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I woke up at around 6:30 on our first full day. Emily was enormously amused by my hand-grinding my coffee every morning, but please. Just because one is traditional does not mean one is a savage. Even if one has multiple chins when not awake enough to pose properly.
At 7, someone walked through camp announcing the “7am wake-up call!” so that everyone could make morning circle–a time for general announcements and for instructors to describe their classes for the day and where they’ll meet. I had planned to take a food preservation class with Emily, but Lily reeaaaaallly wanted to take the pottery class and I had to be there for her to take it. Not without griping, I agreed and we joined Julianna and Grace under the pottery tent. Lily stayed interested just long enough for me to get too dirty to back out, then she flitted off. It was okay, though, I really enjoyed playing in the mud.
After I’d worked on the abandoned pinch bowl for something like 40 minutes, getting it just so, Lily came dancing back in and said, “Hey, is that the bowl I made?” She decorated it(AND mussed it up. hmpf) and I moved on to make a little oil lamp that would be my own, since she was clearly going to claim the bowl.
We headed back to our sites to have lunch. I spent a bit more time setting up. I am a genius, as we all know, and I came up with the best camp idea EVER. I have tons of those 12×12 metal grid panels that you use to make storage cubes. I have them for making guinea pig cages, but I swear use them for everything from garden trellises to drying racks. I brought a stack of grids and some cable ties and constructed kitchen shelves so that I didn’t have to live out of a tub all week. I even had enough to make cubes to stash our clothes in! I’m just that cool. Emily took a pic of Michael and I (her sister-wife) on the compound:
My tents are those green and orange ones and you can see my shelves on my side of the kitchen. Re: the kitchen: Next year, we’re bringing an EZ-Up shelter so that we don’t have to cook on our knees. AND more cube thingies.
Michael is wearing overalls because HE took a “braintanning” class. Now when I saw “Braintanning” on the course list, I figured it for some kind of New Age mumbo-jumbo about expanding consciousness and/or realizing one’s potential. I forgot where I was going. Like Tobias and the Blue Man Group. Turns out, it means tanning a deer hide with boiled deer brains. Who knew? Before the Gathering, the instructor buried the hides for a month or so, so that the hair would begin to rot off. That made it easier to scrape clean.
That’s not a pee stain, it’s “deer juice.” Oh my lord the smell. I must say, though, that after the several day process of skinning and tanning he had a butter soft hide. Now he has an eye out for road kill (since he’s an urban vegetarian). There was a lot of hide-based instruction going on. There was a fur-on class that was dealing in very wee pelts like chipmunk. I’m not particularly troubled by hunting, but it took some getting used to for my kids. The crowd there was hunters and gatherers. Either folks that killed their own meat or folks that didn’t eat meat at all. Honestly, if it wouldn’t utterly scandalize my kids, I’d be interested in some of the tanning myself. I could ROCK a chipmunk bikini.
That afternoon, I started my natural wool dyeing class. I was the only student. Luckily, we combined forces for wool-washing with the wool felting class. That class had several guys in it, which came in handy for the enormous amount of water schelpping that was needed. My instructor, Molly, had about two fleeces for us (one white, one grey) and Joe, the felting instructor, had a fleece. We had to get them clean, which involved heating great tubs of water over the fire. No running water, remember, so it had to be lugged up from the lake. It came in handy to have strapping lads to hand. And I am not above playing the crone card. Really, they were very nice boys and never once grumbled about hauling what was probably 40 gallons of water up from the lake. Dreadlocks, bone through the ear, tribal tattoos and scarring, bad teeth b/c there’s no dental care off the grid, but really the salt of the earth, kind and helpful, funny and smart. I hope their mommas are proud of them b/c they are lovely men. If stinky.
ANYway. Our wool was particularly dirty and required a hot water wash and two hot rinses to be clean-ish.
