He's my first online guy. Blond, muscular, handsome features, a little bad boy in him but mostly sweet, 4 and a half. (or 32, in people years). His name is Harpo.
It's been over a year since Wiley died. The (human) boys have been begging for a dog for months. We put it off. Winter. Tucker. Australia. Jordy and I wanted one too, but were we up to another critter to care for? We had to admit, our pet-less year had provided certain freedoms in our otherwise constrained lives of present. But Jordy was back from Australia and our excuses had run out.
I looked at shelter websites all over the New York area but found Harpo just down the hill at the Sean Casey Animal Rescue Center. He was my top pick, based on looks and profile. I'm a sucker for that tilted-head, goofy look on a guy. He was old enough to be past puppy issues; young enough to be unlikely to die in the next 3-5 years.
I resolved to meet him on my own before introducing the rest of my guys, not wanting to encourage premature attachments. My entrance to the dog unit set off a cacophony -- frantic dogs barking, wildly leaping from side to side in their cages. In the far corner one dog lay quietly, not a whimper or a wiggle. He just looked up, tilted-head, goofy but also sad get-me-outta-here eyes.
The next day all five of us took him for a walk. Tucker howled with frustration when we wouldn't let him hold the leash by himself. (He wasn't receptive to the he-weighs-60-pounds, you-weigh-28 argument.) Everyone but Reeve wanted him instantly. What do you think, Reeve? "His eyes are too worried, like Wiley's." But finally Reeve came around, concluding after much thought that dogs must just have worried eyes, and maybe he wouldn't be so worried if he came to live with us.
***
Harpo is uncannily Wiley-like in many ways, just dipped in yellow. His build, the flop of the ears when he trots. When it comes to dogs, I guess I have a type. So he surprises me when he's not Wiley, for better -- no interest in trash, not even candy! -- or worse --biting through the no-pull harness, pacing at 5:45am needing to relieve himself, then howling with excitement when you reach for the leash (three boys untimely ripped from slumber = not pretty), enjoying 45, 50, 60 minute walks with no action, then pooping in the living room as soon as we're home, etc.
We thought Wiley was a handful, but we never really taught him to poop on walks -- he just did it. What do we do now? We didn't teach him not to eat through his harness -- he just didn't. But lest we forget, the first 18 months of Wiley's residence with us was no walk in the park. He bit an old man. He ate every sweater I had. He whizzed all over the house the first day. He'd bolt when we needed to leave the house. We had to partition the house to resolve the cat/dog turf war, turning the bedroom into a restricted West Bank for our depressed cats. Somehow by the time Duncan arrived, it all worked out. No whizzing, no chewing, no partitions.
So who is this guy? What now? What will our story be?
Our neighbors are none too excited about Harpo's arrival; he is suffering the unfair burden of a disputed history over appropriate uses of a back yard. Even the best-intentioned friends say, "Just what you needed! As if you didn't have your hands full enough with three little boys."
But when I doubt the sanity of taking an animal into our home, I watch Tucker curl up next to Harpo, stroking his head and saying his name again and again like an incantation of love... "Hahpo! Hahpo! Hahpo! Hahpo!" and (all 27 inches of) Tucker carrying Harpo's dog dish ever so carefully to give him dinner. I remember how Duncan begs for Harpo to escort him to the bus and how he looks for Harpo from the bus in the afternoon. I love the scratch of his nails on the wood floor, the sigh when he settles onto Wiley's old dog bed for the night (and he's a great sleeper), and the fact that I have someone to give the tasty chicken drippings to again on Shabbat while Wiley looks down from heaven, dripping envious drool.
The first night Harpo was here, he wanted nothing more than to be in the middle of the sleeping action (yes, even sleep is an action in this household), trying to get into every boy's bed. Every night we sing "I love you..." to the tune of Happy Birthday to each boy; that night we also sang to Harpo whereupon Reeve, enthusiastic but still guarded in response to Harpo, burst into tears. "I miss Wiley so much!" he sobbed. Duncan burst instantly into tears as well, "Me too!" and Tucker too, just to make sure he wasn't left out of whatever it was we were crying about. They asked the unanswerable questions about life and death and dogs, finally agreeing that loving and losing is definitely better than not loving at all.
They assured Harpo they were ready to love him too, and off four boys drifted to sleep.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Lou on the Loose: A Reality Show
Premise:
"Lou on the Loose" will feature TUCKER "LOU" GREEN, a recently TWO-year old boy, known by his family to "pack a lot of person in a little package." A highly active boy who mastered walking, running, and climbing before his 1st birthday, at 2 Lou's curiosity takes an exceptionally task- and process-orientation, with both exciting and hazardous results.
