...
I am uncertain if Halloween is Sunday or Tuesday this year.
Halloween is a big deal in my family. My daughter goes all-out decorating her home with skeletons, spider webs, pumpkins, straw and assorted scary icons. No less crafty, my daughter-in-law routinely makes costumes for her brood with a holiday theme. Last year (you may recall) it was Star Wars. My son grudgingly donned a very authentic looking Obi Wan Kenobi suit to accompany his elder son (2), who dressed as Yoda. They were very convincing. There was an issue with the weather as the evening temperature hovered in the 80s as the swarm ran through the neighborhood. Heat exhaustion became a real possibility for my son. Lucky for him, several Trick or Treat stops provided adult beverages in the form of ice chests on the front lawn. These little life preservers helped more than one adult endure the long journey through many blocks of neighborhood.
My eldest grandson was Spiderman. His sister was a princess. (What else?) As befits a superhero, he flew from house to house until; finally, he could fly no more. His dad carried him on the return trip. The princess thought it undignified to schlep door-to-door. Thus, the local oaf carried her for the whole journey. At the end, the oaf, too, wore out and his back was killing him.
We eventually returned to my daughter’s house to inventory the haul of goodies and apply medicine to those annoying aches and pains. Good Bourbon and single malt Scotch were most effective, as I recall.
It was a delightful evening. This year promises to be bigger and better. There will be four grandchildren out for loot this year. Since they are older and stronger, we expect (nay, pray) there will be less toting them about.
My son is the one slightly dark cloud. Rumor has it he will be leading a family of Smurfs this season. As “Papa Smurf”, he seems less than excited about painting himself blue for the occasion. I am sure a little pre-trick or treat lubricant will ease his objections (again this year) but I think I will suggest a longer-term fix to his bride.
We might provide him a large green ogre suit he can wear every year. It would be a natural fit and practically everyone would recognize him as Shrek. Heck, he might even want to wear it year ‘round. I will keep you posted.
BOO! & Happy Halloween!
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Friday, October 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Sitting on the Sophie
…
Recently, my daughter dropped my three-year-old granddaughter, Sophia, at my house while she kept a dental appointment. Sophia is at a very fun-loving, princessey stage of life and we tend to have great fun together. This visit was no exception.
After some greeting time, I learned Sophie as I call her had not had enough breakfast before she left home. “B-But she ate an entire…” her mother halted in mid astonishment.
No matter, I whipped up a batch of hot buttery toast slathered with peach preserves. Served with a Sippy cup of ice-cold milk, it was an irresistible breakfast treat. My daughter left for her appointment as Sophie finished her “post-breakfast-snack.”
Soon, it was activity time. I asked what she would like to do. Sophie selected pink Play-Doh and several cookie cutter figures.
“Now, turn off the television.” She demanded.
“Uh, okay.” I turned it off with only a trace of resentment that I would miss the morning action in the equity markets. She did not want to share Grandfather with Wall Street. Rats.
Before I knew it, we were making pink snakes, pink bunnies and pink butterflies all over the kitchen table. Pink cherries were next. I rolled a dozen or so spheres and Sophie stacked them like little cannonballs. We even stacked a few of them like pink cherry snowmen.
I still have the [pink] Furby I bought for my daughter when she was four or five. We played with it for a while. Mercifully, it stopped talking around 2007, so it was not interesting for more than a minute. Thank goodness.
One by one, we played with stuffed toys, threw a tea party, built Legos and more. After an hour, Sophie settled down to color in a coloring book. She is more advanced than her older brother. She colors in the general area of the figures on the page. None of the male grandchildren is so dexterous. The hook came when I tried to leave the room to, er, wash my hands.
“I only want to color when you watch me!” she announced.
“Okay, okay. I will stay here as long as I can. Good job! You have a real flair for this! One day you will be a great artist.”
I kept shoveling out the encouragement as she obliterated one figure after another. We both seemed to be having a good time, considering one of us had “to go” and has a chronic sore back.
Then it happened. “Hello! I’m back. Where is everybody?” It was the mommy, come to retrieve her little one.
“We’re upstairs,” I called.
“Baww! Waah! Noooo!” Exclaimed our tyke, wrapping her arms around my leg.
“But Sophia, your mommy missed you and wants to take you home with her.” I tried to console her.
“I don’t wanna gooooo! Waaah!”
It took a while to calm her and I had to agree to carry her to the car and strap her into her federally approved container before she would accompany her mother. I was eager to help because I could see in my daughter’s eyes she was thinking of giving in and going home without her.
I just could not let that happen.
…
Recently, my daughter dropped my three-year-old granddaughter, Sophia, at my house while she kept a dental appointment. Sophia is at a very fun-loving, princessey stage of life and we tend to have great fun together. This visit was no exception.
After some greeting time, I learned Sophie as I call her had not had enough breakfast before she left home. “B-But she ate an entire…” her mother halted in mid astonishment.
No matter, I whipped up a batch of hot buttery toast slathered with peach preserves. Served with a Sippy cup of ice-cold milk, it was an irresistible breakfast treat. My daughter left for her appointment as Sophie finished her “post-breakfast-snack.”
Soon, it was activity time. I asked what she would like to do. Sophie selected pink Play-Doh and several cookie cutter figures.
“Now, turn off the television.” She demanded.
“Uh, okay.” I turned it off with only a trace of resentment that I would miss the morning action in the equity markets. She did not want to share Grandfather with Wall Street. Rats.
