On Green Beans and Household Appliances

When I was a child, all my toys and stuffed animals had names and distinct personalities. What's more, they were all creatures of real being to me; they each had feelings. I used to worry about hurting them if I treated them badly or even if I favored one over the others. My brother and sister tell me they had the same sort of perception and that, like me, they were slow to lose it. Even today we occasionally have to remind ourselves that the last head of lettuce left in the produce bin at the grocery store is only a head of lettuce, that is doesn't really feel abandoned or unwanted. Even so, it is sometimes difficult not to take it home out of pity.

We lay this bit of dysfunction at the feet of our mother, partly because as everyone knows, that's where one lays the credit for one's dysfunctions, and partly because she's the one who used to wheedle us to eat all our vegetables by moaning sadly, "Oh, look at the poor little green bean! All his friends are gone down in your tummy! He wants to be with his friends! Don't you feel sorry for him? He's wondering what's wrong with him that you won't eat him. Pooooor green bean!" Part of the time we thought she was a little loopy, but most of the time it worked. Well, it worked for awhile. Eventually my brother discovered that if he held out long enough, she'd offer him money to eat the poor little green bean. As for me, my initial eagerness to cooperate quickly turned into obstinate opposition when I figured out that there would always be another green bean, another bite of spinach, another bit of something to feel guilty over. My sister, eleven years younger than I, traversed the distance between sentimentallity and logic without my observance, and although she has obviously done so with success, I do not know by what path she traveled.

Last month our new washer and dryer were finally delivered. As I stood in the utility room looking at them, I realized they were looking back at me hopefully, eager to please, wanting to be liked. I patted the washer awkwardly on its top and ran my hand over the dryer's door gently. Nothing is quite so charming as an appliance that can't wait to be helpful. The Younger Daughter walked into the room and gave me a cheerful hug. "What are you going to name them, Mama?" she asked.

"I don't know," I replied, somewhat surprised. I've tried not to play the Poor Green Bean card with my children, and the fact that they persist in naming inantimate objects and treating them like people casts serious doubts upon the theory that personification of the inantimate is entirely my mother's fault. "What would you name them?"

She thought about it a minute. "Claudio and Hero?" she offered doubtfully, her brow knitted in thought.

We discussed a few more options, and after a short synopsis of the tale of Odysseus, we settled on Syclla and Charybdis.

Scylla and Charybdis have been working for me in the back room for a month now, and I have to say that they seem to work better for having been named. Certainly I've heard no complaints, and when I answer the urgent beepings that signal the ends of their cycles, their red LCD screens beam proudly up at me. Maybe there is something to the theory that inantimate objects can have some form of sentience.

But I'm still not eating cooked spinach.

Thirteen Marriage Tips for Bibliophiles

1. Budget for books the way you do for food and electricity...or you won't have food and electricity.
2. Read each other's books.
3. Keep separate accounts at the used bookstore.
4. Books are paper. Paper is good insulation. Line the walls of your house with bookcases. Fill them. It's the environmentally responsible thing to do.
5. Read aloud to each other.
6. Keep stray dishes, flowerpots, etc... handy to throw during arguments, lest you be tempted to throw books.
7. Respect each other's differing literary tastes.
8. To communicate with a spouse who is reading a book, replace his or her bookmark with a note.
9. James Fenimore Cooper is your friend.
10. Work out a shelving system together to ensure both of you can find the books you need when you need them.
11. For the sake of your financial stability, do not often shop for books together.
12. A bookless parlor is a howling wilderness.
13. Buy only one copy of books you both love. The thought of having to buy replacement copies is an excellent divorce deterrent.

The Carcass Chronicles: Part One--On 'Possums and Lawn Mowers

The low for the night is 72 degrees F, which means the daytime temps here are considerably higher, higher and humid, to boot. Somewhere in the yard something is dead. It could be something small (or part of something small) that the cats have killed and so very thoughtfully left under the window for us, or it could be something big that is in the field. Either way, leaving the windows open on the west side of the house is a mixed sort of blessing. The breeze is nice. The smell is not.