That first bucket has had a first wash, but will eventually get to look like that second bucket which has had a wash and two rinses. The third bucket is the grey, which has had a wash and one rinse. After getting it clean, we had to AGAIN heat up water and put one fifth of each fleece into one of five “mordants.” In brief, they are powdered metals that will allow the dyes to bond with the wool and not fade over time. We used alum, chrome, copper, iron, and tin. Traditionally, one could use a rusty nail or a tin can, but Molly wanted to be certain we got good results and used powders she’d gotten on-line. For my part, I tried not to think about the effort I’d expended getting heavy metals out of my son’s body and plunged in. At least it wasn’t mercury, right? Although it would probably make for lovely dyes….
The process took so long that we missed evening circle, so I didn’t get to hear everyone’s introductions. We were camped very near a group of young families that intrigued us. Most of their tents were homemade and their sons were wearing loin cloths. One of the dads we called Buckskin Brad b/c he wore a buckskin suit and looked like Brad Pitt.
Buckskin Brad in flannel
It turns out that they live together in an “intentional community” (commune) and seldom come off their property. Again, you’d expect my snark to kick in, but again, lovely people. Great parents, amazing kids (you should see little Yarrow up there chop firewood with an axe!), not at all smug or judge-y. And if they aren’t judging me for being a resource consuming fatass, who am I to judge them? Oh, okay, I’d totally judge them anyway, but really? totally nice.
After putting the wool to bed, I headed back to camp and enjoyed the fire the kids had started. Totally Ben’s favorite part of the trip–starting fires. I finally let him have the knife that Uncle Bill gave him several years ago and let him get a flint and steel, so he was in full on Mountain Man mode. Steve brought marshmallows in from the Big City when he came to visit, so there were ’shmallows all around. And the stars. Oh my word, the stars. never have I seen so MANY. How could one even spot a constellation in all those stars? We turned in around 9, tired, and feeling much better about the whole thing.
Random photos from Day Two:
Ezra, Gar, Ronin, and Ben take out the canoe
How I love the birch trees!
Lily and Michael were fast friends
Lake stones
Afternoon rainbow over Lake Superior and Julianna
Where's our dinner, ma?
Cool evening clouds
In a nutshell–can’t wait to go back next year. I loved it, the kids loved it, Steve will learn to love it. Probably.
For those who weren’t paying attention, we went up the the Traditional Ways Gathering near Ashland, Wisconsin on the Bad River Indian Reservation. It is far away from here. Initially, we thought we’d split the trip more or less in half and crash with relatives in Ohio. In the end, though, we realized it would make more sense to drive as long as possible on the first day so that we didn’t arrive too tired to set up camp. Each kid had an ipod loaded with songs and books, Steve and I had a stack of Terry Pratchett books on CD and one actual book we had started on a previous trip. I read that until my voice gave out (didn’t talk normally for about 2 days) and then we switched to CDs. It makes the trip bearable, having funny books and silent children. We aren’t afraid to stop a lot to stretch legs, get drinks, etc, so it does add on some time, but well worth it in mood. Going in, we decided to go North at Michigan, cross the Upper Penninsula, and enter Wisconsin at the top. We arrived at the top of the MI mitten around dinner time. It was really nice to see the terrain change to Aspens, birch, and pine. We have the occasional sad, straggly birch in someone’s yard here, but they really are at their best in great numbers. So pretty.
I remembered the Mackinac bridge from a childhood trip as terrifying, but we crossed into the UP without terror. It is a seriously long bridge–the longest suspension bridge in the world, I think?–but I’ve become jaded crossing the Chesapeake to Delaware. St. Ignace, on the end of the UP is so cute you could die. It looks like time stopped in about 1964. There are very few chains of any sort. Most of the fast food appears to be something called “pasties.”
If we hadn’t just had a heavy and somewhat nasty meal down on the mainland, I’d have checked them out. Emily says I didn’t miss anything, that they’re just mediocre, poorly cooked dough w/vegetables (or meat) inside. But still, they were EVERYwhere, so I was curious. Note the great sign. Googie signs were the norm, with lettering of fake birch logs a close second. Lots of Native American kitsch, like gift shops with tipis on top. Sadly, it was late, so we didn’t stop in here:
Most interesting to me was that almost all the motels were the kind that drifters live in in these parts:
Look! It even has color TV!
