Romney has dropped out of the presidential race, and about the only thing captivating my interest now is the weather. It’s friggin cold. My dad, brother, and I were traveling home from church tonight, and I moaned, “This is how I will die.” And then I shuddered violently, for good measure.
Luckily for Jon and I, my father is a Speedway cappuccino fanatic. I do mean fanatic. Church comes hand in hand with cappuccinos. On the way home from evening services, we always amble into Speedway and fill ourselves up THE stuff. “Do you think tonight is a CAP night?”, my father asked casually. (we have become so intimate with cappuccino’s - that they are now CAPs). We looked at him dryly, knowing there was no response necessary, and my brother maneuvered us smoothly into the front most Speedway parking lot. I opened my door, narrowly avoiding an iceberg of snow to my right, and we entered our Speedway with the utmost familiarity. My Dad nodded friendly-like to all of the gas-station attendants. (We are some of their most faithful regulars, so they nod back and smile.)
With steaming cappuccinos’ in red-and-blue mottled fists, we ran to the car. It’s funny to see people run in odd weather. Have you ever noticed that? Rain brings it out in most people. If you ever sit in a parking-lot long enough during a rain-storm, you can watch people dodging and flailing over cement and then fumbling with umbrellas so they can dive into the safety of their car. It becomes amusing. Cold, therefore, is doubly amusing, because people have nothing to dodge, and yet there they are - running with scrunched up shoulders and pinched faces so that they may fumble with their keys and dive into their cars.
As the car warmed up, and I continued chattering (I’m sure the two had no connection whatsoever), a discussion arose.
Question stated: How many electrical lights are there in Milwaukee?
A thought for pondering, to be sure. Jon provoked my thoughts by adding, “I have one for you. Are there more street lights than people?”
“No,” I said easily. There was no debate there for me.
But he continued, “What makes you so sure?”
“Think of all the cars that pass by the street lights. There are dozens more cars than streetlights, and there could be dozens of people represented by a couple cars.”
“But I’m not referring to cars. The cars may just be a passin through. I’m referring to people within residences.”
“Still, there are far more people to my right and my left than there are street lights before me.” (I thought that was profound)
He pointed to my left, “Ah, but there are street lights to your left.”
“No, those are parking lot lights. You didn’t say parking lot lights. You said street lights.”
Sparring often doesn’t need much of a reason in my family, and it’s strikingly evident in our most avid debates.
The man came out in my dear brother and he challenged, “But I meant parking lots, too. All lights.”
“Then, where is the end? No, you said street lights, and since you did not specify clearer, the parking lot lights are parking lot lights, not street lights.” I sat there smugly, and could see I had won the issue.
“Still,” he defended bravely (for it takes a certain amount of bravery to defy me), “There are two street lights on every pole.”
“Ah, but did you say poles? No, you said street light. Oo -- and if you think about it, light that floods a street is ONE continuous light. So, my dear brother, you see you are beat. There cannot possibly be more light than people, because light is one continuum. This light here is all street light.”
His knuckles gripped the wheel hard, and if my peripheral vision served me correctly, I’d say his silent, grim face was a testament to my victory.
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