When I was a girl, we used to have a dog that was covered in curly, white, fluffy hair, poodle hair. Happy was an exclusively outdoor dog, but even if he hadn't have been all year, he would have been in the summer. There was very little he loved more than to find dead carcasses and roll in them. He'd go out in the woods or the field and come back with dark greenish brown patches in his fur, smelling like he'd been picking up vultures in bars. Poor thing! He never understood why my brother and I refused to pet him or play with him when he'd obviously gone to all the trouble to make himself more enjoyable for all concerned, from a doggy point of view. Sometimes Happy would even bring home a nice ripe one, so we could have it for our very own.

My sister wasn't any more appreciative of Happy's offerings than were my brother and I, but she was more creative than we'd been when it came to dealing with them. Evidently one of Happy's 'possums (his favorite flavor) hit optimum ripeness the same day my father decided it was time my sister learned to mow the yard. "It was big and round and ripe," she later told me, "and I looked at it and thought, 'I wonder what would happen if I ...'"

Yes. She did.

This is why everyone in my family can authoritatively testify to the fact that dead 'possums and lawn mowers don't mix. Just a bit of wisdom to share with the rest of you.

On Mother's Day...and Easter

Someone I'd consider a cyberfriend of sorts asked what I was given for Mother's Day this year. That would be these teacups. I've got a thing for hot tea, and Great Scott is kind enough to indulge me.

For Easter, he gave me the coolest apron ever.

Friday Quote: On Poetry and Plastic Flowers

"The cloning of humans is on most of the lists of things to worry about from Science, along with behaviour control, genetic engineering, transplanted heads, computer poetry and the unrestrained growth of plastic flowers."

---Lewis Thomas

Thirteen Things in My Desk Drawer

Yesterday I came home and swiped at the wide, flat drawer beneath the center of my desktop, intending to open it and grab a pen. It budged, but wouldn't open. I had to drag it open, to my wry displeasure. The reason? Too much stuff crammed in it. Here's a sampling.

1. Umpteen million pens and pencils: ball point, gel, and mechanical. (The fountain pens are set apart, well-nigh sanctified, in fact.)

2. Two pairs of sissors. One for me and one that the children are allowed to use. This is not due to safety factors. This is due to me wanting a pair of sissors that haven't been used to cut industrial grade cardboard to make castles and French log homes.

3. Empty Whitman sampler and Altoids tins. You never know when these will come in handy.

4. Enough mechanical pencil refills to be a lead poisoning health hazard.

5. A stapler. This is not always in residence, as Great Scott and The Daughters borrow it with regularity.

6. Umpteen million erasers, but they're apparently the wrong kind, as I am regularly asked to buy more.

7. Flathead and phillpshead screwdrivers.

8. Coconut brittle.

9. Two miniature screwdriver sets, neither of which are the right size to fix whatever pair of eyeglasses has broken this time.

10. Boxes of staples, brads, two or three different sizes of paperclips, and a box of butterfly clips.

11. Two or three different kinds of staple removers, regardless of the fact that I almost always just use my fingernails. This would explain the shape of my fingernails, I suppose.

12. Occasionally a stray M&M or Skittle. Finding these is just like Christmas, no matter how old they are. Hey, who am I to ask questions about age?

13. Two freerange, vampiric thumbtacks that attack and then scurry away to hide beneath the pens or in a far corner until they feel the need to feed again.

Someday You'll Have Children Just Like You...

The Younger Daughter is the liviliest of our bunch. Great Scott and I are, as The Older Daughter likes to remind us, aged and slow, and her sister, as Great Scott and I like to remind her, is energy conservative (save her father prefers the briefer, 4 letter word in all its simplicity). This means that The Younger Daughter often finds herself wandering about the house forlornly looking for something interesting to do while the other three members of the family are preoccupied. Christmas break has evidently been especially hard on her, but ever the innovative child, she managed to entertain herself with pen and pencil. The results are telling.

Once upon a time there was a little dragon. Now she was a good little dragon. Her family hoarded not gems but books. The little dragon got on nerves a lot. Though she tried her best she always got on other dragons' nerves.

One day she was bored, and she'd read all her Humanology books. So she went to her sister who was reading.

"Leave me alone. I don't have any ideas. Now go away!" her sister snapped. Then she burned the little dragon's backside very fiercely, and the little dragon left her sister to the book.

So the little dragon went to her mother who was also reading.

"I'm bored. Do you have any ideas of what to do?"

Her mom was not in a good mood. "Youngling, you are taking your life into your claws. The only things that stands between you and my snapping sanity is this book!" her mother answered and gave her a good whack with it.

