For the Record

Dear People of the World,

For the record, I am tolerant, but I am not nonjudgmental. As far as I’m concerned, you can do anything you like as long as you obey the law and don’t step on the rights of others. That’s tolerance.

But I will judge you for both your opinions and your actions. If I think you’re speaking or behaving like an ass, I’m going to consider you an ass, and I reserve the right to tell you so.

So, while I respect your right to be an ass, and while I might even defend your right to be an ass, it doesn’t mean you’re not an ass.

Sincerely,

Chick

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It’s About F—ing Time!

In June of 2017 I wrote a post about the time that Livia asked me what the f-word meant. I wondered what my husband had done to expose her to that word. He told me there was a story behind it and that he’d write it down for me. I waited and waited but eventually gave up hope. Seven months later (January 31, 2018), he finally coughed it up. It’s a good thing for him that it’s still funny! But it belongs in the 2017 album, so I’m backdating this post to July 31, 2017.

Marshall, Livia, and Daddy were quietly sitting on the couch watching YouTube videos while Marshall waited for his new game to load on his tablet. Livia casually asked her brother a question.

Livia: Marshall, do you know the word “f—?”

Marshall: Yeah, I’ve heard of “f—.”

Daddy: Marshall, how do you know the word?

Marshall: My friends.

Daddy (in his head): Thank God it wasn’t my YouTube videos!

Livia: My friends told me “f—” is a swear word and that I shouldn’t say it. But I like to say it. F—, f—, f—, f—, f—, f—!

Daddy: Stop saying that, Livia.

Livia: Why?

Daddy: Because it’s a bad word, and you shouldn’t use it.

Livia: But what does it mean?

Daddy: It’s a swear word.

Livia: I know, but what does it mean?

Daddy: Eh…it means “sex.”

Livia: What’s sex?

Daddy: Remember? It’s how babies are made.

Livia: Oh.

There was an awkward silence.

Daddy: Why don’t you go ask your mother?

Livia ran upstairs to talk to Mommy. Daddy was relieved.

Mommy (heard from downstairs): That’s a bad word. You shouldn’t use it!

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Ten Years Later

It’s hard to believe that ten years have passed since the final book of the Harry Potter series hit the shelves, but my very own blog provides the proof. Back then I asked, “What will we do now that we have no more Harry to look forward to?” And for ten years the answer has been, “Keep looking for something as good as Harry Potter while wishing for more Harry Potter!”

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Proud

Earlier this year I started working on a special photo album of nature pictures and posts. It took weeks just to sift through all my photos and writing. I found more material than could fit in a single album, so I split the project in two. Then I had to cut and paste, arrange, edit, and proofread. After months of working on it, it still wasn’t finished, and I had begun to think it might never be.

Then Shutterfly put on an irresistible sale. They offered me a book of any length at the price of a 20-page album. This was the perfect opportunity to print the larger of the two albums at an affordable price. The catch: the sale only lasted a few days. That meant I had to finish the book right away.

And finish it I did. Thank goodness for deadlines! The book arrived this week. It’s beautiful. Truly. Even my husband, who didn’t really understand why I was making the album, said it was a real accomplishment. I am proud of myself for having worked so hard and having made something so wonderful. And now I feel like I could accomplish anything I put my mind to (which is good, because the other half of the project is still waiting!).

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Stupid Is as Stupid Does

Do you have any mental blind spots? That is to say, are there any types of thinking that are hard for you? I have a few. I can think of two immediately because they’re both things that have come up recently.

  1. There are some math scenarios that drive me nuts. I will give you an example. If you ask how many years occurred between, say, 1970 and 1980, then one answer is 9 (this answer includes only the years between: 1971, ’72, ’73, ’74, ’75, ’76, ’77, ’78, and ’79). But what if you were including 1970 or 1980 or both? Then the answer could be 10 (if including either 1970 or 1980) or 11 (if including both 1970 and 1980). So the answer could be 9, 10, or 11, depending on the details, but it looks (to me) as if it ought to be 10 and only 10. So I literally have to count on my fingers when trying to figure out any kind of math involving units of time.
  2. Family relationship also boggle my mind. I was just reading a book about Merlin (of Arthurian myth). In this story, he was the son of the brother of Arthur’s father. I mentioned this to my husband and, while I struggled to figure out what to call their relationship, my husband immediately said, “Cousins.” Duh. Me, I have to draw a family tree.

