Tonasket life. Slow and tortoise like... as always. As of recently I've made several attempts to liven up the less-than-exciting atmosphere that always takes place in the spring time, when its still too cold to go swimming, but its not anywhere near cold enough for snow. This is typically the time when my parents get the idea for us kids to do something 'mind enriching'. This usually leads to the deprivation of our electronic media, followed by the eager suggestion for us to go outside and 'do something'.
"It's such a beautiful day," My mom remarks. "You kids should really go out and play".
Cue the awkward glance exchange and the chorus of protests.
We did, however, manage to find a pastime that was suitably enriching. On hotter days we usually make a trip down to the Tonasket Skate Park, where we show up armed with bikes, scooters, and skateboards. Only having recently earned the status of skateboard owner, I've been trying to conquer the four-wheeled beast- only to fail as of yet.
There's a rather large (in my eyes, at least) decline in the skate park where I've got to learn to ride down.
"Just stand straight and ride," Jesse says like I'm being overly cautious. In my minds eye, I can't picture any way that this turns out without pain. As I make my best effort to emulate Tony Hawk, my greatest suspicions are confirmed and I land right on my bum.
In another attempt to bring excitement to the Rainey household, I hosted a sleepover for a few of my closest friends. Among them, my cousins from the coast- Keliana and Akela. Before the other guests arrived, Nanner and I filled up an entire pack of water balloons and sneakily hid them in the yard. Visions of surprised faces entered my mind, and I smugly grinned to myself.
When the girls arrived we all gravitated towards the trampoline. About halfway through a game of 'Dead Man' (where some argued the game should be called 'Dead Woman', due to the circumstances) I excused myself to the bathroom and took a fat water balloon from the bucket. Trudging back to the trampoline, I watched them gleefully play,and I was ever more ready to surprise them with the WMD's I'd devoted more than an hour to. However, when I threw the first one, the unsuspecting victim (who happened to be Raine) was not met with a watery fate, as I'd hoped. Instead, the alleged weapon smacked her right in the kisser and bounced innocently to the ground before deciding to break harmlessly on the ground. A red welt appeared on my cousin's pale cheek, and instead of gleefully cackling I was apologizing sincerely while she resisted the urge to sock me in the face.
Since my tries at fun turned out to be failures, I pretty much gave up the idea that I could do anything fun without hurting someone. But when I learned we'd be playing tennis at Friday school, it sounded like a welcome break from gray monotony. Armed with a tennis racket, I pushed away my past conclusions and tried to have a positive outlook on the afternoon.
I should have known something would go wrong. For reasons that are beyond me, halfway through a game with one of my classmates, I suddenly had the urge to try hurdling the tennis net.
My attempt was sucess, and this emboldened me. I felt powerful. Minutes later, when I was playing tennis with Connor and Adam, a few of my guy friends, I decided to demonstrate my bunny-like agility. I waited for an insult to be slung my way in the ocnstant back-and-forth banter, and then I took off towards the net.
Seconds later I cradled my heel, wincing in pain and trying to laugh it off with them.
Which is why I'm now sporting an ACE bandange and limping around on crutches till the sprain heels.
Maybe I inherited my mom's clumsiness, or maybe I'm just plain unlucky, but I've found that if I want to do anything that sounds remotely fun to me, something has to pay.