I didn’t take these pics, as it was nightfall when we were coming through. Bless the internet. So we didn’t stay at THIS motel, but one that looked just like it (and really? It may have been this one, I don’t remember the name and they all looked much the same). By us, a motel that looks like this usually has a rusted out pick-up truck and a Nova with one red door parked in front. Here, it was just normal traveller cars. Steve was willing to push through until he dropped, but realized that we might not find an open motel office at 2 am, so we stopped around 11. The eNORmous guy in the office (so big he wheezed when he moved. And was surrounded by bags of snacks like he was Comic Book Guy) seemed happy to see us and when Steve asked how much a room was he said, “….50?” So Steve wisely asked to SEE said room, to make certain the blood stains were mostly scrubbed up. But they were perfectly clean, almost big enough to turn around in, and not so perfumey that I got a migraine. Just a wee headache. I left my pillow there by accident. grr. But in all, well worth 50 bucks.
Oh, the other thing they have on the UP? Bugs.
I still need to wash that off and give it back to Bev…
We ate at a little local place for breakfast, not particularly good, but the people were nice and had that cute accent. Then we set off across the rest of the UP. did you know that the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is 900 miles long? Neither did I. But it totally is. And unless you are in one of the 5 cute little towns, it is nothing but trees. And if you miss your turn and head South instead of West, it is even longer. I swear the second day seemed twice as long as the first, but we finally made it to the camp around 2.
It looked like rain, and we still had to go check Steve into his bed and breakfast (he forgot his wallet at home, so I needed to come along and prove he wasn’t an axe-murdering identity thief who fancies small Northern Wisconsin towns) and buy some groceries. Emily showed us where they’d saved us a spot, and I slapped the tents up and shoved all of our crap into them in case it rained while Steve and I were out. Then I abandoned the children with people they barely know and went shopping.
Steve’s B&B was aDORable and I got to use a flush toilet one last time. Bye bye running water! We went in to the local co-op and got the eggs, milk, and cheese curds that are crucial to any camping trip. Ashland is a cute town, hard to tell if it’s coming or going, though. It has that poverty/hipster mix that can throw you. Pawn shops and art galleries.
We got back (where WERE you!?!) and I set about the odious task of setting up camp from chaos. it was hot and it made me cranky. Ben and Ezra (our camp mates were friends from Minneapolis [that I met on the interwebs], Emily, Michael, Grace,and Ezra) couldn’t get along for 5 minutes, everyone wanted me to tell them where something was, the kids were changing clothes to get in the lake and then again when out, giving me the wet sandy things…I felt like maybe I’d made a huge mistake.
Evening Circle made me feel a bit better, making it feel like I was really at this place I’d been looking at pictures of for months. I still felt a bit off, though. Steve took his leave after the circle and I tried to just enjoy the campfire on the beach. We turned in around 9:00 and I fell asleep to some podcast or other, still feeling like it was going to be a loooong week.
The pool opened today, so thus begins the official End of School Madness season. Swim team practice will start next week. All three kids are going to be in a production of a musical version of The Hobbit (“Hobbit!”) in July and those rehearsals have started. 30 min. away.
This week: 4-H club mtg on Wed. Thursday night is the 6th Grade campout. Friday is the Earth Kids picnic AND the school auction.
Next week: 4-H video seminar for Julianna on Tuesday. Final mtg of my 4-H project group on Wed, followed by the 4-H showcase for the school at which my 4-H kids will be presenting their ill-thought-out persuasive speeches. Friday, Julianna’s class puts on the little ten min. play that she and Ally have written, produced, directed, and will act in. Friday night, school picnic (why is this not the same night as the auction?!?). Small Angels on Saturday. 4-H pool party and picnic on Sunday (AND hoping to make it to DE to see Brent, Andi, and Hazel and appear in a family photo).
the week after: Third grade campout, followed by 20 year college reunion (yes, old, I know). Luckily that week isn’t too nuts, since I’m ostensibly in charge of that campout and will likely be going out of my mind.
