Bus stop

Lee Ann Womack - I Hope You Dance

Happy Maya Day!

She used to be my “Wonder Dog” but now she prefers “Monkey.”

I don’t remember why she was Wonder Dog and I have no idea why she changed it to Monkey. She doesn’t climb or eat bananas more than the other kids. She likes it, though, and that’s good enough for me.

Maya, my eight-year-old-going-on-twenty-two, has that special je ne sais quoi, that precociousness, that one-of-a-kind personality that distinguishes her from other kids, that makes her seem destined for the stage or the silver screen or something where large personalities are required, where insecurities are hidden behind in-your-face behaviors. She’s a smart-aleck but in a good way. She’s the one who most defies the child-rearing experts who insist kids don’t get sarcasm when they’re as young as she is. Her words can drip sarcasm all over the floor.

Her smile lights up the darkest of rooms and her tears flow at the drop of a hat. She’s moody and sensitive and a bit of a drama queen. She’s exasperating at times, truly challenging, because she’s so lovable and charming and compelling and special that I just really want her to get it right, to do the right thing, to not make a mistake, to not get off track. I have to be careful with her: I want her to have structure and follow the rules but I don’t want to extinguish that spark or dampen her spirit or do anything that changes what makes my Maya Maya.

Our family dynamics seem to pit Maya against her siblings more often than not; she’s the one who’s loudest when objecting to which Wii game’s been chosen or arguing about who should get to flip the pancakes. She’s the one who bickers with her brother the most, and seems to feel the strongest need to stick up for herself. I’m torn on this issue because I want her to get along with others but I like how she’s strong and confident and takes care of herself.

Because she’s so pretty, we worry about her. We worry that someone will at some point take advantage of her sweetness, her big heart, her beauty. We’re afraid that she’ll make the wrong choice or get caught up with the wrong crowd and in a split second – because that’s all it takes – the magic that is Maya will be altered or lost.

Maya was two years old when she got into some Vaseline and decided to leave her mark on the walls. Six years later, her handprints are still there. We refuse to clean them because they’re hers and they’re cooler, in our opinion, than any painting or poster.

I’ve decided not to celebrate Independence Day with everyone else today. I’ve decided instead to celebrate my eight-year-old. Like most parents, I love all my kids and believe they’re each special in one way or another. But there’s just something about Maya that makes me see a national holiday in her future. I can see America one day celebrating Maya Day and paying tribute to beautiful, charming, sensitive children with soulful eyes, sweet smiles, a flair for drama and the ability to light up rooms when they enter them.

Foreigner - Waiting For A Girl Like You

Sunday poetry

The Only Empty Place

Arriving late to a party
I had almost not been asked to
and being no longer young
almost had not joined
seated by hosts I barely knew
at their table’s only empty place
poured a red glass
passed a white plate
there was a moment when
the talking did not stop when
in some sourceless breeze
the candles did not blink when
no sudden thrill of portent
spidered up my spine when
nothing had happened or
felt about to happen when
the woman to my left
turned her face to me and
introduced herself as you.

In that moment fifty years
reworked their puzzled order
every one now all along
had led me slant to you
and as I gave you my name
another voice I had never heard
though it was my voice
sand to me small and clear
And this is what she looks like


~ Richard Lehnert

Trooper - We're Here For A Good Time (Not A Long Time)

Happy Canada Day!

So today is Canada Day, a national holiday for our friends to the north. It commemorates the anniversary of the July 1, 1867 enactment of the “British North America Act” uniting three British colonies into a single country called Canada within the British Empire. It was originally called “Dominion Day” but the name was changed in 1982 when Canada gained full independence from the United Kingdom.

Funny story: back in the late 1970s I was working as a busboy at Archibald’s, a fancy restaurant on Woodward Avenue in Birmingham, where I grew up. After our shift one Friday night, a waiter and I decided on a whim to head to Windsor and hit the bars. (Canada’s drinking age was 19; my chances of passing for 19 were better, I thought, than my country’s limit of 21.) We never got to test my assumption.

We were stopped by Canadian immigration officials at the Canadian end of the tunnel from Detroit to Windsor and told to park next to a windowless structure and wait for further instructions. After a few moments, two official-looking types approached us and demanded that I exit the vehicle and open the trunk for inspection. I was more irritated than worried since I didn’t make a habit of transporting corpses and wasn’t trying to hide anything. But I had forgotten to declare an electric weed eater (the landscaping tool) that my dad had put in my car as a reminder of my chore.

Long story short, we were treated with haughty suspicion, told that my car and the lawn enhancement equipment were now “the property of the Queen,” and forced to use the Queen’s phone to make a frantic long-distance, collect call to my dad back in the states. Since it was after midnight, he was not only home but had been asleep and was therefore crabby. He spoke to one of the Queen’s Lawn Equipment Interception Agents for a few minutes; I don’t know what he said but his smooth-talking worked because we were ushered back to our car, the weed eater was returned to the trunk and we were ordered to head back to the states poste-haste before they changed their minds. I was so relieved that I shouted, “Thanks, Queen people!” out the window as I turned around and headed for the tunnel.

I learned a few things from the Canucks that night. One: Don’t decide to leave your country to drink alcohol illegally. If you’re persistent and lucky enough, you can drink illegally within your own borders. And Two: Never, ever try to smuggle landscape enhancement equipment past Canadian immigration and border patrol officials because they apparently receive extensive training in this area and you will not be successful and you might just end up turning your beloved 1972 Mercury Cougar over to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Second.

* * *

My Facebook friend Michelle J. Elmgren lives in Burnaby, British Columbia, and is therefore qualified to be affectionately referred to as a Canuck. Michelle’s very charming and we seem to have a lot in common – we both have daughters named Nikita, we both wear eyeglasses, we’re both bipeds and we both like music – so when she made a reference to Canada Day on my Facebook wall, I decided to beg her to write a little something about the Great White North for “What’s the Diehl?” Surprisingly, she agreed:

Often on Facebook, I see how unabashed and proud Americans can be to be American. Many times I turn away from the boastful and sometimes arrogant postings. Some of my “friends” on Facebook equate my socialist country with communist regimes, or they accuse Canada of letting terrorists into the United States.

I sometimes wonder if my fellow Canadians are humble or just apathetic - maybe a bit of both. Let me share some things which CAN be blamed on Canada that perhaps you didn't know (I didn’t know some of this myself):

TEN THINGS FOR WHICH CANADA'S TO BLAME

1. Basketball; James Naismith, 1891
2. Bone Marrow Compatibility Test; Barbara Bain, 1960
3. Green ink used in currency; Thomas Sterry Hunt, 1862
4. Heart pacemaker; Dr. John A. Hopps, 1950
5. Instant mashed potatoes; Edward A. Asselbergs, 1962
6. JAVA; James Gosling, 1994
7. Jolly Jumper; Olivia Poole, 1959
8. McIntosh apple; John McIntosh, 1796
9. Standard Time; Sir Sanford Fleming, 1878
10. Zipper; Gideon Sundback, 1913

So now you can officially blame Canada when you get something caught in your zipper! Happy 144th birthday, Canada!

If Canadians are so creative, I don't see why the Queen's henchmen need to confiscate weed eaters from lowly American busboys with acne and a taste for Molson. Can't they just invent their own?

Happy Canada Day to all!