A good weekend, all in all. Saturday we took the kids strawberry-picking and came home with a buttload of strawberries. Sunday we went to the annual Fiddler’s Convention in Westminster, a bluegrass festival. I met up as planned with an old friend who’s been away at college, and we spent some time catching up. Sometimes I think that of all the good christian kids I went to church with, my life has been the most straightedge. I think there’s an object lesson here in the repressive-vs-liberal schools of childrearing.
An odd episode to report from Saturday night, which inspired my previous cryptic post: After packing the kids off to get ready for bed, I decided to take a short walk. This was around 10:15 PM. So I set out, in my strawberry-picking costume of jeans, hawaiian shirt, and sandals. I had been walking for perhaps ten minutes, and I was just a steps away from home, when a police cruiser pulled up next to me. The driver leaned out and asked me if everything was alright. I answered, rather surprised, in the affirmative.
At this point what I should have done was march purposefully to the front door of my house, endeavoring with every step to project the impression of a man who Belongs Here. But far be it from me to alter my plans merely for a pair of police officers. What I did was turn directly off the road into our back yard, with the intention of meditating for a little while before bed. Keep in mind that it’s nighttime, and my yard is mostly lost in shadow.
Well, I had barely sat down when the cruiser comes sidling back around the house. It drifts a little ways down the road, and then turns around and comes to a stop next to our yard. I got back up and walked over to the car, and inquired if I could be of service. The cop who emerged asked me if I lived there, had I been drinking (?!) and could he see some ID please? It seems that I had appeared “unsteady” when they had spied me walking earlier, and when I then “dissapeared” after they first talked to me it struck them as suspicious.
So to satisfy this cop I had to go into the house, fetch my license, and show it to him. After that he wished me a good night and went on his way. Of course, at this point I’m so tense that any chance of succesful meditation is shot.
So that was my weekend.
I’ve never trusted cops. ratspy quipped that taking down information for insurance claims is all they’re good for in reply to my last post. On reflection, I realized that that is, in fact, the only useful service that a police officer has ever done for me personally. Other than that, they’ve just harassed me from time to time.