A second May post...

Apparently I've developed a trend of posting 2 times per month. Shameful. Tsk tsk, Sarah, tsk tsk.
I do have a purpose however; I'm here to muse on the joys of a swing. There really is nothing more relaxing than sitting in a nice backyard in a big old swing and just being. We used to have a swing...but alas, it has been dismantled and discarded. It's sad, really. Swings always remind me of a poem my Grandma used to recite, which my Dad taught me when I was little, appropriately named "The Swing," by Robert Louis Stevenson:
"How do you like to go up in a swing/Up in the air so blue/Oh, I do think/It is the pleasantest thing/Ever a child can do./Up in the air and over the wall/Till I can see so wide/Rivers and trees/And cattle and all/Over the countryside./Till I look down on the garden green/Down on the roof so brown/Up in the air I go flying again/Up in the air and down."
I love that poem, simple and sweet, but it says it all. (Some of those line divisions [can't remember what they're called... *scandalous*...don't tell my Writing about Literature teacher] may be incorrectly placed.)
It just seems like all is right with the world for a few minutes...Ugh, what sap that is. I am NOT a sappy person. But alas, a swing might make me a bit of a sap...for a few minutes at least.
P.S. I shall (whoo..."shall!") update/edit this when I remember what those / marks are at the end of lines of poetry. Then everyone's life will be complete, I'm sure. (I may not be sappy, but I sure am sarcastic! And cynical...)

I remember what the / marks are called: caesuras!!!!!! Update July 4, 2008.

Please don't call me baby.

I promise that I will try to steer clear of "this kind" of post for a while. No one likes to read this stuff all of the time. Therefore, I will try to make this one the last one for as long as possible.
Okay. I have another slight issue that I need to throw out there. This issue has been plaguing me for some time, but it really came to anger me even more last week (slow to update, I know). I really, really, really do not appreciate being referred to as "girl" or "baby" or "darlin" or other diminutive terms. Do you hear of young men being called "boy" or other such demeaning "titles" on a regular basis? I don't, but that could just be me. While out at a restaurant with my family last weekend, our server continually referred to my sister, me, my mother, and my aunt as "girls," "baby," or "babe." EWW. Aside from the serious ewww factor of creepiness, I felt extremely offended. My father was "Sir" but we were not even referred to as adults (which we all are, by more than 4 years). Do I want to be referred to as "woman?" No. But I do not wish to be degraded to child status either. If age is not obvious, please, please do not "down grade." Whatever happened to respectful yet still vague terms such as "young lady," "Miss," or even "Ma'am?" I try not to ask for much; just please, don't refer to me as a child.
TaTa for now!