Turn Up That Radio!

(a holiday denouement)

Homeward turning now
  current signals scattering
  reforming to remembered
rhythms, structures to always
  keep, hold, repeat, ad infinitum

The dial seeks the station
  always there on a dark highway
  one thinks, hardly thinks
to just hone in is all - crumbling
 husks of time, distance, difference

A red needle wavers, searches one
  notch over, one notch back, somewhere
  between the notches
a change is in these voices telling
  stories not ours together

Intersections, supported themes, assumptions
  disintegrate to static shuffles
  unclear murmurs, moody fragments,
puzzling the listener expecting ease
  who, what, where, ungainly reacquainting

Straining hard for tones expected
  an infantile rage embarrasses
  angered at the ragged sounds
through wires and air contorting
  familial language never thought to fade

Another Look at Childhood

Can we blame the child for resenting the fantasy of largeness? Big, soft arms and deep voices in the dark saying, "Tell Papa, tell Mama, and we'll make it right." The child, screaming for refuge, senses how feeble a shelter the twig hut of grown-up awareness is. They claim strength, these parents, and complete sanctuary. The weeping earth itself knows how desperate is the child's need for exactly this sanctuary. How deep and sticky is the darkness of childhood, how rigid the blades of infant evil, which is unadulterated, unrestrained by the convenient cushions of age and its civilizing anesthesia.

Grownups can deal with scraped knees, dropped ice-cream cones, and lost dollies, but if they suspected the real reasons we cry they would fling us out of their arms in horrified revulsion. Yet we are small and as terrified as we are terrifying in our ferocious appetites--We survive until, by sheer stamina, we escape in to the dim innocence of our own adulthood and its forgetfulness.

Geek Love, Katherine Dunn

The best thing about imaginary children is they're just so easy to take care of....

Buddy Cole on his seven-year-old, six-foot-tall, imaginary daughter:

"She’s a handful. She hates school. Lately she‘s refused to go. She says she wants to be homeschooled, which I am completely against. I knew a girl who was homeschooled and she was a cannibal; she never learned that other people weren’t food."

And I thought I was the only one who had trouble with that!

Photo courtesy of Kyle Jones: http://justkyle.com/

The REAL Dilemma

I was on a run with a friend yesterday and something came up about lard. Pig fat. Friend (who is a purveyor of quality lard in her homemade tamales) sighed and said, "Pigs make me sad."

I briefly attempted to figure out the context but then asked her to clarify.
She said it made her sad that she likes pork products so much since pigs are such friendly, intelligent creatures.
Do you feel the same about cows? I ask.
Well, yes, she replies.
But what about fish?
Oh, I am totally fine eating fish! she says with enthusiasm, there's nothing cute about fish!
Uh, huh, I say.

So, I query, could we say that you are a 'cute-itarian' in your food choices?

I give us props for continuing to run in spite of breakdown giggling.

Yes, she cries, that's it! I am! I am a cute-itarian! Which is also why I won't watch the Sopranos anymore. There's nothing cute about any of those characters!

.

No NO no!!!!

I'm having a problem. Please compare this year's Christmas lists from my niece and nephew to last year's: http://ephemeraeverywhere.blogspot.com/2006_12_01_archive.html.

The reader will not fail to see a--gulp--maturing. Last year, Galen wanted, among other things, a coconut and a Batman fishing pole. This year-gah! a chess set?? Science experiments??? drums???? This is not squishy little kid territory. This is little man territory--like he's growing up. Batman, however, is still a needful thing. From what I've observed, Batman is always a needful thing, regardless of age.

Ev. Well, the rabid desire for pink has diminshed, but there is a particularness that is frightening. My time of impressing them with aunt-ly wonder is quickly coming to a close. There is a sorrow therein.

Evelyn’s List:
Dress up dress (long down to the floor)
Make up
Fairy or mermaid or princess anything
Play soft (plush, stuffed) ice cream set
White tea set w/ red flowers
Yellow chick with a chirping motor
Pink flower lights (like Christmas)
Ariel or Jasmine costume
Mellissa and Doug (brand) Birthday Cake (toy)
Fairy picture

Galen’s List:
Hot wheels crash set (like at Grandma & Papa’s house)
Science kits (electricity, chemistry, etc.)
Rocket
Woodworking tools
Wood kit (bird house, etc.)
Drum set
Computer
Batman dress-up w/ muscles
Drill set
Chess set

Imitating Life

I made this embroidered picture based on one of my favorite pieces of graffiti, which has now been painted over.



I don't know why I like him so much, but he's now the patron protector of my bookcases, roaring at anyone who would think of taking a book without being given the appropriate clearance.

Dignity

Inconsolable Grief, Ivan Kramskoy

We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when we have quarrelled, express ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in this way preserve a dignified alienation, showing much firmness on one side, and swallowing grief on the other.

We no longer approximate our behaviour to the mere impulsiveness of the lower animals, but conduct ourselves in every respect like members of a highly civilised society.

The Mill and the Floss, George Eliot