“Big Pink” is now “Sparkle,” or “Diamond,” or “Mango Freddy.” Something like that. It’s a metamorphosis of sorts. A big change. The training wheels have come off the little pink Huffy bicycle. It has a white basket on front that is loaded down with seashells. My daughter held a wake when it became clear the trainers weren’t going back on. Right there in the shed, amongst the gasoline smells and the remnants of a squirrel’s frat party.
No more apologizing: It’s a ‘country chic’ house
Un-level, defying three principles of physics? Check. Chickens in the backyard … and sometimes inside? Check. Old broken appliances displayed on shelves like art? Check Rocking chairs on front porch, possibly with old man or critter sleeping in them? Check. Wood floors that have surface termite damage forming a silhouette of Elvis, possibly Abe Lincoln? Check
Coming to grips with the mysteries of the dog world
It’s only been about half a year we’ve lived without a dog. A half year out of pretty much my whole life. Yet in that half a year it seems I have forgotten about every … let’s just call it “eccentricity” … that makes a dog a dog. I wrote something down the other day: “the difference between eccentric and crazy is measured in millimeters.” And it certainly applies here. How have I forgotten all of these things? That dogs are unique, strange, complicated and totally quirky animals.
From chaos comes order … and a clean desk
“Keep your desk clean,” read the Post-It Note affixed to my desk. I might have seen it … if not for the pile of crap covering it over like a beaver’s den. So much for the power of Post-Its. Call it a new year’s resolution. Call it my desire to get organized, or to bring feng shui into my life. (Feng shui is a 3,000-year-old Chinese term for harnessing extraordinary power by arranging paper clips into geometric patterns on your desk. It could also be the name of a 3,000-year-old Chinese predecessor to IKEA. I don’t know.) Anyway, it’s a new year and I’ve gone looking for organization. No more scraps of paper and endless to-do lists everywhere. No stacks and piles that make people think I’m building a bomb shelter. No boxes strewn about so that I have a 1-in-5 shot of blowing out my knee every time I head for the bathroom.
Oh, the things you can learn on a Christmas break
I learned a few things over the Christmas holidays — things like this: • That teaching a kid how to ride a bike without training wheels is harder than … well … having a kid in the first place. My wife might dispute that — I was on the much easier end of that one, I have been told. But she also wasn’t there the fateful day when I unscrewed the training wheels, took my daughter out and tried to set her loose. “Why are you doing this to me?” she screamed as she careened out of control, barely in my grasp. It was the kind of scream you make when you’ve been tethered to a castrated bull. “Give me back my training wheels!”
A new dog in the house … with a taste for Christmas lights
If you’ve ever tried to buy Christmas tree lights the week of Christmas, you know it’s a fool’s errand. The store shelves are bare of white lights. The clerks think you have beanbags for a brain when you ask where they are. “A little late in the game, aren’t you?” they say before pointing out a strand of cough-syrupy red lights long enough to wrap the Empire State Building. Or a box of twinkling snowflakes that look more like sickly amoeba.
All I want for Christmas? For everyone to stop asking
What do I want for Christmas? Peace on Earth and good will toward men. Now stop asking! It’s that time of year when family starts calling. Starts emailing. Starts prodding. Starts employing ESP on us. All in order to spirit away gift ideas, mainly for the resident 5-year-old.
Time to take the new K-9 plunge
I guess it’s time. Who really knows when it’s time? Or why? There’s no magical pop-up turkey timer to tell you. There’s no kit you can buy at the pharmacy — like a pregnancy test! — that will give you a digital thumbs up. It’s just a gut feeling, I guess. Or when you think enough time has passed. Or you stop feeling guilty for even considering the thought. Like you’re some kind of traitorous, treasonous two-timer. Apologizing to thin air for even considering, much less petting, another dog.
Defrosted turkeys and all to be thankful for
So much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. So few words to write it in. Yet, I shall try … I’m thankful that the turkey defrosted in time — Thank you, thank you, thank you … As the Thanksgiving cook in my family, I spend literally months worrying about this. The nightmares begin in September. I leap out of bed in the middle of the night drenched in sweat screaming, “It’s time to take the turkey out of the freezer! I have to take the turkey out of the freezer!”
Supervisity … and the kindergarten field trip chaperone
“Field trip chaperone,” read the yellow sticker slapped on my shirt. It represented power … authority … responsibility … supervisity. (Sure, kindergarten chaperones shouldn’t be making up words, but the little yellow sticker left me drunk with power.) It was my second run at “the big show” — a kindergarten expedition off the reservation.