Sadly the little dragon left to find her father. Suddenly her father flew in the lair and removed the umbrella from over the book he brought.

"Daddy..." the little dragon began.

"I'm reading. Leave me alone, Child!" and he lashed her with his tail.

By now the little dragon's backside was hurting miserably, so she made an ice pack and lay down. Then she drew. She drew dragons killing with flame, diamond spear and tail. The her parents came in with her sister and saw the painting and realized the suffering they had caused her and asked for forgiveness, and the little dragon gave them just that, and her family learned to think before they acted.

So Far This Week...

I replaced the modem.

The Older Daughter threw up twice at school and came home early.

The Older Daughter ate tortellini two hours after arriving home, and two and a half hours after that competed in an Academic Team competition (her team won both their games).

My grandmother had her 91st birthday (Yay, Grandma!).

I was approved for substitute teaching in our school district.

The Older Daughter won not just the local but the district Patriot's Pen essay contest for her age division.

And...my dryer broke (I am awaiting the repairman now).

Oh, yes! And Dad put an extra hard drive into my computer.

With a coathanger.

Which is still in the computer.

And it's still only Wednesday!

Observations on Motherhood: Those Kinds of Days

Some days I feel much better prepared for what motherhood requires than other days.

Some days it all comes together quite well, and the bills are paid, and all the batteries work, and the children play happily together and have shining teeth. Other days nothing gets done, and it rains in the windows, and the cat leaves tongue prints in the grease in the unwashed pan on the stove, and the children look like prime candidates for the cast of “Oliver!”

Then, of course, there are all the days in between, which probably look from the outside more like the first kind of day but which feel from the inside far more like the second. The trick is to navigate these with all the aplomb that comes naturally when one is having the first kind of day and knows it. It helps to remember that many famous and successful people have had parents who probably had days of the second kind, too.

1. Albert Einstein’s mother didn’t always get his hair combed before he got out the door.

2. Emily Dickinson’s mother couldn’t get her to come out of her room and play with visitors’ children every time they had company.

3. Jonathan Edwards’ mother couldn’t have counted the number of times she demanded, “Will you just get on with it and kill that spider?!”

4. Thomas Edison’s mother was sure he would ruin his eyes reading in the dark.

5. Henry Ford’s mother told him to go play in the street at least once.

6. C.S. Lewis’s father despaired that his son might live in a fantasy land forever.

7. Benjamin Franklin’s mother worried that he didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.

8. Louis Pasteur’s mother once despaired of ever getting him to wash his hands.

9. George Washington’s mother warned him time and time again to brush his teeth.

10. Mark Twain’s mother....Oh, Lord, that poor woman!

11. Edgar Allan Poe’s mother got sick of cleaning up after all those birds.

12. I can just hear Christopher Columbus’s mother saying, “It’ll be a whole new world when I let you do that!”

13. Leif Erikson’s mother threatened to ship him off so often he took her seriously and did it himself.

The Tooth Saga

Monday evening: The Younger Daughter pulls a tooth. She's been going through a stage of shedding teeth like a little shark this year, so all seems fairly routine. The Tooth Fairy confiscates it, leaving much coveted cold, hard cash in return and then gives me the tooth, as she almost always does, to hold until she's got enough to build her castle with.

Tuesday evening: I notice The Younger Daughter's gum above the now-missing tooth seems a bit red. I attribute it to the fact that she's just pulled the tooth, and make a mental note to watch it, just in case it might be true inflammation.

Wednesday evening: The gum still looks a little bright to me, although not badly so, and it isn't sore at all--a good sign. Nevertheless, I get out a flashlight and look at the empty socket, and... EGAD! There is a dark red fleshy thing protruding slightly from the socket! Either The Younger Daughter has just been infested with some tiny, exotic gum leach, or that is the pulp/nerve of her missing tooth! Is this normal? Is it supposed to be there? Is there an infection?! Has she pulled it prematurely?!

DID SHE PULL A PERMANENT TOOTH FOR MONEY?!?!?!?

I can't call the dentist at 9:30 at night. It doesn't hurt her at all, not even when she rubs a finger over it. I shudder and tell her to rinse and go to the living room for stories and prayers. I try to not worry about it. I will call in the morning. I will not worry. I put my head down on my desk and say a short prayer. I will not worry. Feeling faintly nauseated from anxiety, I walk into the bedroom to fold some laundry. I will not worry. Finally I call my sister. We have one of those conferences that only sisters can have. I feel a bit better. We will wait and see. Great Scott doesn't get home until 11:00 p.m. from the night class he's teaching. I will tell him in the morning.