Series Description:
The suspense and humor of the series will live in the tense space between his parents' pride at their son's intellectual ambition and the real disasters that ensue from his exploits. In each episode, we will set LOU ON THE LOOSE in a new location, benign to the casual observer but – as viewers will come to anticipate – thrilling new turf for Lou. Thrilling too for Lou's parents, whose gratitude at his engagement on a task, coupled with a vaguely isn't-this-a-great-Montessori-learning-exploration rationalization, overwhelm their better judgement. Inevitably distracted, his parents lose track of Lou just long enough for DISASTER to strike. At the end of each episode, Lou's humbled parents confess their errors, learn from their mistakes, and swear never to let it happen again. Until the next episode.
EPISODE #1 (PILOT): LOU ON THE LOOSE IN THE BATHROOM
It's the morning rush. Two big brothers need to be fed, dressed, teeth brushed, jackets-hats-and-shoes on in time to meet the bus. Lou is roaming the kitchen, taking his brother REEVE's favorite "guy" and calling it "mine," throwing scrambled eggs across the room, etc. When big brother DUNCAN goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, MOM and DAD's relief that Lou follows makes them turn a blind eye when only Duncan re-emerges from the bathroom moments later. Off-screen we hear the WATER still running in the bathroom...
We cross-cut between the FRONT HALL where Mom and Dad tie ratty show laces (that really need replacing, must remember), zip parkas (wow, these coats are filthy, must remember to wash) and try to tame wild cases of bed-head, and the BATHROOM where LOU IS ON THE LOOSE.
Standing on the toilet to better reach the sink, Lou has uncapped the toothpaste and is decorating the perimeter of the sink in sparkly blue gel. This task accomplished, he moves on to an experiment in hydro-paper dynamics, in which he stops up the drain, fills the bathroom sink to the brim, and empties an entire box of Kleenex into the water one sheet at a time. The tissues make beautiful gauzy swirls as he waves his hands through the water. "Mo!" (more) he says to himself, looking at the empty box with furrowed brow. So he scales the shelves for a new roll of toilet paper, extracts it from the Scott tissue wrap (which he adds to his pool - blue! pretty!), and begins to unroll the toilet paper when he hears his Mom returning to check on him. He feigns innocence as she rounds the corner, panic-stricken as she registers the sink full of pulpy white soup with still-running water. "Lou, what have you gotten in to NOW?" she exclaims. She swoops him off the toilet, opens it and begins to scoop whatever bits of wet mush still cohere into the toilet bowl. "We don't put paper in the sink, Lou! Paper is for wiping, and blowing," she tries to explain, failing to contain her exasperation. He stamps his feet in protest, yelling "No!" as his creation flushes away.
The episode ends with Lou's parents seated side-by-side, interviewed by an omniscient off-screen FAMILY THERAPIST who asks them questions such as, "How could you have better engaged Lou's curiosity?" or "What part of this disaster was your responsibility?" or "Toilets are very slippery; how would you have explained your decision-making process to Child Services if Lou had been gravely injured?" The parents mumble well-intentioned, self-depracating answers with promises that tomorrow they will do better.
ADDITIONAL EPISODES:
#2: LOU ON THE LOOSE IN THE KITCHEN
Involving beer bottles, can openers, boiling water and carving knives
#3: LOU ON THE LOOSE ON PROSPECT PARK WEST
Involving refusal to ride in the stroller, a flat tire, a Two-year old runaway and heavy traffic
#4: LOU ON THE LOOSE AT THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE
Involving a very long wait; an altercation over another boy's Matchbox cars; and a desperate diversion involving an iPhone including nonsensical emails sent to Mommy's work clients, deletion of her contacts and memos, and the disappearance of essential Apps
#5: LOU ON THE LOOSE AT TRADER JOE'S
Involving a lot of screaming, inarticulate demands for this, that and the other thing, an ineffectual "seatbelt" on a grocery cart, innocent victims of flying frozen peas, and a TJ's Associate who talks like a duck
#6: LOU ON THE LOOSE AT LOWE'S
Involving the demise of tomato seedlings, impact testing of lightbulbs, an APB over the PA for a missing Two-year old, self-expression with spray paint, and a ride on a forklift
#7: LOU BACK ON THE LOOSE IN THE BATHROOM
Involving experiments in flushing, such as Lego pieces, rubber lizards, Thomas the Tank Engine trains, and ballon pumpers; a basement backed up with black water; and an emergency visit from Andrew, the Metaphysical Plumber
"Lou on the Loose" will feature TUCKER "LOU" GREEN, a recently TWO-year old boy, known by his family to "pack a lot of person in a little package." A highly active boy who mastered walking, running, and climbing before his 1st birthday, at 2 Lou's curiosity takes an exceptionally task- and process-orientation, with both exciting and hazardous results.
