Metrical Friday: ‘Words for Worry’ No comments yet
[I featured Li-Young Lee last year (The Gift), and Tony leads me back again. Thanks, Tony!]
Words for Worry
By Li-Young Lee
Try Again No comments yet
In the car tonight. Some off-hand comment about a fresh bowl of fruit but I meant a bowl of fresh fruit but then again you really would want a fresh bowl in either case.
I leaned over to Ian. ‘Daddy misplaced his adjectives.’
‘Wah wah wawawawa.’
Last Chance for Glory No comments yet
This is it. Your last chance.
Ian and I are leaving tonight for Omaha, to support the CCFA and my father in this weekend’s ‘Guts & Glory‘ walk. We’re still walking, and I’m still looking for (more) support. The last time I mentioned this, our team had beaten its goals and was number one in donations. We’ve still beaten our goal, but have since been steel-toed from our position in first place.
I’m not pointing fingers. I’m just saying that this is your last opportunity* to avoid being known as the freeloading skinflint who’s selfishly taken hours—hours—of laughter, tears, and enjoyment from the well-crafted and witty prose of this blog, and who callously gives nothing in return.
I’m just saying.
Please, don’t feel any obligation or shame or guilt. I just thought you’d might like to sleep at night; the sound, rejuvenating sleep of someone not steeped in remorse and self-loathing.
Have a wonderful day!
Read a story about Alec, a twelve-year-old boy with Crohn’s disease
* This is, of course, not your last chance. If not myself, then please support your local CCFA ‘Guts & Glory’ walk. And thank you all for your support!
Transform and Roll Out! No comments yet
On the trip home from Spain earlier this summer, we used our remaindered euros to buy a Mini Pod LEGO set for Ian. It was a small sports car, green and black, either from hell or a distant apocalyptic future where the dregs of humanity are fighting to overthrow the tyrannic oppression of our robotic and/or undead overlords.
Ian’s experiences with LEGOs have been accidental and haphazard. Experiments in geometrical stream-of-consciousness. LEGOs were physical manifestations of his imagination only as far as he needed them to be; function in lieu of aesthetics. A few 4×4 blocks were a battery, a car, a rocket, and a tree, sometimes in succession, sometimes simultaneously.
If he wanted a train that looked like a train, he had me. I had the instructions.
I don’t know if the Transformers helped bridge the gap, but Ian’s realized that LEGOs are better when organized. LEGO Builders Local 302. He’s recognized that, if he thinks a little, plans a little, LEGOs can turn into whatever he wants.
At dinner last Friday, the death-car had become Bumblebee. ‘Daddy? This is Bumblebee.’ Who he then broke into pieces. ‘See, now he’s changing!’
I nodded and stopped paying attention. I know, I know. But we were with friends, talking, and Ian does this all the time. ‘See, Daddy? It’s a tram!’ A block with wheels. ‘See, Daddy? It’s a house!’ A block with wheels. ‘See, Daddy? It’s a horse!’ A block with wheels.
‘See, Daddy? He’s a jet!’ And…he was. Bumblebee had changed from Kit’s demon-possessed cousin to a sleek, streamlined fighter jet. Those adjectives aren’t creative license. It was trim, well-built, symmetrical. It was cool! He’d used the wheel wells for wings, the hood for a nose, and had even added landing lights near the stern.
I think my son’s creativity was worth the price of Bumblebee’s defection to the Decepticons.
Floor Man Eats the Rye No comments yet
I and some friends saw Transformers last night.
And as I recognized Bumblebee, mirrorball dangling from his review mirror, and, later, in the midst of his frenzied skirmish with Barricade, I thought*:
It’s a shame Ian’s only four years old.
* …and then said, to my friend, Rich. But adding that bit would’ve thrown my cadence. These are the sacrifices that must be made for brilliant good adequate writing.
Metrical Friday: ‘Boy and Egg’ No comments yet
Boy and Egg
By Naomi Shihab Nye
Every few minutes, he wants
to march the trail of flattened rye grass
back to the house of muttering
hens. He too could make
a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh
it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it
to his ear while the other children
laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,
so little yet, too forgetful in games,
ready to cry if the ball brushed him,
riveted to the secret of birds
caught up inside his fist,
not ready to give it over
to the refrigerator
or the rest of the day.
Career Day No comments yet
Last weekend our public library had a party to celebrate the end of the summer reading club. Cookies and punch was served; Professor Presto was invited.
Professor Presto is one of those magicians you watch more for the off-handed jokes and puns than for the magic. I don’t find disappearing bandannas all that intriguing, but use a banana and I’m rolling on the floor.
During the show, the Professor asked for volunteers; it took a few missed opportunities for Ian to realize that he could, in fact, get a place on stage and even be part of the show. When the Professor asked for contestants for a game show, Ian raised his hands and waggled his fingers.