Final week of school: School ends on the 17th, which will also be the 4-H leadership project’s camp-out (Julianna and I).
And in all of that, we wedge 3 swim practices and 3 play rehearsals each week. Gah. I have carefully structured my life to not be like this, how did it happen?
I haven’t posted in a week because nothing ever felt big enough to mention…and so I guess I have little bits of lots of things (instead of lots of one! Thanks, Dairy Council).
Hm…After I made the eyeball cake, I still had the cake-making bug. I periodically decide that it is imperative that I be able to turn out a good-looking, 1950s era, delicious cake. I used a 1939 cookbook for the eyeball cake and it really was very yummy, so I went back to that well. It was a dark and cold day, so I decided to make “Daffodil Cake,” so named b/c it is yellow and white. The recipes are very short. Today, a cake recipe would give you step-by-step instructions and tell you what the mixture should look like at each point, maybe even give the science behind what you’re doing. These recipes felt more like a reality show challenge. “You have 2 eggs, 1/2 lb of sugar, 2 c of flour, a tsp. of baking soda, a pinch of salt and some vanilla. Make a cake from them.
Here’s the book:
It belonged to Steve’s grandma, acquired when they lived in WI and Grandpa was in the dairy business. It was in pristine condition and I was assured that Grandma was not a cake-baker. It’s a shame because she really had a terrific wardrobe for dancing about the kitchen with a really fluffy cake on a tray. A waste, really.
I’d never made a cooked icing, ever (my own granny just gasped in her grave–41 and never cooked a frosting? madness), so I decided to give that a whirl too. And look!
It’s like 12 inches tall. Huge. And the icing was fantatic, somewhere between meringue and divinity fudge, which is about the best place to be, in my book. The cake is tall b/c it’s really two cakes, with alternating layers. Were I inclined to make it again, I’d just make a half recipe of each (one cake is lemon, one is vanilla) and slice them in half. But look:
It was delicious as well. I had to call the Donalds up to help us eat it, though. I cannot be trusted with that much cake. Well, really, I’d have just licked all the frosting off….The yellow layer would have been yellower if I still had a chicken giving me those nice dark yolks. These modern chickens, I swear. Even the super-right-on-groovy chickens that give eggs to the co-op don’t produce the nice dark yolks of a backyard hen. Sigh.
Which brings us to: Do I get more chickens this year? I want them. The barriers: I need a coop/chicken tractor/hen house that they can get into and be safe at night. I’m just not going to go close them in every night. Which is how Mildred met her end. I’m not a good farm woman, I’m afraid. When it’s 95 degrees at 9 o’clock at night I just don’t feel like slogging down to the garden to shut in the chickens. It’s the hill you see. It’s daunting. And the lazy is strong within me. Also, we’re planning to go camping on Lake Superior this summer and that will be close to two weeks away. That’s a long time to ask a neighbor. I suppose I could pay a kid, but again, it would be best if the hens could get themselves safe in case the kid turns out to be as lazy as I. So, there’s that. But I do want chickens. bok!
The Lake Superior thing–A friend of mine is attending the Traditional Ways Gathering with her family and has urged us to come along. I was hesitant at first–white people with dredlocks tend to make me cranky–but on balance it just sounds really nice. A week on the lake, taking workshops, learning to weave reed baskets or make clay pots, canoeing on the lake. Just chilling. The notion of a week with no responsibility beyond feeding my family is quite appealing. Apparently lots of kids come, and my friends’ kids will be there, so the squids will be entertained. Not to mention woods to explore, rocks to gather. I think it will be restorative. It’s a haul, we’ll likely drive it in two days, stopping in Ohio on the way in and out–Ohio relations, you are on alert! We’ll be coming in on the 15th and out on the 22nd of August.
