Kid stories

Removing the grass one swing at a time. 

I love walking places with the kids.  We have a chance to notice things.  Lots of things.  Like street signs and grass and the incredible numbers of butterflies we had around here the other day and house numbers and what is in that trash can and cars and such.  

Yesterday, while walking to the local youth educational institution to retrieve Sonar X5, Sonar X3 and I were waiting to cross the street.  Halfway across, the red hand on the crosswalk signal started flashing.  Sonar X3 pointed to the sign and said, knowingly, “the flashing red hand means don’t dilly-dally.”  So true.  

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Settling the kiddos down to bed the other night, I was stretched out on Sonar X5’s bed, and he curled up next to me.  I rolled and curled around him and told him we were spoons stacked together.  He stuck out his legs and stretched his arms straight down and told me he was more like a fork.  

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Sonar X8 isn’t thrilled about the mountain of homework he has to do every night (frankly, I’m not either, but that’s another story).  Most times he does the work without much prompting, but sometimes it’s like pulling teeth.  Today was one of those days where he went off and started working quietly, but clearly he was not immune to distraction.  A row of five, single- and double-digit addition and subtraction problems were printed in one corner of the math worksheet.  After correctly answering each of the problems, he drew plus signs between the answers and wrote their total in the right-hand margin (also correct).  Then he decorated the ends of each—hm, what is the line called when operations are written vertically?  Horizontally it would be the equal-sign, but vertically, while it means the same thing, it must have a different name?  At any rate, he decorated their ends with little curlicues.  

Treasure

When I was little, I wasn’t really into tea parties.  I played with friends and cousins who had tea sets, but never really liked them.  Often they were plastic, unsuitable for hot tea.  Or dirty because the cups had been used to dig in the sand.  What was the point, really, if the cups weren’t functional?  I do remember, for a short while, that I had a tea set from my grandmother that I used.  I liked it much better because I could  pour real tea into the cups.  It was a bit intimidating, though, because it was a real china tea set—therefore fragile—and was decorated with pink cabbage roses—therefore a bit too frilly for my taste.  I’m not sure what happened to that tea set.  And I’m not sure whether my brief experience with functional (albeit fussy) tea cups as a child had anything at all to do with my current predilection for tea.  

Though I drink tea every day, often several times a day, I have for years functioned with boiling my water in a tea kettle or microwave, brewing my tea cup by cup directly in the vessel that I planned to drink out of.  Namely my mug.  

I have frequently admired tea pots.  I am absolutely in love with the idea of the sublime and ridiculous in tea cozies.  But until now, I have not owned a tea pot.  

Surprise me, I received birthday treasures in the mail last weekend (what, I wondered, happens to packages destined for areas afflicted by hurricane?  what happens to mail when areas are evacuated or destroyed?).  My step-mother has been throwing pots for a couple of years, and has sent me the loveliest of surprises, her first tea pot and a set of four cups.  I love them.  I think they are so fantastic.  Beautiful without being the least bit fussy.  Dense to hold in the heat.  Each cup with enough individual character that each user can know which cup is his or hers.  

There is something really lovely about the purposefulness of using a tea pot to brew the tea.  It is an extra step that many would find unnecessary or cumbersome.  That extra step demands that I slow down, consider the elements of the experience of the tea.  The smell, the temperature, the feeling of the steam.  I pour the hot water from kettle to pot.  I pour the tea from pot to cup.  The sound of the liquid falling into the vessel is different at each step.  There is a particular sound as the lid of the tea pot slides just a bit when I hold it to pour.  A solid, earthy sound,  of stone with an echo of life.  A cup of tea from a tea pot is a cup of tea to ponder over.  A cup of tea to share with a friend.  

Come have a cup of tea with me. 

The Tour de Chimp

For Immediate Release.  

Originally Patrick was going to walk from Traverse City, Michigan to Chicago, Illinois.  His feet weren’t too happy about that plan, so he shifted gears (pun intended) and is now cycling from Cadillac, Michigan to Chicago, Illinois “to raise awareness about the plight of endangered wild Chimpanzees in Africa” and to raise money for the Jane Goodall Institute.  

Be inspired.  Sponsor Patrick.  Send him a note.  Follow his progress.  

(This is me Being Proud of my brother.)

Pinky

Could it be that you’re 43 today?  

I once called you Old Man, but now I think it may really be true.  ;)

Happy Birthday Babe.

P.S. Yes, that is the finished Hacky Sack Hoodie on Partner.  I have pictures of the whole sweater, but I just love this picture of his hands.    

Walk the Walk

I love my brother.  I want you to love him too. 

PJ, circa 1983

(Dude, I could have shown them the Butt-Crack picture).  

He’s come a long way since that little cowboy.  I’ve taught him everything I could, starting from very early on.  Here I am reading a little Hunter S. Thompson to him and the fam back in the day.

Eglentyne, PJ, Sister-Ours, and the Da, circa. 1980

Seriously, I’m proud of him.  He’s a creative thinker and he’s full of love and humor.  

Go here and read about this crazy thing he is doing.  Then, stop thinking it’s crazy, and do what you can to help him along in his quest.  We all have something that we love and are passionate about.   Explore his cause.  Send him a note.  Buy some of his stuff.  Make a donation.  Meet him in Chicago.  Whatever works for you.    

Love, Eglentyne (Pan Eglentina)

P.S. The chimps and the bonobos will thank you someday.  

P.P.S.  When you’re finished feeling the love, go here and  chuckle at the absurdity.  

P.P.P.S.R.C.Q.  I have totally stolen several rhetorical moves from my brother in this post.  I told you I loved him.