Thursday (this) morning: "Oh," he says nonchalantly as he gets a shirt out of the closet and pulls it on. "Yeah, those are always there when you pull a tooth. It must've just detached lower down than most, that's all." He buttons up the shirt and meanders out of the room to go find his good friend, Coffee.

The Younger Daughter swears she hasn't pulled a permanent tooth, that this one was still a baby tooth. She may just be afraid The Tooth Fairy will want her money back, but I'm going to believe her. She is confidently, blissfully carefree. I want to grow up to be just like her.

Friday Quote: Personal Ads

"They call me naughty Lola. Run-of-the-mill beardy physicist (M, 46)."

"My only academic achievement was contaminating the water supply in class 2C by sneezing over the beaker tray. It caused the biggest outbreak of conjunctivitis ever known at Sutton Primary. I wasn't sorry then and I'm not sorry now. Bitter PR exec. (F, 34) WLTM man to 40 who enjoys living on the edge (of Putney). Box no. 8370."

"Don't send me any poems. Woman, 34. Fed up of getting poems. Box no. 4253."

"You are going to be alone this Christmas. That's because nobody likes you. I, however, will provide you with a basic meal and some pleasant company on the understanding that you do not criticise my collection of antique medical implements. Tidy man, 51. Size 9 slipper. Box no. 7314."

"Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth. Box no. 7652."

--from They Call Me Naughty Lola: Personal Ads from The London Review of Books

Ooooh! Pretty!

Yesterday morning I was in the kitchen mixing up a batch of scones for the girls' breakfast when I heard, "Bzzzt! Bzzzzzt! BZZZZZTTTT!" Looking down, I noted bright golden light flashing through the oven window and then several showers of absolutely gorgeous sparks cascading down the inside of the glass. I have to confess, I'd never heard an oven make that noise before, but it didn't sound like a particularly happy oven-noise, so I turned it off.

After 15 minutes or so, I opened the door a bit and peeked in. The top element was glowing bright red around one spot, and while I watched, it threw some more sparks off. I shut the door again. Obviously the poor thing was having some sort of breakdown and needed some privacy. It seemed unkind to intrude.

Three hours later I gingerly cracked open the door again. No sparks this time, and the glowing red spot had burned three quarters of the way around the curving length of the element. I wasn't surprised to find this morning that eventually the element burned itself in two before giving up the ghost.

The appliance repair and supply shop we use had to call their supplier to see if the replacement element could even be ordered. The stove is that old. It also looks like I'll have to do some wiring to get this thing fixed, since the element is soldered onto the wires instead of simply plugged into something. Maybe there'll be more sparks! Ooooh, pretty!

What's in YOUR Refrigerator?

Today was supposed to be The Younger Daughter's party for the gifted program after school, but her teacher called and had to cancel.

Too bad. I had already made something to take.

Guess what greeted Great Scott when he opened the refrigerator upon his arrival home.

Thirteen Things That Drive My Husband Batty

1. My cold feet against his bare legs in winter.
2. I wear crop pants.
3. I have a neti pot...
4. ...and use it.
5. I prefer to mow the grass in fun designs (think Indian or Celtic knotwork) rather than doing a complete section at a time.
6. If a book is very boring or very interesting, I have no problem with turning to the back (or the middle) and reading there for awhile.
7. I am chronologically challenged (read, oblivious). Dinner gets started when the sun begins setting, a problematic issue in spring and summer.
8. I dislike wearing shoes.
9. I forget to turn off the stove burners and oven...
10. ...and to shut the windows when the heat is on...
11. ...and a couple of times, to pick up the children after school (Children? What children? Whose children?!).
12. James Fenimore Cooper amuses me.
13. I think trees talk.

The "It's All About Meegle" Meme

Jeremy (from whom I filtched this meme and who is a grand source for all things fun) gives the following directions should you choose to tackle this one yourself: "...take the following search strings, (with your name) and find the one you like best." He credits Laura with its invention. If you attempt the Meegle, be sure to leave a link on her site.

Lucinda was born four years earlier and remembered and told stories of another war.