Before I knew it, we were making pink snakes, pink bunnies and pink butterflies all over the kitchen table. Pink cherries were next. I rolled a dozen or so spheres and Sophie stacked them like little cannonballs. We even stacked a few of them like pink cherry snowmen.
I still have the [pink] Furby I bought for my daughter when she was four or five. We played with it for a while. Mercifully, it stopped talking around 2007, so it was not interesting for more than a minute. Thank goodness.
One by one, we played with stuffed toys, threw a tea party, built Legos and more. After an hour, Sophie settled down to color in a coloring book. She is more advanced than her older brother. She colors in the general area of the figures on the page. None of the male grandchildren is so dexterous. The hook came when I tried to leave the room to, er, wash my hands.
“I only want to color when you watch me!” she announced.
“Okay, okay. I will stay here as long as I can. Good job! You have a real flair for this! One day you will be a great artist.”
I kept shoveling out the encouragement as she obliterated one figure after another. We both seemed to be having a good time, considering one of us had “to go” and has a chronic sore back.
Then it happened. “Hello! I’m back. Where is everybody?” It was the mommy, come to retrieve her little one.
“We’re upstairs,” I called.
“Baww! Waah! Noooo!” Exclaimed our tyke, wrapping her arms around my leg.
“But Sophia, your mommy missed you and wants to take you home with her.” I tried to console her.
“I don’t wanna gooooo! Waaah!”
It took a while to calm her and I had to agree to carry her to the car and strap her into her federally approved container before she would accompany her mother. I was eager to help because I could see in my daughter’s eyes she was thinking of giving in and going home without her.
I just could not let that happen.
…
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Day Hell Froze
...
I am not a big fan of professional sports, period. Cheering for the pros feels like cheering for a multi-national insurance conglomerate or investment bank. The pros exist for the money. Ho hum.
I have an active dislike for some pro sports teams. The Texas Rangers earned my eternal contempt when they moved to my State. They arrived from Washington, D.C., where they were the Senators and moved into a shabby stadium in Arlington, Texas. At the same time, I was working a day job in Dallas and commuting to Arlington for graduate studies five nights per week. It never failed that game traffic snared me each way. The return trip was the worst. I was exhausted from a full workday and suffering from brain-melt when classes adjourned around ten p.m.
I often sat fuming in the post game “rush” for an extra hour. It seemed they played more home games at night than necessary. Thus, I came to detest the team individually and collectively during my years in graduate school.
Their record did not justify much respect, either. I came to know the team as “Texas Stranglers” for their uncanny ability to choke by the All Star break. They never even looked like a professional team. I developed a routine for those rare occasions I went to the stadium to watch them lose in person. As soon as I got to my seat, I ordered a large beer and a hot dog. I gobbled the hot dog and slurped the beer. Then I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. Sometimes, I could fall asleep before they introduced the teams. The warm Texas sunshine felt good and the drone of reports from the stadium announcer put me in a coma for the duration. I had some anxious moments on a few occasions when I awoke in an empty stadium but overall I enjoyed the game.
Then, last week the unthinkable happened. The Stranglers won the American League Pennant. Even more astonishing, they trounced the Yankees to do it. Yikes! I know we live in strange, interesting times, but this is going too far. The only thing I can think of to explain this aberration is that God is setting them up for even greater humiliation in the World Series. I shall avert my eyes from these games to preserve my sanity, such as it is.
Still, it would be unfair of me to deny the team’s accomplishments this year. Therefore, for the balance of the season, I offer my sincere wishes for success to the Texas Rangers.
They can begin next season as “Stranglers,” so they will have something to strive toward.
...
I am not a big fan of professional sports, period. Cheering for the pros feels like cheering for a multi-national insurance conglomerate or investment bank. The pros exist for the money. Ho hum.
I have an active dislike for some pro sports teams. The Texas Rangers earned my eternal contempt when they moved to my State. They arrived from Washington, D.C., where they were the Senators and moved into a shabby stadium in Arlington, Texas. At the same time, I was working a day job in Dallas and commuting to Arlington for graduate studies five nights per week. It never failed that game traffic snared me each way. The return trip was the worst. I was exhausted from a full workday and suffering from brain-melt when classes adjourned around ten p.m.
I often sat fuming in the post game “rush” for an extra hour. It seemed they played more home games at night than necessary. Thus, I came to detest the team individually and collectively during my years in graduate school.
Their record did not justify much respect, either. I came to know the team as “Texas Stranglers” for their uncanny ability to choke by the All Star break. They never even looked like a professional team. I developed a routine for those rare occasions I went to the stadium to watch them lose in person. As soon as I got to my seat, I ordered a large beer and a hot dog. I gobbled the hot dog and slurped the beer. Then I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. Sometimes, I could fall asleep before they introduced the teams. The warm Texas sunshine felt good and the drone of reports from the stadium announcer put me in a coma for the duration. I had some anxious moments on a few occasions when I awoke in an empty stadium but overall I enjoyed the game.
Then, last week the unthinkable happened. The Stranglers won the American League Pennant. Even more astonishing, they trounced the Yankees to do it. Yikes! I know we live in strange, interesting times, but this is going too far. The only thing I can think of to explain this aberration is that God is setting them up for even greater humiliation in the World Series. I shall avert my eyes from these games to preserve my sanity, such as it is.
Still, it would be unfair of me to deny the team’s accomplishments this year. Therefore, for the balance of the season, I offer my sincere wishes for success to the Texas Rangers.
They can begin next season as “Stranglers,” so they will have something to strive toward.
...
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