Category Archives: Adventures at Home

Well, I guess that Timmas is officially over now. I made a pretty good haul: wetsuit, pillows, pie, strawberry jam, a book, just to name a few things. Unfortunately, last week at the writing retreat, I discovered that I’m gonna need a laptop, probably a MacBook. Why? Well, all these other writers there had smooth, shiny Mac laptops, which enabled them to write anywhere, even in coffee shops! Additionally, the laptop would enable me to write in more comfortable locations than the rickety chair we have planted in front of our computer right now. Indeed, since our setup is not all that ergonomic, I find it tiring to sit and type for more than an hour or so. With a laptop, I could write while sitting on the couch. Or even on the . . . no, I’m not gonna go there. Nevermind.

Last night was our anniversary, and to celebrate, we bought a laptop! Just kidding. We went out to dinner at Wasabi, which is probably the best sushi restaurant in town. We reminisced about the sushi at the Swisshotel in Quito; Wasabi doesn’t quite live up to the Swisshotel. But it was good. We ate all we could eat; then on the way home, we talked about how we should get one of those gel wrist rest things for the keyboard and maybe one for the mouse, too. It got us so excited, we went to Office Depot and got ourselves a couple anniversary gifts – three if you include the ream of printer paper.

You know, we’re well aware that we’re both losers. I think that’s part of why we married each other. The rest of why we got married is a mystery. It wasn’t easy to fall in love with each other. In fact, it was quite the opposite: awkward, difficult, emotionally draining, scary. I don’t think either one of us would like to relive the first year or two of our courtship.

But you don’t decide who you fall for. It just happens. And despite all your best efforts to avoid turning into a sentimental sap who smiles at old couples, families in minivans, and romantic comedies, one day you’re flipping through the tv channels and you come across an episode of Friends and Ross is saying to Rachel that he can’t live without her and instead of rolling your eyes like you normally do and changing the channel, you sit there and watch it. And you realize something is happening to you. There will be plenty of opportunities to roll your eyes at Ross and Rachel; there won’t be plenty of opportunities to fall in love with a true soulmate.

So you swallow your pride. Cuz the decision is obvious.

Timmas was nice. And a MacBook would be great. But once a year, it’s good to remember that you’ve got all you need.

Today I was running with Tember and I was in the home stretch, about two minutes from our house. Up ahead, I saw a couple of 7 or 8 year-old girls with a mother, packing up what looked to be a lemonade stand. I started bracing myself to refuse their lemonade since I didn’t have any money. (Little kids that age are relentless. I once had one of them sell me a cup after she was out of lemonade. She took my money, poured a tablespoon of lemonade, which was all that remained in the pitcher, and handed me the cup.)

Instead, as I approached, one of the girls said, “You wanna paper?” She held out an edition of the “Naborhood News” for me, and just as her mother was saying, “honey, he’s running,” I grabbed it and said thanks. I don’t believe I was supposed to pay, but now that I think about it, geez. Maybe.

I started reading the paper immediately. I contained three headlines:

• Anna is a new Baby
• Anna Jaye Snortswen (here, the ‘a’ in Jaye is crossed out)
  She Lafs
• Girl Brok Hand at Hiatten Green

At the bottom, it says, “thats all the news.” The headlines are encircled in yellow, blue, and pink marker. The Naborhood News title is underlined in green. And then, floating on the left side of the page is the word “stop.” It doesn’t appear to be related to anything else on the page.

I gather the following: Somewhere in this neighborhood, a new baby was born. Her name is Anna. Her last name is probably not Snortswen*. Some adult told a story about how the baby laughs. And in other news, a girl in the neighborhood broke her hand — more likely her wrist or a finger — at the neighborhood playground, which is called Hillington Green. Oh yeah, and that’s all the news.

On the one hand, I can see how this project of handing out the Naborhood News is just a matter of kids imitating adults. But I prefer to see something larger in it. I see it as an extension of our herd instinct. We’re humans. We gather together in places where there are other people. Even if we say we don’t like other people. We express, we communicate, we tell stories only because there’s a potential audience.

(There’s a PBS special on this very topic, incidentally. I haven’t seen any of it, but I should.)

Last week, I was at this Writing “retreat” all week. It was more like a one-week class or series of workshops than a retreat, but. There was this one guy there who was speaking about non-fiction writing. He turned out to be one of the less impressive speakers, actually, but he did say something interesting. He began his spiel by saying, “you should take time to write about the life you are living becuase no one else will do it. We have an obligation to pass onto our children” a record of our existence.