Series Description:
The suspense and humor of the series will live in the tense space between his parents' pride at their son's intellectual ambition and the real disasters that ensue from his exploits. In each episode, we will set LOU ON THE LOOSE in a new location, benign to the casual observer but – as viewers will come to anticipate – thrilling new turf for Lou. Thrilling too for Lou's parents, whose gratitude at his engagement on a task, coupled with a vaguely isn't-this-a-great-Montessori-learning-exploration rationalization, overwhelm their better judgement. Inevitably distracted, his parents lose track of Lou just long enough for DISASTER to strike. At the end of each episode, Lou's humbled parents confess their errors, learn from their mistakes, and swear never to let it happen again. Until the next episode.
EPISODE #1 (PILOT): LOU ON THE LOOSE IN THE BATHROOM
It's the morning rush. Two big brothers need to be fed, dressed, teeth brushed, jackets-hats-and-shoes on in time to meet the bus. Lou is roaming the kitchen, taking his brother REEVE's favorite "guy" and calling it "mine," throwing scrambled eggs across the room, etc. When big brother DUNCAN goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, MOM and DAD's relief that Lou follows makes them turn a blind eye when only Duncan re-emerges from the bathroom moments later. Off-screen we hear the WATER still running in the bathroom...
We cross-cut between the FRONT HALL where Mom and Dad tie ratty show laces (that really need replacing, must remember), zip parkas (wow, these coats are filthy, must remember to wash) and try to tame wild cases of bed-head, and the BATHROOM where LOU IS ON THE LOOSE.
Standing on the toilet to better reach the sink, Lou has uncapped the toothpaste and is decorating the perimeter of the sink in sparkly blue gel. This task accomplished, he moves on to an experiment in hydro-paper dynamics, in which he stops up the drain, fills the bathroom sink to the brim, and empties an entire box of Kleenex into the water one sheet at a time. The tissues make beautiful gauzy swirls as he waves his hands through the water. "Mo!" (more) he says to himself, looking at the empty box with furrowed brow. So he scales the shelves for a new roll of toilet paper, extracts it from the Scott tissue wrap (which he adds to his pool - blue! pretty!), and begins to unroll the toilet paper when he hears his Mom returning to check on him. He feigns innocence as she rounds the corner, panic-stricken as she registers the sink full of pulpy white soup with still-running water. "Lou, what have you gotten in to NOW?" she exclaims. She swoops him off the toilet, opens it and begins to scoop whatever bits of wet mush still cohere into the toilet bowl. "We don't put paper in the sink, Lou! Paper is for wiping, and blowing," she tries to explain, failing to contain her exasperation. He stamps his feet in protest, yelling "No!" as his creation flushes away.
The episode ends with Lou's parents seated side-by-side, interviewed by an omniscient off-screen FAMILY THERAPIST who asks them questions such as, "How could you have better engaged Lou's curiosity?" or "What part of this disaster was your responsibility?" or "Toilets are very slippery; how would you have explained your decision-making process to Child Services if Lou had been gravely injured?" The parents mumble well-intentioned, self-depracating answers with promises that tomorrow they will do better.
ADDITIONAL EPISODES:
#2: LOU ON THE LOOSE IN THE KITCHEN
Involving beer bottles, can openers, boiling water and carving knives
#3: LOU ON THE LOOSE ON PROSPECT PARK WEST
Involving refusal to ride in the stroller, a flat tire, a Two-year old runaway and heavy traffic
#4: LOU ON THE LOOSE AT THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE
Involving a very long wait; an altercation over another boy's Matchbox cars; and a desperate diversion involving an iPhone including nonsensical emails sent to Mommy's work clients, deletion of her contacts and memos, and the disappearance of essential Apps
#5: LOU ON THE LOOSE AT TRADER JOE'S
Involving a lot of screaming, inarticulate demands for this, that and the other thing, an ineffectual "seatbelt" on a grocery cart, innocent victims of flying frozen peas, and a TJ's Associate who talks like a duck
#6: LOU ON THE LOOSE AT LOWE'S
Involving the demise of tomato seedlings, impact testing of lightbulbs, an APB over the PA for a missing Two-year old, self-expression with spray paint, and a ride on a forklift
#7: LOU BACK ON THE LOOSE IN THE BATHROOM
Involving experiments in flushing, such as Lego pieces, rubber lizards, Thomas the Tank Engine trains, and ballon pumpers; a basement backed up with black water; and an emergency visit from Andrew, the Metaphysical Plumber
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Symphony in G major
ALLEGRO
Pidder pat pidder pat
Which one is it? Ma-ma? You got him? Thanks. CRY. Silence. Drifting...