And in other camping news, I’ve stupidly agreed to head up planning the 3rd grade camp-out. In previous years, the teachers planned it and went with the kids, but this year they decided not to do it. Ben has been looking forward to this since he entered 1st grade. No WAY was I going to tell him it was off. So I agreed to arrange it. The teachers are unlikely to come, but at least the kids will get that rite-of-passage thing (our school has 1st-3rd grades together, so leaving 3rd is kind of a big deal, it means a New Teacher after 3 years in one classroom). I made the reservations today which nearly gave me an ulcer. I do NOT like to be The Decider. But if I’d dithered another day we’d have had to camp in someone’s driveway.
Because I just can’t get enough time with kids, I took my 4-H volunteer training last week. I’ve been doing projects with them since November of 06, but I wasn’t official yet. Apparently the training had been 2 three hour sessions in Power Point hell. The new guy, bless him, crams it into one 2.5 hour session. Having seen it, I shudder to think how it was dragged out. The high point was the sexual harrassment video made for middle schoolers in about 1991. Big hair. Big eyeglasses. Lots of flannel and super chunky shoes. And the Cool Young People who walked us through it all always said “Harrisment” instead of “ha-rass-ment” like civilized folk do. Their advice was to shout “This school has rules!” at harrisers. It seemed to shut them right down. Also, the Power Point presentation told us, on about every other slide, that being a 4-H volunteer does not make us employees of the University of Maryland. Really. It said it at LEAST 6 times. When the guy, who was pretty funny, asked if there were any questions, I had to say, “yeah. Does this make me an employee of the University of Maryland?” “As an employee of Maryland, do I get benefits?” Ah, so long since I got to be the classroom wise-ass. And hey, did you know that 4-H is part of the executive branch of the gov’t? It is. And if you want to use the logo, you should know that it is the property of the USDA. So much I learned.
Okay. That’s enough for now. That will tide you over until I have an entree to serve…
One of the guests’ dad stayed for the party to help out a bit and took some fantastic photos. These just cracked me up. enjoy.
I just love that you can see the darts pursuing them in that middle one.
My camera crapped out right at cake time, so I was happy to get this one from the nice dad:
AND we got a pre-smashed pinata shot so that you can get a good look at the full professional quality here: Slapdash ball of tissue paper, on a wire hanger, hanging from a mop, being whacked by an umbrella. We are nothing if not classy here. Did I mention I’m starting a birthday party business? I think I’m a natural.
I’ve postponed my oral surgery b/c I am still down with this virus. No sense trying to make my body recover from surgery when it’s already whipped from a virus and several days of almost no food (I’m thinking of marketing my virus on Facebook as a weight loss plan. Effortless! Guaranteed Results! No cravings! You’ll eat as much as you want! I’ll just not mention that all you want is an occasional piece of dry toast.) I’m better today, as evidenced by the fact that I’m able to string a sentence together, but still feeling oogy. Since Steve is in CA every other week, I’ll have to schedule the surgery for two weeks out. Sigh. But maybe I can get the neuro appt. moved up.
Ben’s birthday party was today, and my procrastinating really paid off b/c I was too sick to move for the 3 or 4 days prior to it. So yay. Luckily, the weather was on my side. It was over 50 today. They arrived and set to the traditional Decorating of the Pinata Bags:
Wade, Ben, and Nick
That kept them busy until all were present–8 boys, all packing Nerf heat. I had them park their weapons in the living room. Like an Old West saloon.
But a sampling. Only 4 kids were here at this point.
Then I booted them outside. I cleared the table and sent Steve out to referee. There was a lot of noise and fewer tears than I’d have expected. I sent Julianna out with the camera, so I don’t know any more about what went on than you are about to:
I think I heard of a Capture the Flag game, but Steve said it takes so long to load the guns that it was mostly a game of “Hold on! I’m not ready!” And yes, it’s true, there once were no guns in my house. Even when my child chewed his toast into the shape of a gun and used it to go Bang Bang, we had no guns. First, I tried squirt bottles. Oh, he loved his “squirters”
Seriously. Could you just EAT him?
