to stop and think. They fight. They play. They’re among the closest to humans biologically and behaviorally among the whole animal kingdom. I always get the feeling they’re the ones watching us.

During today’s visit, we were privileged – if that’s the correct term — to watch two enormous males contend for the attention of a female. They chased each other about a bit, then fell into violence. One smack echoed, and I shuddered as I realized the certain impossibility of a human surviving such a blow.

They calmed down a fairly quickly, and they even decided to pose for a few pictures.

In between hygiene breaks, of course.

At the serpentarium it was feeding time, and a small constrictor — some kind of boa, if memory serves — swallowed a bird whole. Those who’d arrived first assured those of us who arrived only to see the last few inches of the bird, “It was dead when the keeper put it in the cage.” What irony: some would have been appalled by what goes on everyday in nature. Animal cruelty.

Giant pandas were having their dinner as well, but it was a considerably more benign process: after all, bamboo doesn’t register pain, does it?

Despite all the new animals we saw, L’s response to the on-the-way-home question, “What was your favorite part?” was really quite predictable.

Who could put silly warthogs, zebras, constrictors, or pandas above an elephant ride?

Even though the heat was unbearable, the elephant ride was blissful.

If she could, she would have ridden into the night, I’m sure.