Pidder pat pidder pat
Mommy, I had a bad dream. Back to bed. Snuggle. Drifting...
Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle wiggle wiggle. Time for sleeping. I can't. You can. Twitch.
Still. Sharp CRY. Up. Get him out before others wake. Is he pulling on his ear? Where's the medicine dropper? Mum mum!
Nurse nurse nurse. Drifting... STARTLE. 6:40.
Wake up! Wake up! Long sleeves, cold day, sweats in wash, settle for jeans. NO! YES.
Milk first, then honey. Sausages. Eat! I am!
GRRRRRRinding coffee. WHEEEE tea kettle. Fish sticks and apple sauce. Where have all the water bottles gone? Shoes! Shoes! Eat! Eat! I am! I am! Brush teeth, jacket. Backpack. No time for fooling! Let's go!
Street, cold, dark, trash. A bus. Passes. Another. Another. Cold, dark, windy. Three maybe five minutes to find out what So-and-so did at lunch yesterday, or did you know we have to have Gym in our classrooms this week? So unfair.
Blinking lights, hugs, kisses blown through the window, little faces disappear.
Can I have a snuggle on the coach? Ma-ma! More fish sticks and apple sauce. Cheese sticks and pretzels. Thermoses and little boxes. Bananas bananas bananas. I want a waffle! How do you ask? Please? With maple syrup, and a sausage. I want a boiled egg! I want Shrek cereal! Time to get dressed. But I need a red shirt! Harry Potter wears a red shirt when he's on his Quidditch!
Why are we rushing? Because we're late again! Why are we always late? I don't know. Jackets! Hats! Backpacks! In the stroller. EW! Tucker has a poop! Do you have a poop? No! SNIFF. Yes. Jackets off. Upstairs we go. Wiggle wiggle, roll over, escape. Pin. SCREAM. Wipe. JACKETS.
In stroller we go. NO! Arch back arch back NO NO NO! Run to the corner, then in. Run run run run run, WIPE OUT. Ahhhh! Boo-boo check? Kiss kiss, good as new. Run run run run run.
Billy on street corner. VRRRRMMMM, bus. Did you know that an octopus squirts ink to hide from the shark so he can't find him to eat him- VRRRRRMMM, street cleaner.
Park. Joggers, bikers, strollers, scooters. Breathe. Sky. Wind. I spy with my eagle eye. Knock knock, who's there? Ach... Gezuntit! Hahahaha.. Mama, nana! More banana?
Drop off, good morning! Who are we today? Superman? Harry Potter? Welcome to Red town! Blue town! We're going to make challah! Have a good day. Bye bye Mama! See you later! I love you. I love you. I love you.
ANDANTE
Walk home. Walk. Check email. Walk. Text. Walk.
MODERATTO
Tea, desk, tap tap tap tap, blog blog, email email email. Phone call this, phone call that.
Change laundry. Clean up kitchen. Phone call this, phone call that. Post office. Change laundry. Email email email email.
Photos. Still. Sad boy. Excited boy. Laughing boy. Big boy. Tiny boy. Hot on mountain top. Cold in blizzard. Chasing, flying, swinging, swimming. I can see the boys they used to be.
Write. Email. Text. Change laundry.
Jacket. Walk walk walk. Phone call. Walk. Pick up #1. How was his day? He ate beans, rice, grapes, yogurt... He make a poo poo. Again? Heavy lids. Succumbs to stroller. Out...
Bump up, bump up, bump up, bump up... Wheel in house. Deep breathing.
Heat left-overs. Email, text, email, bills, to-do. Phone call. Still sleeping. Email, text, change laundry.
2:55?!
PRESTO
BUMP BUMP BUMP, back down stairs stroller goes.
RUN MAMA RUN. Slalom stroller through Bishop Ford kids. Past park. Joggers, bikers, blurr. Check clock. Text while running. Sweat.
PICK UP #2. How was your day? Good. We made Rainbow cake, and ate TWO pieces! Great!
Bananas bananas yogurt yogurt granola bars. Playground. Blast-off! No throwing sand! Share! Cheese sticks. Veggie booty. Five more minutes!
HUSTLE. Park. Joggers, bikers, blurr. Sun in eyes. Mommy, my chicks! Yellow buses pass. Duncan's? HUSTLE HUSTLE. Check clock. HUSTLE. Text - r u at bus stop? Running late. No answer. Sweat.
Joe's Pizza. Blinking lights. Hi, sweetie! How was your day? Good. Can we have a playdate with Ava? Can we play Zoombinis? Can I have a playdate with Charlie? Can we watch Nemo?