Gradually, I allowed swords, for whatever reason. They could…be used to slice cheese, I guess. Or they’re needed for proper RenFaire attire. But I managed to keep all actual gun facsimiles out of the house. Oh, he had them stashed at the grandparents’ houses:
and had Laser Tag guns at MY folks' house.
None here though. Until the Nerf obsession. I think that it boiled down to *I* like Nerf, whereas I don’t like any of the other sorts of guns. But we’ll pretend that it has something to do with my having laid the groundwork for a non-violent outlook. And that now he’s old enough to not grow jaded by shooting things with his Nerf guns. Or something. Anyway. We got him the Nerf Vulcan, which is as big as he is.
I called them back in for cake. Here’s how sick I’ve been:
Store bought cake. Yes. 12 years in and I bought one. It was yummy, or so I guess from the tiny lick I managed before my stomach said “I don’t think so.” He also picked out a Boston Cream Pie cake, since there was an army to feed. And some of those Dippin’ dots things. bleh.
Then the present opening, which featured as assortment of ugly things like Bionicles and Bakugan:
The opening was fast and furious and looked like this:
The battery died on my camera and Julianna’s camera hates me. So most of the shots are freaky in some way.
Quick, Madame Pomfrey! Get the Skele-gro!
Then the pinata, which I did make earlier in the week, but was too ill by the time it dried to be very creative. I just slapped some red, yellow, and orange crepe paper on it and called it a fireball. What is it? It’s full of candy. Shut up and hit it.
Eventually, the families showed up to retrieve the boys. I must say it did drag as no other party has, probably b/c there was not one thing planned. Ben went out and rearranged the junk on the porch into an “obstacle course” so they played at that. But I mostly sat.
Today I’ve had one piece of dry toast, a banana, 1/4 cup of yogurt with honey, and 4 cheese ravioli. So I’m practically hale! I changed my sheets and washed my comforter cover yesterday b/c it just seemed so gross to be stewing in those germs. Likewise the couch blankets. Figured if I couldn’t find any Native Americans to give ‘em to, I may as well wash ‘em. Had the front and back doors open for about 30 min and let the wind tunnel whip around a bit. So. On the mend? Maybe?
I don’t feel good. Neither does Lily. So she’s watching Aquamarine for the 30th time and I’m here, whining. Julianna thought she was falling to the bug, but rallied. Ben has forgotten that he was ever ill and is short with those of us who are feeling a bit yucky. Us meaning Lily. Crap night of sleep. I turned in early and was out cold by 10. I was awakened around 11:30 by cries of “MOMMY! MOMMY I’m all wet!!!” Thought “crap, Lily barfed.” and leapt out of bed and ran up stairs to find Lily emerging from the bathroom with a slightly bewildered expression like “what? I was just peeing,” and she headed back to bed. Realized it was Ben doing the screaming, went over, found him asleep again, and dry. He used to wake up screaming all the time. I didn’t realize how little I missed it. That adrenaline rush that propels you from prone to upstairs in less time than it usually takes you to sit up in bed takes a while to subside.
Then I kept waking up, roasting. I’d throw off the covers, freeze, cover up, roast, repeat. over and over. Broken up only by Evil Sleep Brain saying “Remember how Bev said that the first thing the oncologist asked her was ‘Do you get night sweats?’ Yeah. Thought you did.” And Let’s All Just Get Some Sleep Brain would say, weakly, “But it can also be a sign of underlying infection or hormone imbalance. Or a flannel duvet cover.” But Evil Sleep Brain had done its work. So the pattern was roast, throw off covers, panic, doze, freeze, cover up, roast, repeat. Not restful. ESB was given a toe hold b/c of my low-lying (and generally ignored with my mad denial skillz) worry about whatever is going on with my eyes.
