The world is definitely small. At the airport on the way to my flight home from Phoenix, I walked along the line of many, many people waiting to check bags at the Southwest ticket counter. As I approached the end of the line, I saw a man whom I immediately recognized.

Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out from where.

I watched him as I approached. His mannerisms were familiar, his way of talking and gesturing. When I was close, I recognized his voice. He was talking on the phone, so I stepped into the back of the line and continued to watch him. He continued to talk to some staff person and on the phone for a few moments longer, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

He looked like Joe Martz, from elementary school and junior high. Junior high... junior high... Senior high. Senior high. Arizona. Band.

Click.

He was the first chair baritone in band. He was the one who received the fancy euphonium when the school bought one. And the really really cool marching baritone when the school bought one of them! Oh! Oh wait!

I was torn between making my flight, standing in a 30 minute line less than an hour before my flight was scheduled to leave, and running after him to say hello. The last time I couldn't remember someone and walked up to say hello, I walked up to a retired college classmate of mine who had made many, many millions from eToys. I learned my lesson from that embarrassment and never immediately say more than hello when I haven't spoken to someone in a decade.

So, I didn't run after him and say hello. I'll need to email Jenn and see if she remembers the guy's name. Hmph, she may still be in contact with him. Now that would be my luck.

As the walk progresses, her speed starts to slow, she lingers at trees to smell them, she pulls backward on the leash. It doesn't matter how long the walk is, she does this one short walks and long walks. She does this on walks that end at our house, or on the trail where the walk ends at the car. As we near the end of the walk, she slows.

It's almost as if she knows that the fun time is ending, and she wants to prolong the moment as long as she can.

Normally, I'm just frustrated with her slowing. Today, I understand her foot dragging. As my vacation nears its end, I'm slowing down. I want the time to gone on longer, I want to stay in Arizona and visit with family, play ultimate, linger at the pool.

Sigh.

Arizona is hot. It's just hot. Hot, hot, hot.

Which is why everyone is inside, or in the pool. Like us!

Eric put up a very Frank Gehry-like structure over the pool to keep the pool in the shade so that we could be in the pool during the heat of the day. Previously, we couldn't swim from around 10 until around 3 because the pool was in FULL. BRIGHT. SUN. One step out there during that time, and we'd all melt.

With the Frank shade structure up, we could be out at any time of day. The downside is that the pool stayed in the shade, too, and never really warmed up. Cold pools and me? Not so much.

Today, however, I decided that yes, I could get in the water and play with the boys. So I did. Usually, Sam and Jackson just splash around, or jump into the pool seeing who could make the biggest cannonball splash. I figured I'd splash around with them, fetch the water toys that end up at the bottom of the deep end, cool off and get out.

At one point, I was fixing the band on the goggles I was going to wear. The band was pulled tight enough to fit on a 4 year old's head, which meant it was just about perfect for my puny head, but not quite. As I stood on the pool steps adjusting the band, Sam swam up to me, pulled off his googles, and said, "Here, use these. They're bigger."

Now, the goggles I had in my hand were actually the same size and style as the ones he was offering me. The band was already a little looser, but they were the same style.

I accepted them, said thanks, and watched with suspicion as he went over to the other side of the pool, plucked up another pair of goggles, put them on and went off to swim again.

Having just spent the last two days with Sam, watching as he cheated his way to some allowed victory or bitter defeat, I couldn't help but wonder, how am i getting the bum end of this deal?

I never did figure out how. The goggles were good, they fit well. I'm not sure when I became cynical of the generosity of a seven year old.

Jackson was fascinated by my camera today. To encourage him in his interests, I handed him the camera (a scary thought, given the cost to replace the camera if he dropped it, and the fact he's only 4). He was very careful with it, and even took a lot of good photos. A couple good shots of me:

Sam, Jackson and I went to the movies today to see Shrek the Third. I can't say I can watch any Shrek movies without having flashbacks ("Layers? Ogres have layers. Onions have layers. Parfait! Everybody loves parfaits!"), or without trying to analyze the techniques and effects during the whole movie. This one was the closest I came, but I still watched with a critical eye. I'm surprised at the number of human characters in the movie, but they started that trend with the previous sequel, so I shouldn't have been so surprised.

When we arrived, I didn't know the movie-going rules, and said, "Sure!" when the boys asked for popcorn and pop and a Slurpee/Icee. I did draw the line at candy though. I can't say that drinking a large class of Sprite is much better than not having a candy bar, but hey, slightly less sugar is better, right?

We arrived about 20 minutes before the show actually started, so the three of us sat there watching commercials and advertisements. We were in the front of the top balcony, smack dab in the middle of the theatre. Sam wanted to be in the very back, at the very top, in the last row, but, well, he lost that argument with me. I wonder how many more years I can win those arguments with him. I give myself another 5.

As we were sitting there, Jackson on my left drinking his Slurpee/Icee, Sam on my right drinking much of his ginormous Sprite, and me in the middle with a large bag of buttered popcorn. After a few minutes of muching on popcorn, and vaguely gazing at the movie screen, I looked down at Sam.

Sam was eating popcorn, too. Rather than taking a few kernels at a time as I was, Sam was taking giant fistfuls of popcorn and shoving them into his mouth as quickly as he could. He was gazing at the movie screen even less focused than I was.

Watching him reach for the popcorn, grab a handful and shove without being aware of what he was doing, immediately annoyed me. I don't know why I reacted as strongly as I did, but watching this small boy mindlessly consuming high amounts of sugar, fat, salt and media, all unconsciously without awareness, frustrated me.

I tried moving the bag slightly. Instead of reaching into the bag of popcorn where it was before, Sam's hand grasped nothing. Again without awareness, he reached around for the bag, grabbing at the air, finding nothing. After a few moments, he became aware of the missing bag, and turned to look. When he saw the back was moved, he leaned over reaching in, grabbed a handful of popcorn and continued the fistful eating.

So, I moved the bag again.

With the same results.

A few minutes of this, and he became frustrated. He looked at me and asked me why I kept moving the bag. I explained he was grabbing handfuls of popcorn, instead of eating a few at a time. If he ate a few at a time, I would keep the bag still.

My compromise worked for two popcorns grabs before the fistful feeding returned. I closed the bag and told them we weren't eating any more popcorn until after the movie had started, and maybe not then either. Both of them accepted my statement really easily. They're both good kids, I just wish the American model of full consumerism wasn't taught to them so young.

Especially the mindless consuming part.