ADAGIO
First, snack. Then homework. AW! Rice cakes, cheese sticks, carrots, grapes. Sharpen pencil. Head bowed over table.
Superman makes a rescue, or Harry Potter flies a car while Lou disassembles the fridge or steals iphone ("po") for a TED talk or music video.
Markers and coloring books. Playdough and clay. Dry ingredients and wet ingredients. Cookies. What should we make for-
ALLEGRETTO
He took my-! He hit my-! GIVE ME THAT! CRY. Is that how we handle it? Do you need a time out? Try again nicely. Offer a trade. Let him have a turn. Try that again? How can you ask nicely? You can solve this problem. If you don't find a way to work it out, there won't be any XYZ... When is Daddy getting home? Soon. AW.
Itadakimasu, Yoedvadyotkivanuk. Dinner. Use a utensil. Knees stay under the table. Don't lean on me. Did we say thank you for this great dinner? Thank you. But it's not my taste. Can I have more milk? Three more bites. How many? Snarf. But I don't like peas! Have you been excused? I have to use the bathroom! Can I have some more milk? You just had some- Tucker, milk is not for pouring on your dinner! Giggles giggles. Eat. How was your day? Mortgage this, boss that, teachers-- Daddy! Did you notice he was talking? Sorry! Remember to say excuse me. Work this, that- EXCUSE ME! And wait for an opening- GUESS WHAT?! (surrender) What? (More wine?)
Bath time! Five more minutes! Legos. Markers. Flying cars and quidditch sticks. Bath time! But we had a bath last night! Bath time. Aw.
Splash splash splash. Bum bum this, bum bum that. Spit. NO SPITTING. Shampoo. But my boo-boo hurts! Brush teeth. Open up... Wiggle wiggle roll, pig pile! Hahahaha! Open so I can reach back teeth. Tongue? Enough, out. Out! No jumping, slippery! Pajamas. But I can't find my superman undies!
Choose your books. SNOW. Wow, you read it yourself, Reeve! Wiggle wiggle. Mummum! Mummum! Pig pile. Doggie Peekaboo. That's right, there's silly doggie! HP3. What's that word? "Persuade." Daddy, I read the first page of chapter twelve by myself! Wiggle wiggle. Lunge. Fly. But I want a snuggle! You will have one. That's all for tonight. Just two more pages! PLEASE! Grimace. Protest protest. Bed time.
LARGO
Lou dinner take 2 with Choo Choo downstairs with Daddy. Big boys in Bed. Sing- I Love you, Reevie- I mean, Harry! I love you, Harry!.... Shalom Aleichem. Snuggle snuggle, I'm sorry for when we had tough words this afternoon, me too, I love you, I love you too, sweet dreams. Sing again- I love you, Duncan, I love you, I love ... I need tissues! Water. Have to go pee pee. Snuggle snuggle. I love you, I love you too.
Lou. Mum mum. Snuggle. Water bottle. Climb, crawl, giggle, lunge, sigh, lie, sleep.
Sleep.
Pidder pat pidder pat...
Pidder pat pidder pat
Which one is it? Ma-ma? You got him? Thanks. CRY. Silence. Drifting...
Pidder pat pidder pat
Mommy, I had a bad dream. Back to bed. Snuggle. Drifting...
Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle wiggle wiggle. Time for sleeping. I can't. You can. Twitch.
Still. Sharp CRY. Up. Get him out before others wake. Is he pulling on his ear? Where's the medicine dropper? Mum mum!
Nurse nurse nurse. Drifting... STARTLE. 6:40.
Wake up! Wake up! Long sleeves, cold day, sweats in wash, settle for jeans. NO! YES.
Milk first, then honey. Sausages. Eat! I am!
GRRRRRRinding coffee. WHEEEE tea kettle. Fish sticks and apple sauce. Where have all the water bottles gone? Shoes! Shoes! Eat! Eat! I am! I am! Brush teeth, jacket. Backpack. No time for fooling! Let's go!
Street, cold, dark, trash. A bus. Passes. Another. Another. Cold, dark, windy. Three maybe five minutes to find out what So-and-so did at lunch yesterday, or did you know we have to have Gym in our classrooms this week? So unfair.
Blinking lights, hugs, kisses blown through the window, little faces disappear.
Can I have a snuggle on the coach? Ma-ma! More fish sticks and apple sauce. Cheese sticks and pretzels. Thermoses and little boxes. Bananas bananas bananas. I want a waffle! How do you ask? Please? With maple syrup, and a sausage. I want a boiled egg! I want Shrek cereal! Time to get dressed. But I need a red shirt! Harry Potter wears a red shirt when he's on his Quidditch!