Ian was younger than most of the other kids, and a four-year-old probably doesn’t make the best stage assistant. What’s that rule in show business, about working with children and animals? Kelly says, ‘Don’t.’
The Professor chose two volunteers and was scanning the audience for a third when he saw Ian. He stared at Ian for a moment and put his hands at his sides. He sighed. ‘Why not? The way this show’s going, what else could go wrong?’ He took Ian’s hand, and led him to the stage.
The Professor gave each contestant a horn, which I thought was just asking for trouble. But Ian didn’t squeeze his once; his eyes, wide and sparkling, never left the Professor.
‘What do you want to be,’ asked the Professor, ‘when you grow up?’ A girl squeezed her horn. ‘A veterinarian!’
He turned to the crowd. ‘She wants to be a vetermanarian…a veternian…she wants to play with puppies!’ He pointed to the other girl. ‘What do you want to be?’
‘A lawyer!’ I think. I don’t really remember; she wasn’t my kid. My kid was bouncing on his toes, but stopped when the Professor looked in his direction. ‘And you? What do you want to be?’
Ian, beaming, shouted, ‘A bad guy!’
The Professor’s assistant looked at the audience. ‘Okay, whose kid is this?’
Thank You for Being a Friend 2 comments
The Golden Girls end credits roll, and Ian starts to sing along:
‘Another Go-olden Girrrrls. I want to wa-a-atch Golden Gir-rrrrls.’
This is either hilarious or disturbing, depending upon your opinion of Bea Arthur.
Tesla Logs No comments yet
Ian and I love browsing YouTube. Apart from old clips of The Muppet Show, Sesame Street, and addictive ear-worms (thanks a lot, Mike), there’s a plethora of neat, sciencey, Mr. Wizardesque videos. Like singing Tesla coils.
For a kid who’s terrified of ‘funderstorms’, Ian sure loves lightning. We watched this video—and others like it—several times, and he keeps asking to see it again. And again. I haven’t obliged because the last thing I want to do after work is come home and spend more time in front of a computer.
He will not be deterred.
Last night we played with Lincoln Logs: walls, barns, houses. I slipped away to read after Ian destroyed Fort Parallelogram. A few minutes later, he shouted across the room to get my attention. ‘Daddy, look!’
He’d built two tall towers of Lincoln Logs, each about one foot high. ‘See, the mans and women go through this door even though they shouldn’t ’cause it’s dangerous and the lightning will get them!’
Son, I don’t care how smart you are, or how strong your aspirations to become a renowned scientician. We will never—ever—have a Tesla coil in our backyard.
Guts and/for/to Glory 1 comment
Dear Friends:
The Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation of America is a non-profit, volunteer-driven organization dedicated to finding the cure for Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis. On Friday, 24 August, I will be visiting my father in Omaha, Nebraska, and volunteering for this year’s CCFA ‘Guts & Glory Walk ‘. I’m asking for your help.
Crohn’s disease and ulcerative colitis are the main forms of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), and aren’t well known, though they affect hundreds of thousands of people in North America alone. IBD (not to be confused with the unrelated irritable bowel syndrome) is an inflammatory condition of the large intestine, and there is no known cause or cure. It affects both adults and children alike.
A few years ago, my father began showing symptoms of IBD. He couldn’t eat, had trouble sleeping, and was in a state of constant fatigue. He was unable to work or enjoy his life for the pain and discomfort, and for the simple fear of being too far from a bathroom. Every part of his life and body had been consumed by his disease.
During his ordeal, my father found the CCFA and a local support group for those with Crohn’s disease and colitis. The friends he made and the support they provided were so important to his recovery that, when he recently retired, my father wanted to offer that same comfort to others. Last year he went to work full-time as a Development Coordinator for the the CCFA, and started the Nebraska chapter. He has just returned from Camp Oasis, a youth summer camp for children living with IBD.
The CCFA is dedicated to finding the cause and cure for Crohn’s and colitis, and offering help and hope until that goal is met. My father has made that same commitment. I’m asking for your sponsorship as I volunteer and walk later this month.
My team, the Gilberts Guts to Glory Gang, is twenty-four friends and family members who want to support my father and the CCFA. So far we’ve raised $2,200, which is far beyond the goal we set for ourselves. However there are three weeks left, and we want to see how far we can go. 82% of your donation goes to CCFA programs and services, the rest supporting fund raising and administrative costs.
Any support is appreciated, whether it’s ten-thousand dollars or a prayer. Though ten-thousand dollars would be really, really nice. If you do choose to sponsor me, you may donate online or by mail (see the online donation page for further information).
To my blogging friends: because I’m shameless and because it never hurts to ask, if any of you would be willing to donate a blog post about this, I’d be ever so appreciative. I’d thank you. Profusely.
Thank you very much, and God bless!
All the Best,
Jared
Read a story about Alec, a twelve-year-old boy with Crohn’s disease>