Wednesday, September 28, 2005

So I can finally talk about this without shuddering… much.

There I was, innocently minding my own business, reading “Freakonomics” in the bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye I saw something run by. Curie and Sagan were both napping, so I was immediately alarmed. I thought maybe it was a mouse. (This should give you an idea of the size of the thing.)

It was not a mouse. It was a centipede. It dashed into the laundry nook.

“Aahh!” I said and looked around for help. No help was in sight.

I believe in being prepared. I also believe in keeping an eye on my enemy. This presented a dilemma. I had to go find weapons without taking my eye off the creature. So I would run out of the bathroom, look around for something, anything -- where is a bazooka when I need one? -- and then race back in to see if he was still there. I did this several times.

Finally, armed with a long piece of, well, bamboo (to poke with, of course), a bottle of bathroom cleaner, and a big cup, I advanced on the laundry nook. First I took a little breather on the edge of the tub, just to get my strength up.

I poked and banged with the bamboo stick, the centipede peeked out, and I sprayed it vigorously. The first try wasn’t effective enough, and it scurried back out of reach. So I poked some more and said some baddish words and it again came out, and I was able to finish the job. I sprayed and sprayed and then swooped the cup over the carcass. I left the cup there for a while to make sure he wasn’t just faking. Then, with much shuddering, I disposed of the body.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Back in the old days, when Chris was learning to talk, I was still figuring out how to be a parent. I was really young, for one thing, and he was my third baby in 3 years. I suppose it is natural that at first I didn’t notice that he wasn’t talking much. Not much English, anyway.

When the next baby came along, Chris was two years old. He spoke two English words, Mama and hi. By this point, I was quite aware that something was … different. This was a kid who was obviously bright. He could make complicated lego structures, inventions of his own and duplicates of ones he saw. He could take anything apart.

But he didn’t speak our language. He did speak! It just wasn’t English or any other human language.

He started small. He named the guys (his brothers and dad) variations of the word Ganh. It was pronounced in the back of his throat and sounded kind of primitive. Aaron was Green Ganh. Daniel was Brown Ganh. (Now, he didn’t use the color words at all when asked “what color is this lego?”) But his brothers apparently had colors. He had several hundred of these weird constructions, which all of us understood perfectly.

Once we saw one of his “words” born. By this time, he was two years, nine months. Daniel had just started kindergarten, and I had yet to figure out a good morning routine with the kindergarten boy and his three baby siblings. So we were late getting out the door, and I was trying to hurry them to the bus stop. Up ahead I could see the bus nearly there, and we were not nearly there. So I said, “Run!”

Just as I said this, Daniel stepped hard on a manhole cover and it clanged loudly. We all laughed. (Okay, maybe it doesn’t sound funny to you, but it was early in the morning and none of us had had coffee yet.) Chris said, “Run Ganh!” and laughed, again. And runganh became … funny. Cartoons were runganh. Silly faces were runganh.

His language had a decent primitive grammar. He understood us but answered in his own language. I suppose some parents would have refused to answer unless he used the “correct” words. I’m not some parents. He was and is always his own person. I’ve since learned that his language was similar in some ways to twin languages.

Eventually, he started speaking English. He wouldn’t always have eager sibling interpreters at his side, and people out in the world didn’t understand how a thing could be “runganh”. So now he says “funny” or “humorous” or any of the synonyms he chooses.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

A few weeks ago, Greg asked the kids three questions over dinner:

Do you believe in God?
Do you believe Jesus Christ was more than a man?
Have you had an experience at any time in your life that made you realize God was real?


So there they all were. Greg and Tina and the five ‘his and hers’ kids. Greg and Tina believe. At least one of Tina’s boys believes. My three are at various stages of figuring out what they believe -- but they know that Greg wants them to believe. They knew that after Greg gave his answers in the affirmative, after hearing Tina and Christopher give their answers in the affirmative, that Greg would be hoping that they would say yes, as well. They did not want to disappoint him.

After a few minutes of silence -- a rather awkward silence, I’ve been told -- they answered truthfully. No.

I’m proud of them -- not because of their answers, but because they told the truth even though they feared their dad’s reaction. And Greg was probably disappointed, but he didn’t react with anger or frustration. They went on to talk about being kind to each other, respecting one another’s property, stuff like that. They are finding out that blending two families of teenagers is not a sitcom.

Now Em tells me this week that she thinks about faith sometimes and wonders where our souls come from. I told her I have those questions, too.

They are not model children, cut from Christian or atheist or Brady Bunch dough. They seek truth, and knowledge, and wisdom.

I am proud of them.

Friday, September 09, 2005

What should I pack in my evacuation kit? Assuming a disaster would allow me to pack my car, I have room for the animals.

A duffle bag could hold:

First aid kit (I keep a pretty decent one in the car anyway)
Water
Cash (paper and coin)
Power bars and other concentrated food
Animal food (check on concentrated forms)
Cell phone and charger
Knife
Maps
Change of clothes

I’m trying to keep the above bag carryable. Not sure if that is feasible when dealing with animals. I will think about the animal plan. I generally keep a 24 pack of liters of water in the back of the car, which is not very carryable, either.

With a little more time and space:
Photo album
Laptop (with manuscripts)
(Actually this should just be a backup on CD, I guess)

I like to be prepared.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Last night was the first meeting of the writing group. It is a quirky group. The other Odyssey grad seems like a good contact to have. He told me about a group led by Ted White near here. I’m thinking about looking into that one, too. I suppose I can’t be gone every evening.

Anyway, this group (the one from last night) will force me to produce at least two pieces a month. That alone is worth the price of admission. Well, the price of gasoline, anyway.