He echoed an Eels song I heard for the first time a couple months ago called “Things the Grandchildren Should Know,” which is a very simple song, but which struck me with the following lines:

I’m the only one who knows what it’s like
So I thought I’d better tell you
Before I leave

The speaker in the poem/song confesses to be something of a hermit:

I don’t leave the house much
I don’t like being around people
Makes me nervous and weird
I don’t like going to shows either
It’s better for me to stay home
Some might think it means i hate people
But that’s not quite right

But as you can see, there’s a hint of wanting a connection. In the next verse, he expounds on this:

I got a dog
I take him for a walk
And all the people like to say hello
I’m used to staring down at the sidewalk cracks
I’m learning how to say hello
Without too much trouble

And then he really becomes human when he mentions his strongest connection:

I’m turning out just like my father
Though i swore i never would
Now i can say that i have a love for him
I never really understood
What it must have been like for him
Living inside his head

I feel like he’s here with me now
Even though he’s dead

The song is not at all lyrical. In fact, it’s downright awkward. But I suppose that might have been part of what he was going for.

I feel silly every once in a while, writing down random observations and sticking them up in a public space that most people will never see. It’s like that guy who graffitied his life story in subway tunnels in New York. It sometimes seems pointless.

But it’s not.

*(I’m a loser. I actually looked up Snortswen in the phone book to see if any exist. I found a Sniff, a Snortum, and a Snouffer, but no Snortswen.)

I bit the inside of my cheek a day or two ago, and now I’m developing this (canker) sore. Listerine doesn’t quite do it for such things; I was just thinking I need something like Anbesol, which I’ve never actually tried, but I remember a TV ad years ago in which this toddler was crying and then he suddenly stopped and said “Anbesol.” It was kinda creepy. Anyone else remember that?

Some days I come home in the afternoons and do work on the computer here. Occasionally I sneak a peak out the window and I’m often rewarded with a juggling show. There is a father who, everyday at around 3 pm, juggles directly accross the street from our living room window while he waits for his daughter to arrive on a school bus. He is actually quite good. Today he has 5 white balls that he is tossing in different patterns. I’ve seen him use various balls, bowling pins, and stick-things. He juggles for about 15 min and when his daughter’s bus stops at the bus stop he walks home with her.

Today, Eileen said to me, “You know what this house needs?” I responded by saying, “Yes, actually. You told me yesterday.” But she proceeded to list, “a new roof, new kitchen cabinets, a paint job on the outside, and some landscaping.”

So I borrowed an axe and chopped down one of the offending trees in the backyard — offending because it’s not real attractive and since it’s growing to close to the house. It wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but it turned the trick. Eileen came out just as it was falling over, and then almost wordlessly, we started working on clearing some more of the mess of young trees, bushes, and weeds lining the back of the house.

Our backyard is actually pretty cool, but we’re not really all that quick on the upkeep. Still, it’s much better than Boo Radley’s. Boo is our backdoor neighbor; his yard is directly behind ours. Once, a few years ago, a huge tree in his yard fell into ours. It smashed through our fence and made a big mess. That was the only time I’ve ever spoken to Boo. He told me to just give him the bill for the clean-up and fence repair, but we procrastinated on the fence repair for a while and when we finally got around to calling fence companies, nobody would come out to look at it even. I eventually did it myself a year or two later and never got around to billing Boo cuz it was so ridiculously late.

A couple of summers ago, right before we left for Ecuador, we heard a rumor that the city was requiring Boo to do some yard work. For years, he had simply let everything grow and it was truly a mess. There was a tree leaning precariously over his roof; unkempt bushes and weeds crowded his tiny front yard; the backyard was a veritable prairie, full of grass that grew up to three feet in the summer.

Sure enough, one day a for-hire grounds crew was working in the backyard. I spoke with a guy operating one of those mow-anything lawn mowers that you used to see for sale on late night commercials. He confirmed the rumor and explained how bad it was — baby trees growing in gutters, stuff like that.

When we got back from Ecuador last summer, I was amused to see a lawn mower sitting in the middle of Boo’s yard amidst the three-foot high grass. It remained there all winter, which also amused me, and it’s still there now. I’m still amused. But here’s the kicker: near the lawn mower and barely visible under the cover of field grass, there’s a small garden gnome, a little like the one that was in Amelie.