A little bit of this, a little bit of that and a few things I learned on the way to someplace else.

Think or Swim

If you’ve ever been up the creek without a paddle, at least give thanks you weren’t in a concrete canoe.



That’s the thought that came to mind when I read that the National Concrete Canoe Competition (yes, you read that right) will be held in June at the University of Alabama. Teams of civil engineering students will compete - after logging thousands of hours researching, designing and constructing their concrete canoes.

Why in the world, you may be wondering, would they want to do that?

“Today’s civil engineering students will be the ones to solve our nation’s water, transportation and other infrastructure problems,” said D. Wayne Klotz, president of the American Society of Civil Engineers. “Solving those challenges in the future will take the same kind of ingenuity and creativity that the concrete canoe competition is teaching them today.”

Let’s hope he’s right.

Or else, we’ll end up with the same old problems - and a whole bunch of useless concrete canoes.

A pile of awareness

You are probably aware that this is National Nurses Week, but it may have slipped your attention that it’s also International Compost Awareness Week. And National Compost Awareness Week. And Georgia Compost Awareness Week.

I wouldn’t want it on my conscience that I failed to make you aware of all this awareness..

But I draw the line at encouraging you to, as a Department of Community Affairs press release put it, “participate in the statewide celebration.”

Shovel it, yes. But compost parties? Not even in these tough times.

Four is fine

Hand in hand, the grandprincess and I were walking through the George Harris Baseball Complex, always a lively place on a spring Saturday morning. We’d watched her five-year-old brothers swing mightily and run as fast as it’s possible to run in baseball pants two sizes too big. We’d watch each of them slide safely and unnecessarily into home plate, proudly brushing the red dust off their backsides.

I didn’t really want to leave the River Cats big game, but this was the last morning the princess would ever be three years old. No way I could pass up a chance to watch her climb high and slide fast, curls dangling, eyes wide with exhilaration.

“It’s almost my birthday,” she told me for the 400th time, skipping a little with each step. “I have a few three-year-old kisses left, but I’m saving them for my mama.”

I assured her that was fine, but I would take any leftovers.

After a whirlwind afternoon that included church photos, tree-climbing, her first jump on a trampoline and some gardening - “Can we bury some plants?” she asked - I suggested she might want to take a little nap to rest up for her 6 p.m. birthday bash.

She insisted she wasn’t sleepy, but agreed to rest while watching a cartoon on TV. She climbed into my lap and I rocked her as we watched together.

I heard my voice, unbidden, telling her all sorts of things. “I remember the first time I saw you, so beautiful and how happy I felt when that nurse put a pink bow in your hair….. I remember the first time you spent the night with us and we lost your pacifier and you cried for hours….I remember… “

Sheepishly, I realized I was talking to myself. She had dozed off, almost instantly, the way she’s always done.

I held her as long as I dared. “Wake up, sweetheart, you’re going to be late for your own party.”

She wrinkled her face in a funny yawn, letting her eyes flicker open, meeting mine. I kissed her and she kissed me back.

“Next time,” she said, “it will be a four-year-old kiss.”

Andrea Lovejoy can be reached at editor@lagrangenews.com