Friday, September 17, 2010

Duh-duh duh-duuuuh, duh-duh-duuuuuh…

 

While going about my daily routine, the theme song from Indiana Jones popped into my head with such force that I started singing the tune out loud.  I wondered where the inspiration for such music arose and then I looked at what I was doing.  I was barefooted, maneuvering about the basement playroom, in a zig-zag pattern trying to avoid sharp impale-able toys, massive pile ups of metal monster trucks, pillow volcanoes surrounded by blankets of lava, chair bridges, several train derailments, plastic armor of many a fallen centurion, and many, many more remnants of the Land of Imagination atrocities.  What made it even more Indiana Jones-ish was the fact that I was carrying a very large basket of the boys dirty laundry which blocked at least 50% of my vision, comparable to carrying some helpless female while swinging on a deteriorating rope, to safety.  Safety being the top of the stairs, other wise known as the Cliffs of Insanity (different show, same feel).  I made it and so did the helpless pile of laundry.  Fortunately, the poisonous dart shooters were still at school and the only ones in real danger of poisoning were their teachers.  Educators really do sacrifice a lot for those eager minds, life and limb if need be.  I think the day the students start cooking and eating them, will be the day the union steps in for higher wages, whips, leather jackets, and well worn hats.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Rebellious, bemuse-ed, and book-ed.

A writing challenge from Mama’s Losin’ It which helps to keep the blood flowing to the brain.

4.) Why did you do it? Write about a time you chose to break a rule.

We have a new library in town for which I am very grateful.  I love to read but in the past have not enjoyed  the long drive to the library downtown.  This new library has all of the newest fandangled up to date, and politically correct, green elements.  The bathrooms have auto-flushing toilets and they are lit by natural light with back-up compact florescent lighting for those occasional grey days or night time use.  The sinks have the trickle, sometimes drip-drip-drop, water system for washing your hands and the eco-friendly air drying machines.  The designers slightly bent the green rule by including recycled paper towels but one can feel better about oneself knowing that some day someone else will be using that same towel again.  The exterior design is a retro 1950’s style; the kind of building you remember going to elementary school in, minus the pink and blue tiled bathroom walls which probably now fall under the sexist category of design.  If you haven’t picked up on the slightly bothered tone of this post, you will when you hear about the rule I broke, actually, frequently continue to break.  This library contains a café, a very expensive one, with booths, hip lighting, and a giant TV.  If the room were a bit darker, one wouldn’t be surprised to hear a beat poet with his back up trumpet player in a corner of the room expressing something like:

“Harriet. Harry-ette. Hard-hearted harbinger of haggis. Beautiful, bemuse-ed, bellicose butcher. Un-trust... ing. Un-know... ing. Un-love... ed? "He wants you back," he screamed into the night air like a fireman going to a window that has no fire... except the passion of his heart. I am lonely. It's really hard. This poem... sucks.” –So I Married an Axe Murderer

Granted, this atmosphere would be somewhat fun in another venue, but when it comes to a library, I am a traditionalist.  I expect to see the old lady with pointy glasses whose every third utterance is, “Shhhh!”  I like the smell of books, not a cappuccino accompanying my aimless wanderings down the fiction aisles.  The exterior of the building should be in a classic style, enduring, and not on the boarder of rust, asbestos,  and the age of eugenix.  A library to me, should be quiet, a break from the loud and harried world, relaxing, and educational. 

Now, to the rule breaking.  It may seem small, stupid, and not at all on the devil-may-care side of life, but my act of civil disobedience comes to the issue of parking.  The front of the library has a small section of parking, right next to the front door and book return box.  It’s a perfect place for the occasional book on hold pick-up desk.  It’s also great if you happen to be very pregnant with loosening ligaments, which I was up until last May.  The problem is, this wonderful parking oasis is reserved completely for the café patrons.  What  message does this deliver?  That café goers are more important to the library than the actual readers?  That sitting at a booth with a giant screen TV pumping in The Little Mermaid to a cappuccino drinking, pastry chewing patron is the most important visitor to the library?  Well, I will not have it, I will not accept this and I will not park in the regular, decaffeinated, and unimportant patron section.  I WILL PARK WITH THE CAFÉ CUSTOMERS!  I will tromp in and out of the library with my stack of books, my trickle-cleaned hands, my natural-lit suntan, and my dream of a pointy-glassed librarian.  So, every time I go to the library I park in the café lot, decaffeinated, and jubilant in my rebellion.  “Shhhhhh!”

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy!

Lately, my wimpy attempts at blogging remind me of those classes one has to take in college where one does the bare minimum just to manage a passing grade.  “D+?  Oh my gosh, I passed!  I’m gonna graduate!  I wish we’d known each other, this is a little awkward.”  (Tommy Boy)  The one thing I can manage with success, is taking pictures.  It’s an addiction really, one which I’ve already confessed to, but continue to feed. 

The boys are all back in school, hallelujah!  Not that I don’t enjoy their company, but minds and energy such as theirs, need a bit more stimulation and scope than our house and yard can provide.  Once they get home, the proper wiggles and really strange questions have been spent at school.  They still have wiggles but are focused on catching grasshoppers (did you know they spit?), making muddy dirt pits for the “guys” in the garden, and making islands of pillows in the basement where the carpet has turned to lava.

I’ve asked the boys how they like school and each one has answered with one of the following, “I like it, it’s fine, or it’s great!” Reed has given me the most thorough answers.  I asked him what his teacher was like and he said “she’s nice, is in her early 40’s and has golden-brown hair.”  I asked him who he sits next to and he told me a girl named Haley.  When I asked him if she was nice he said, “Yes, she’s nice but sort of creepy.”  Then I asked, “Why is she creepy?”  “Because she chases me around at recess.”  I’d better get him some better running shoes.

As an attempt to defend my wimpy blogging, I need to include the fact that we’ve been taking turns getting sick with pneumonia, colds, and a few random germs which have been slowly weakened with antibiotics.  Sometimes it seems that a warm bath is the only thing that will help.  I bought some Calgon (Take me away) and didn’t know that it made the water blue.  Scary, I was afraid I’d come out looking like a died Easter egg. I didn’t end up surrounded by plastic green grass once I was done being “taken away,” however I’m not sure I’m ever going to use that stuff again.

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3rd day of school.  It worked for his older brothers, why not him?  1st days of school are way overrated.

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The boys still in their p.j.s and it’s almost noon.  Saturdays…

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