Last night, we attended my brother's informal graduation event, and endured lack of seating, too little air conditioning, a long program, and skimpy "meal" so we wouldn't have to drag ourselves from bed early today, forge our way through Tucson traffic, and push through the advancing hordes of other graduation attendees just to sit in more heat while waiting to watch my brother (who would be even more uncomfortable in cap and gown) stand up and be recognized by strangers.
That's all well and good, I suppose--the recognition of strangers--but he already knows what he's accomplished. Does he need the dean to tell him, too, so he can feel good about himself?
Oh. Did that sound cranky? I'll blame it on the lack of a nap.
Speaking of naps, half the family has been napping on top of napping. All the festivities last night have sapped our fighting strength. After all, how many hors d'ourve can a warrior clan consume before losing their fighting edge?
We do have a collection of fight songs, though. Ever hear of Sandra Boynton? She writes and illustrates children's books. She also has a few musical volumes accompanied by CDs: Dog Train and Philadelphia Chickens are the two we listened to this morning, after the first round of naps was completed.
Then it was another napping shift, with only a few of us remaining alert enough to stand sentry.
Now, as the troops slowly reawaken, we are preparing for the standard fare of any warriors worthy of the name: grilled meat. Red meat. Charcoal and fire. Secret marinade. Nifty barbecuing tools. Although stabbing a steak with a really sharp sword and sticking it over an open flame would work just as well.