Lucinda grew up around her father's writer friends--Allen Ginsberg, Charles Bukowski and Flannery O'Connor...

Lucinda likes to give the dogs treats from on top of the bookcase. [Note: How Lucinda got on top of the bookcase is not explained.]

Lucinda hates being in the dark, both physically and mentally.

Cindy spends most of her time looking into the mirror admiring her beauty... [Note: "Lucinda" returned no results. Thus the nickname substitute.]

Lucinda eats a truffle and reels and staggers and blubbers, thereby making her board members think she is over the hill, nuts, goofy, senile, demented.

Lucinda wonders if magic might be involved.

Cindy's favorite food is probably roast beef... [Note: Again, no results for "Lucinda". What's more, there was only one result for "Cindy" and this was on a pet of the day site!]

Lucinda's hair is conveniently located in the Central area of Connecticut and is within driving distance of all New England States...

Lucinda likes to wear [Note: Sadly, neither "Lucinda" nor "Cindy" returned any results. One can only assume the worst.]

Cindy has traveled to Naples four times a week to train with her coach for this year's Olympics.

Lucinda works in secret...

Lucinda has decided to be difficult.

Lucinda cries, "I know, I know, I sound like the old gypsy woman in The Wolf Man."

Lucinda is happy to hear it.

Tags: Randy, Scott and Seeker

Dartboard Barbie

We have creative daughters. This is a good thing. Still, sometimes their ingenuity is somewhat unexpected. Even at times...disturbing. This is what Great Scott found in the living room this morning amid their cheery post-Christmas play.

I'm just grateful my brother-in-law didn't find those throwing knives he wanted to give them.

Purple is a Christmas Color

Tonight my sister and I dyed my hair (a first!) for Christmas.

Purple.

I adore it.

Tomorrow Great Scott, the girls and I go to his mother's. (The mother who took him aside when he told her we were getting married 16 years ago, and asked him why he couldn't find a good Baptist girl.)

The timing is not, alas, entirely accidental.

I am not a particularly virtuous woman. (I am however, a very happy one!)



Update: Pictures below as requested.

Before Christmas

After Christmas

Creative Genius Runs Amok..Like a Turkey with Its Head Cut Off

This weekend the girls made turkey cookies--happy little turkey cookies like this:



I was helping and taking pictures when I noticed a strange aberation among the happy little turkey cookies. One of them had three eyes.

"What is this?" I asked.

"That one," replied The Younger Daughter sweetly, "is a mutant. You don't have to worry about him, though. He's nice. It's the devil turkeys I'm making with the red M&M's that you have to watch out for."

We ate the devil turkeys promptly, lest they slay us. Thus, sadly, no pictures.

On Writing Sonnets

Last week a very dear friend sent me a gift in the mail: Mark Jarman's Unholy Sonnets. I've been reading through these with a great deal of admiration. Sonnets--well done sonnets--fascinate and impress me. Personally, I very much enjoy writing sonnets, but am entirely unable to write serious ones. There is something about the form that for me invites absurdity in the act of composition. It's very sad. Truly.


Raining Cats and Frogs

When angels weep and startled toads descend
from out the cloud-veiled heavens in a burst
of rain, I strain in efforts to defend
my brain from overload. Unless we’re cursed
with Egypt’s ancient plagues I can’t see how
amphibians can shower from above.
And why not larger beasts (perhaps a cow)
the cherubs out of heaven thus might shove?
Still, since these frogs are croaking ‘round my feet
the best of it I set myself to make.
T’refuse angelic bounty is not meet,
so I will set aside my taste for steak
and, putting to good use what hast been given,
will glut on frog-legs lightning-fried in heaven.

Notes: Part 2

Back in September I blogged about having to rewrite The Older Daughter's absence excuse. It had been a little too out of the ordinary for her tastes. The Younger Daughter, however, has no such reservations. She loves odd notes, the wilder the better. Together, we have entirely too much fun with her teachers.

Mrs. K.,

Would it be possible for you to dash off a note to me when [The Younger Daughter] fails to turn in an assignment?...We find that hanging [The Younger Daughter] upside down and lashing her bare feet with wet noodles is a much better deterrent if applied promptly after an infraction.

Thank you,
Cindy Lawson

Have I mentioned that this school (and our family) is blessed with extraordinarily good-humored faculty as a whole? A very good thing.