Why are we rushing? Because we're late again! Why are we always late? I don't know. Jackets! Hats! Backpacks! In the stroller. EW! Tucker has a poop! Do you have a poop? No! SNIFF. Yes. Jackets off. Upstairs we go. Wiggle wiggle, roll over, escape. Pin. SCREAM. Wipe. JACKETS.
In stroller we go. NO! Arch back arch back NO NO NO! Run to the corner, then in. Run run run run run, WIPE OUT. Ahhhh! Boo-boo check? Kiss kiss, good as new. Run run run run run.
Billy on street corner. VRRRRMMMM, bus. Did you know that an octopus squirts ink to hide from the shark so he can't find him to eat him- VRRRRRMMM, street cleaner.
Park. Joggers, bikers, strollers, scooters. Breathe. Sky. Wind. I spy with my eagle eye. Knock knock, who's there? Ach... Gezuntit! Hahahaha.. Mama, nana! More banana?
Drop off, good morning! Who are we today? Superman? Harry Potter? Welcome to Red town! Blue town! We're going to make challah! Have a good day. Bye bye Mama! See you later! I love you. I love you. I love you.
ANDANTE
Walk home. Walk. Check email. Walk. Text. Walk.
MODERATTO
Tea, desk, tap tap tap tap, blog blog, email email email. Phone call this, phone call that.
Change laundry. Clean up kitchen. Phone call this, phone call that. Post office. Change laundry. Email email email email.
Photos. Still. Sad boy. Excited boy. Laughing boy. Big boy. Tiny boy. Hot on mountain top. Cold in blizzard. Chasing, flying, swinging, swimming. I can see the boys they used to be.
Write. Email. Text. Change laundry.
Jacket. Walk walk walk. Phone call. Walk. Pick up #1. How was his day? He ate beans, rice, grapes, yogurt... He make a poo poo. Again? Heavy lids. Succumbs to stroller. Out...
Bump up, bump up, bump up, bump up... Wheel in house. Deep breathing.
Heat left-overs. Email, text, email, bills, to-do. Phone call. Still sleeping. Email, text, change laundry.
2:55?!
PRESTO
BUMP BUMP BUMP, back down stairs stroller goes.
RUN MAMA RUN. Slalom stroller through Bishop Ford kids. Past park. Joggers, bikers, blurr. Check clock. Text while running. Sweat.
PICK UP #2. How was your day? Good. We made Rainbow cake, and ate TWO pieces! Great!
Bananas bananas yogurt yogurt granola bars. Playground. Blast-off! No throwing sand! Share! Cheese sticks. Veggie booty. Five more minutes!
HUSTLE. Park. Joggers, bikers, blurr. Sun in eyes. Mommy, my chicks! Yellow buses pass. Duncan's? HUSTLE HUSTLE. Check clock. HUSTLE. Text - r u at bus stop? Running late. No answer. Sweat.
Joe's Pizza. Blinking lights. Hi, sweetie! How was your day? Good. Can we have a playdate with Ava? Can we play Zoombinis? Can I have a playdate with Charlie? Can we watch Nemo?
ADAGIO
First, snack. Then homework. AW! Rice cakes, cheese sticks, carrots, grapes. Sharpen pencil. Head bowed over table.
Superman makes a rescue, or Harry Potter flies a car while Lou disassembles the fridge or steals iphone ("po") for a TED talk or music video.
Markers and coloring books. Playdough and clay. Dry ingredients and wet ingredients. Cookies. What should we make for-
ALLEGRETTO
He took my-! He hit my-! GIVE ME THAT! CRY. Is that how we handle it? Do you need a time out? Try again nicely. Offer a trade. Let him have a turn. Try that again? How can you ask nicely? You can solve this problem. If you don't find a way to work it out, there won't be any XYZ... When is Daddy getting home? Soon. AW.
Itadakimasu, Yoedvadyotkivanuk. Dinner. Use a utensil. Knees stay under the table. Don't lean on me. Did we say thank you for this great dinner? Thank you. But it's not my taste. Can I have more milk? Three more bites. How many? Snarf. But I don't like peas! Have you been excused? I have to use the bathroom! Can I have some more milk? You just had some- Tucker, milk is not for pouring on your dinner! Giggles giggles. Eat. How was your day? Mortgage this, boss that, teachers-- Daddy! Did you notice he was talking? Sorry! Remember to say excuse me. Work this, that- EXCUSE ME! And wait for an opening- GUESS WHAT?! (surrender) What? (More wine?)
Bath time! Five more minutes! Legos. Markers. Flying cars and quidditch sticks. Bath time! But we had a bath last night! Bath time. Aw.