For a while now, I’ve been getting weird sensations in my eyes–it feels like I can’t quite control them. From the outside, no one can see anything, but to me it feels like I’m barely able to keep them from rolling around in my head. Last summer I saw the optometrist–nothing. The GP–nothing. The opthamologist–nothing. And then it kind of went away for a bit, so yay. But as of fall it was back and driving me bananas. Went to see a neurologist yesterday. I really liked him as he shared my taste in books which proves he’s a smart guy. We shared our love of audio books and our favorite readers. He confessed that he downloads them illegally (which he said while wiping his hand across his mouth in that jokey “I didn’t really say that” way). As he took my bp he said, “So, what does your husband do?” ”He’s in intellectual property law.” beat. “Nah, not really.” relief. He poked and prodded and made me walk around on my tip-toes and do math problems (I assured him that I’ve always been likely to screw that up). Then he had me look up down up down up down many time without blinking and said “Ah HA! Your eyes are misaligned!” I expressed relief that there was actually something visible going on and it wasn’t just my imagination. He said, “Well, you’re patting me on the back here, but I have no idea what it is.” So I get to have an MRI. Which I’m sure will just be FINE! FUN! Not at all leading to body part explosions or heart failure! I was supposed to go today, but Lily is home sick and, well, I’m not so great myself. So I’ll try again tomorrow morning. And will meet with the neurologist next Friday–couldn’t meet earlier because I’m–gulp–getting my wisdom teeth out on Monday.*
And my good friend Bev has just found out she has follicular lymphoma. So really, it’s a wonder I EVER sleep and a testament to the aforementioned denial skillz that I’m not on the floor in a panic attack. Because let me tell you, it didn’t take long for the relief that the doc actually saw my eyes misbehaving to give way to the realization that that means something IS wrong. And there’s a whoooole lot of somethings it could be. I’m going to assume it’s “you don’t eat enough cookies” and stay away from the Google.
*Attention all you people who have wisdom teeth. Apparently, the older you are when you get them out, the “trickier” it becomes. Did anyone tell me this in the last 20 years? No. I thought it was just a matter of hoping the tooth (which is impacted) didn’t get oogy and then break when being extracted. Oh no, the various dangers–poking through into your sinus cavity, zapping the nerve in your lower jaw–all become greater as you age. So go get them out. pronto.
Ordinarily, this time of year, you’d be reading my frantic, yet undoubtably hilarious post about Ben’s birthday party for which I am always woefully unprepared. Yet they always come off well, thus reinforcing my slack. Just like college. And, indeed, Friday morning I woke thinking “Crap, I have to do Kindergarten Art today, when am I going to make the cake/buy a gift/prepare in any way at all for the party?” And this time he’d managed to invite a pile of boys, all of whom could come. But then a miracle! He woke up sick! He even barfed! And thus, no K art, and party is moved until next week. So I have a whole 7 days to not prepare in any way. Phew. Friday I didn’t prepare by reading a book and surfing the web and doing laundry (new dryer! Woo! Dries clothes in well under 3 hours!) because we had worn everything we owned and were reduced to walking around in halloween costumes and bathrobes. Today I didn’t prepare by sewing lots o’ bags so that I can do a big push on etsy. AND I listened to most of The Mauritius Command–the 4th in the long line of very excellent sea-farin’ adventure tales to which I’m lately attached. I’m confident I can waste the rest of the week. I’m cool like that.
Oh, and Ben is fine, by the way.
The kids had off school yesterday–scheduled, not called b/c of a snowflake sighting–so we watched the inauguration together. Obama, in the end, decided not to go with my speech, which I feel was a mistake, but seemed to do okay nonetheless. I turned the TV to the local NBC affiliate at around 11:30, and was quickly sent scuttling off to C-SPAN. Oh my lord, can they not bear any second of silence? The prattling! But C-SPAN, bless ‘em, is perfectly willing to just give you the video feed with whatever ambient noise it picks up. I was left to speculate as to who that white guy in black coat and colored scarf might be, not to mention where he bought the scarf, how long ago, what his wife’s name is, and a funny anecdote about someone the newscaster knew with the same name. Just quiet. Ahh. But Steve is in CA this week, which meant I was left giving it the MST3K treatment on my own. We texted, but I suuuuuck at texting. I text like someone for whom the technology was not designed. Like your grandma trying to program her VCR. But once Cheney was rolled out in a wheelchair, I had to start poking those buttons. ”Cheney is in a wheelchair and they–no lie–just wheeled under a sign that said “Crypt” and had an arrow pointing the way they had come” Steve responded, “He is sedated. They had to hit him with a dart to get him out of the office.” But seriously, a wheelchair? Was he unable to book a litter? I think a rick-shaw would have had dash.
