Rhode Island has low self-esteem, which means Rhode Islanders love articles about how great Rhode Island is and how cool Providence is. I just read one, and a columnist from the Boston Globe opened with a story about being offered cocaine by a friendly college student in a Providence bar. Must we always be the local color-or as my friend used to say in college "my life is not performance art."
There are way worse places to live, but sometimes the living gets you down. A lovely stroll down historic Benefit Street on my way home from work has me clambering over the sidewalk buckled by tree roots, and don't even think about trying that will a stroller. Our teensy splash pad will only be open in July and August from 12-5 Monday through Saturday, if the city can scrap up the money. Other places seem like the splash pads run with milk and honey.
But I suppose LB doesn't care. Her soon to be school feels big to her even if if it feels claustrophobic to me, she gets to go to cool rock n roll birthday parties, pick out Skittles at the corner store, climb the tree in the park, dance to a hipster marching band in the middle of the street, roll slow balls down the candlepin bowling alley and watch the pinsetter handset the pins.
Like Amanda, I don't know where I'm going with this blog. I miss blogging being a thing, not for the readers, but for the call and response. But I do like having a place to organize my thoughts. I just need a scheme to make other people blog again.