My mind simply balks at these kinds of problems. And when I get that sensation of mental numbness that I’ve come to realize is my mind absolutely refusing to focus on a problem, I think to myself, “This is what it feels like to be stupid.”

I don’t think that I’m stupid, though. I realize that I have some weak spots in my thinking, and that’s okay. Nobody’s good at everything. As long as I can work around my mental weaknesses, whether by counting on my fingers, or making diagrams, or even asking for help, then I’ll consider myself competent.

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I Ain’t Superstitious

I don’t really think that a terrible fate will ensue if I say something jinxy. Still, if I say something jinxy, I will try to find some wood to knock on. If I find it, I’ll knock on it and say, “Knock on wood.” And if there’s not any real wood, I’ll knock on simulated wood and say, “Knock on simulated wood.” I might even, if the situation required it, knock on plastic and say, “Knock on plastic and pretend it’s wood.” Just in case.

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Changes

The combination of poor vision plus paranoia means that every tiny black thing I see looks like a mouse turd or a tick, until I get close enough to see what it really is (a piece of fuzz, a crumb, a spider, etc.). But not too close, because if I get too close, I can’t even focus on it!

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SITY: A Tragedy

On Saturday I walked down the driveway to pick up The New York Times newspaper that was waiting for me at the end of it. As I passed beneath the trees I noticed that there was a layer of greenish-brown slime on the driveway. It had rained overnight, and the caterpillar poop on the driveway had absorbed the water. The driveway was completely covered in this “fecal slime,” and it could not be avoided. I was wearing a nice pair of shoes, so I tried to walk carefully. Still, they were completely encrusted by the time I got to the newspaper and back.

On Sunday, I made the same walk. The slime had dried somewhat. It was now more of a paste. A fecal paste. By Monday, it had dried even more. It was now a fecal crud. It may have been my imagination, but it even seemed to smell like poop. This is what it looked like.

Fecal Crud. Ugh!

If that weren’t disgusting enough, every day when I’m unpacking the kids lunch bags I find a few caterpillar poops. The poops stick to their ice packs and swell up from the moisture. It’s gross.

But, believe it or not, we got lucky. We hardly saw any winter moth caterpillars. The hatch rate of the gypsy moth caterpillars seemed to be low. There are many unhatched and partially hatched egg masses on the trees. There were just so many egg masses on the trees (encrusting entire limbs, in some cases) that even a low hatch rate means thousands upon thousands of hungry caterpillars.

The rain may have played a part in knocking their numbers down. It certainly seemed to slow their progress. Now it is time for the caterpillars to pupate, but many of the caterpillars I’ve seen are dead or dying. It’s what we wanted, but it’s still a sad thing. The tree trunks are covered with their corpses. When the caterpillars die, some of them hang upside down, their bodies stretching under their own weight until they become desiccated. Some hang in a V-shape.

Dead Caterpillars

Masses of dead caterpillars are sad. But what makes this especially sad is that the damage is already done. The caterpillars didn’t die soon enough to spare the trees.

Damaged Trees

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A Rare Thing

Eggshells by Caitriona Lally

Grade: A-

I could tell from the first paragraph of Eggshells that author Caitriona Lally had a knack for wordplay and for making wonderful observations about everyday things. It’s what drew me to the book. It’s also what kept me reading during the occasional rough patch.

The main character of Eggshells is Vivian. She was abused as a child, and now she believes she is a changeling. She wanders the streets of Dublin, looking for a portal back to the fairy realm. Vivian has a sister, also named Vivian, who doesn’t want to have much contact with her. Friendless and clueless about how to make social connections, Vivian puts out an advertisement asking specifically for a friend named Penelope. And a Penelope answers!

That’s an interesting start to a novel but, as I mentioned, there are some rough patches along the way. Some of Vivian’s encounters with people are strange and not very believable. Vivian can be off-putting, and she spends a lot of time (too much, IMHO) just wandering around and making lists. But, if you can sympathize with Vivian’s desire to find magic, understand her yearning and her loneliness, then she’s endearing and worth following around the streets of Dublin, even if she doesn’t do much.