Of course, since we were watching C-SPAN, there was no explanation of the chair, and we were free to make up our own stories. Cheney in a PCP rage throwing office supplies at the admins who’d come to get him? That’s a good one. The video feed kept showing shots of the–holy CRAP look at all those people!–crowd and close-ups now and again. Repeatedly, we got to see an Asian girl in a knit Georgetown hat. It got to the point that something would happen and Julianna would say, “I wonder what the G hat girl is thinking of this?” From what we could tell, she mostly thought “This is cool” and “I am cold.” The temps were too low for thoughts of more than 3 words, even for a Georgetown student. We were left to notice Bill Clinton’s face as Michelle Obama walked up. To know that he was thinking, “That should be ME in the pretty green coat. ME!” To enjoy seeing George W. Bush looking like he could burst into song, he was so happy. ”See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!” To wonder if Laura Bush was going to sue her plastic surgeon.
I had told the kids that by law the President has to be sworn in by noon. The job of Prez runs from noon Jan. 20th to noon Jan 20th four years later. So as the clock ticked down and we only had a VICE president, they were getting antsy. Then, just when there was a minute left until noon, Diane Feinstein announced that she was pleased to introduce…a musical number. AUGH! What I heard of it was modern and discordant and if we were going to hear John Williams music, I think the right time was at Cheney’s entrance. But mostly I didn’t hear it b/c the squids were in an uproar. ”We have no President! There are no LAWS!” Ben told Lily to go steal my car keys and that he could drive now. Lily asked “Is it true? Are there no laws now?” Yes dear, anarchy. We are free to loot. Except that it is too cold to leave the house, which seems like a good safety valve on the part of the law-makers. I later heard that in truth, the elected one becomes Prez at noon, sworn-in or no. And apparently the Crypt isn’t all that cool, either. Really, there is no magic left in the world. Well, there IS Aretha Franklin’s hat.
I did get a bit choked up when he finally swore in. And I thought his speech was terrific, if not particularly surprising (“And as President, I declare that ”In the Air Tonight” is forbidden, upon pain of death!”). And leaving out the part about how our image is as tarnished as a corkscrew implication was a mistake. But I do love to hear that man speak. He can use his tongue purdier than a twenty dollar whore. I know that there are teleprompters right there, but he always makes it seem off the cuff and from the heart. Which, if nothing else, is a good start.
Thank you, thank you to Andi, who has led me to my calling: Presidential Speechwriter. Thanks to the Inauguration Speech Generator, I see that I am insanely gifted. I swear to you that I did not even know how my Mad Libs-style word fill-ins would be arranged And yet, behold the brilliance!
My fellow Americans, today is a festive day. You have shown the world that “hope” is not just another word for “cracker”, and that “change” is not only something we can believe in again, but something we can actually reject.
Today we celebrate, but let there be no mistake – America faces diaphanous and effervescent challenges like never before. Our economy is extra-crispy. Americans can barely afford their mortgages, let alone have enough money left over for janitors. Our healthcare system is visceral. If your elbow is sick and you don’t have insurance, you might as well call a assistant crack whore. And America’s image overseas is tarnished like a corkscrew implication. But stewing together we can right this ship, and set a course for Mall of America.
Finally, I must thank my spherical family, my hollow campaign volunteers, but most of all, I want to thank videographers for making this historic occasion possible. Of course, I must also thank you, President Bush, for years of cringing the American people. Without your bemused efforts, none of this would have been possible.
Now go make your own.