Splash splash splash. Bum bum this, bum bum that. Spit. NO SPITTING. Shampoo. But my boo-boo hurts! Brush teeth. Open up... Wiggle wiggle roll, pig pile! Hahahaha! Open so I can reach back teeth. Tongue? Enough, out. Out! No jumping, slippery! Pajamas. But I can't find my superman undies!
Choose your books. SNOW. Wow, you read it yourself, Reeve! Wiggle wiggle. Mummum! Mummum! Pig pile. Doggie Peekaboo. That's right, there's silly doggie! HP3. What's that word? "Persuade." Daddy, I read the first page of chapter twelve by myself! Wiggle wiggle. Lunge. Fly. But I want a snuggle! You will have one. That's all for tonight. Just two more pages! PLEASE! Grimace. Protest protest. Bed time.
LARGO
Lou dinner take 2 with Choo Choo downstairs with Daddy. Big boys in Bed. Sing- I Love you, Reevie- I mean, Harry! I love you, Harry!.... Shalom Aleichem. Snuggle snuggle, I'm sorry for when we had tough words this afternoon, me too, I love you, I love you too, sweet dreams. Sing again- I love you, Duncan, I love you, I love ... I need tissues! Water. Have to go pee pee. Snuggle snuggle. I love you, I love you too.
Lou. Mum mum. Snuggle. Water bottle. Climb, crawl, giggle, lunge, sigh, lie, sleep.
Sleep.
Pidder pat pidder pat...
Monday, January 9, 2012
Around the Bend
When we were finishing the film about Mr. Jimmy Moore, my composer, John Keith, had the great idea to base the musical score on Mr. Jimmy's own footsteps. John sampled his footfalls, using Jimmy's natural rhythm to give rise to the film's up-beat sound.
This May I got nervous as I searched for Mr. Jimmy on the crowded fluorescent-lit corridor at the VA nursing home. The residents who could walk shuffled, gripping rails along the walls; many were wheelchair-bound. What if he'd declined so much I couldn't recognize him? But then he appeared. Though his face had aged a lot, I could never mistake the rhythm of that gait.
Mr. Jimmy passed away a few days before this Christmas. His decline was rapid, according to his family, brought on by pneumonia, itself probably brought on by aspirating a food particle into his lungs. It's painful for me to imagine Mr. Jimmy, who loved breathing hard on his runs, struggling to breathe and restrained to a bed. Was he frightened? I wish I could ask him how he felt, what he wanted, what he understood to be God's will in it all, what the final moment was like. He spoiled me by sharing so much about the defining moments of his life until now--including what it was like to lose his grip on his memory. I grew to depend on him as a guide for life.
I am really struggling to say goodbye to my dear friend. I slip into that particular form of magical thinking afforded by distance to pretend he is still "out there," and would answer my call, if I could just dig up the right phone number. I enact the call in my imagination. He would answer with his usual enthusiasm, "Well, HEY, Samantha! How ARE you!?" ("Hah are yew!?") Before hanging up, he'd say, "You'll never know how much your call means to me. I love you!" ("Ah luuv yew!")
In between we might talk about things like running (of course) -- what to do about tight hamstrings? How best to train for a marathon? Should I run through a sore knee or plantar fasciitis? What kinds of cross-training are best? The merits of meat vs. vegetarian diets. Or how running marathons helped prepare me for giving birth. (I can still hear him chuckling during that one!)
Or about matters of faith and worship, where he remained an independent thinker. (Though many of his fellow Southern Baptists eschewed alcohol, Mr. Jimmy believed Jesus wouldn't have turned water into wine if wine were evil.) We might talk about Jewish and Christian ways of seeking a relationship with the divine. Or about the relationship of doubt and faith. In his reading of the Bible love trumped judgment.
Or about history-- lessons learned coming of age in the Great Depression (he theorized that the Depression was God's preparation for World War II, forging the fortitude his generation needed to fight and win.) About the Mississippi of his childhood, the railroads, about cleaning up the mess the Germans made of Italian railroads, learning meditative techniques to survive intense pain and discomfort on transport ships across the Atlantic, and how such techniques can help in every- day life. And about race -- about his hunting friendship with a Black man years ago, about the chasms between and shared fates of Blacks and Whites in Mississippi.
And always we'd talk about love and family-- How to handle constitutional differences with a spouse? How to handle different stages with children? What's the role of faith and Faith in marriage? What was it like to say goodbye to his life partner? What different kinds of love and friendship hold us in life after one's partner departs?