Another minor point that some reviewers complain about is that it’s never explained why Vivian’s sister is also named Vivian. Our Vivian deliberately avoids seeing, hearing, or thinking about things that upset her. That means a lot of details about Vivian’s and Penelope’s lives are kept from us. Remembering that Vivian is not entirely sane, an easy explanation for the sister’s name is that sister Vivian doesn’t actually exist. Perhaps there was an older sister who died in childhood, or maybe Vivian just always wanted a sibling and decided to make one up. There’s absolutely no evidence aside from Vivian’s state of mind to support my theory, because the sister appears in several scenes. Still, it makes sense that she’s an idealized, alternative persona that our Vivian has invented for herself. She represents the “normal” life that our Vivian thinks she ought to have had.

Along the way Vivian muses on a great many topics, often language-related, and these were my favorite parts of the book. Here is one example.

“mischief” should always be spelt with a lower case “m”–it seems more mischievous than its sensible big sister, upper case “M.” And “mumps” should never be capitalised, but “Measles,” its spottier cousin, should. “Rubella” works either way. We should be allowed to choose when to use lower and upper case letters; having to use a capital letter at the start of a sentence is like saying the firstborn son gets all the money, no matter how vile he is. Some words should be spelt entirely in capital letters: TORRENTIAL, BELLOWS, RIPPED, FLED, GLEEFUL.

If I were grading based purely on the story and characters, then I would give it a B+, meaning that I liked the book but not necessarily enough to read it again. I wanted to give credit to the author for her inventiveness, though, so I raised the grade to an A-. I feel like I could open this book to any page and find something that I’d enjoy reading. In fact, I tried doing exactly that. I opened the book to a random page, found something interesting, and was immediately drawn back in. That is a rare thing!

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Marshall Turns 8

Dear Marshall,

This year your birthday was so close to a graduation party, a father’s day party, and the July 4th weekend that we decided not to have a separate party for you. Instead we piggy-backed the celebration onto the father’s day party for your father’s side of the family, and onto July 4th weekend for my side of the family. We also gave you a present and some cake on your birthday. So, like Livia, you got three celebrations, which seemed only fair.

I ordered a big cake to bring to the Father’s Day party. You were supposed to go to that party while I took Livia to a separate birthday party. But then your father had to run out to take care of a work emergency, which totally changed our plans. You had to come with me and Livia to the birthday party, and then we had to pick up your cake and head over to Auntie’s house.

Well, that other birthday party was fun. There was a bouncy house. You really enjoyed that. But afterward, at the grocery store, your cake was not ready! Apparently the order never got printed, and there was no one there to decorate a cake for us. The store tried to make it up to use by giving use some free cakes and balloons. The cakes were not exactly what you wanted, and they didn’t have your name on them, but I didn’t mind having saved some cash, especially since it turned out that we didn’t need nearly as much cake as we had ordered. There were about a dozen fewer people at Auntie’s house than we had expected. That’s OK, though. I am trying to adapt to the Portuguese way, which is to always have way more food than you could possibly need.

At Auntie’s house you got to go in the swimming pool, have cake, and open presents. On your actual birthday, I gave you a big Pokemon card set. It was ridiculously expensive, but I figure that you only turn eight once. Plus, since I got your cakes for free, that pretty much paid for the gift. You loved your new cards.

The best part of your birthday celebration came later. I had topped your present, as well as the small one I got for Livia, with glow stick swords. The two of you decided that they were magic wands, and you started performing magic on Daddy. Marshall put a spell on Daddy that made it so Daddy could only say, “I am poopie!” This was just about the funniest thing ever. It had me in stitches. Then I suggested that he change the spell so that Daddy could only say, “I am EXTRA poopie!” That got me laughing so hard, I think I actually drooled. I took a little bit of video. Maybe you will get to see it later in life and laugh yourself into a drooling state, too.

Before I went to bed that night, I checked in on you. You were sleeping with the sword clasped in your hand, hugged close to your chest. You looked like an enchanted king with a magical sword. May all your birthdays be so enchanted!

Love,

Mom

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