At the end of our chats, we'd usually remark again how unexpected it was to find such a friend in each other. He'd be labeled a "Red-Stater," while I'd get branded a "Latte Liberal." (What ridiculous labels!) We were separated by 48 years. His roots sank deep in rural Mississippi where he lived his whole life. I can't get more Yankee, and I've wandered all over -- California, Mississippi, New York, Japan. He attended community college, then devoted 42 years to dispatching on the railroad. I've completed several degrees, and I'm still figuring out what color my parachute is. When I moved in across the street on a short-term teaching assignment in 1992, we should have become nothing more than polite neighbors. Instead he became one of my best friends.
I recognize this point in The Story, when the protagonist has to say goodbye to the beloved mentor and step up to a new position in the Order of Things. But I don't know exactly what that means, and I don't feel ready. I am greedy for more -- more of his wisdom, his stories, his robust laughter and radiant smile, his quick footsteps that barely touched the earth, the comfort he provided that it's all going to work out down the road, around the bend. From here on, I will need to listen for the rhythm of his footsteps to lead me where I can't yet see.
This May I got nervous as I searched for Mr. Jimmy on the crowded fluorescent-lit corridor at the VA nursing home. The residents who could walk shuffled, gripping rails along the walls; many were wheelchair-bound. What if he'd declined so much I couldn't recognize him? But then he appeared. Though his face had aged a lot, I could never mistake the rhythm of that gait.
Mr. Jimmy passed away a few days before this Christmas. His decline was rapid, according to his family, brought on by pneumonia, itself probably brought on by aspirating a food particle into his lungs. It's painful for me to imagine Mr. Jimmy, who loved breathing hard on his runs, struggling to breathe and restrained to a bed. Was he frightened? I wish I could ask him how he felt, what he wanted, what he understood to be God's will in it all, what the final moment was like. He spoiled me by sharing so much about the defining moments of his life until now--including what it was like to lose his grip on his memory. I grew to depend on him as a guide for life.
I am really struggling to say goodbye to my dear friend. I slip into that particular form of magical thinking afforded by distance to pretend he is still "out there," and would answer my call, if I could just dig up the right phone number. I enact the call in my imagination. He would answer with his usual enthusiasm, "Well, HEY, Samantha! How ARE you!?" ("Hah are yew!?") Before hanging up, he'd say, "You'll never know how much your call means to me. I love you!" ("Ah luuv yew!")
In between we might talk about things like running (of course) -- what to do about tight hamstrings? How best to train for a marathon? Should I run through a sore knee or plantar fasciitis? What kinds of cross-training are best? The merits of meat vs. vegetarian diets. Or how running marathons helped prepare me for giving birth. (I can still hear him chuckling during that one!)
Or about matters of faith and worship, where he remained an independent thinker. (Though many of his fellow Southern Baptists eschewed alcohol, Mr. Jimmy believed Jesus wouldn't have turned water into wine if wine were evil.) We might talk about Jewish and Christian ways of seeking a relationship with the divine. Or about the relationship of doubt and faith. In his reading of the Bible love trumped judgment.
Or about history-- lessons learned coming of age in the Great Depression (he theorized that the Depression was God's preparation for World War II, forging the fortitude his generation needed to fight and win.) About the Mississippi of his childhood, the railroads, about cleaning up the mess the Germans made of Italian railroads, learning meditative techniques to survive intense pain and discomfort on transport ships across the Atlantic, and how such techniques can help in every- day life. And about race -- about his hunting friendship with a Black man years ago, about the chasms between and shared fates of Blacks and Whites in Mississippi.
And always we'd talk about love and family-- How to handle constitutional differences with a spouse? How to handle different stages with children? What's the role of faith and Faith in marriage? What was it like to say goodbye to his life partner? What different kinds of love and friendship hold us in life after one's partner departs?
At the end of our chats, we'd usually remark again how unexpected it was to find such a friend in each other. He'd be labeled a "Red-Stater," while I'd get branded a "Latte Liberal." (What ridiculous labels!) We were separated by 48 years. His roots sank deep in rural Mississippi where he lived his whole life. I can't get more Yankee, and I've wandered all over -- California, Mississippi, New York, Japan. He attended community college, then devoted 42 years to dispatching on the railroad. I've completed several degrees, and I'm still figuring out what color my parachute is. When I moved in across the street on a short-term teaching assignment in 1992, we should have become nothing more than polite neighbors. Instead he became one of my best friends.
I recognize this point in The Story, when the protagonist has to say goodbye to the beloved mentor and step up to a new position in the Order of Things. But I don't know exactly what that means, and I don't feel ready. I am greedy for more -- more of his wisdom, his stories, his robust laughter and radiant smile, his quick footsteps that barely touched the earth, the comfort he provided that it's all going to work out down the road, around the bend. From here on, I will need to listen for the rhythm of his footsteps to lead me where I can't yet see.
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