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Showing posts from January, 2009

not my dog

This is not my dog. But doesn't he look a lot like her?


Maybe he's Cassie's brother?

I met Maui at my house when his owner came to buy something I'd posted on craig's list. His head was poking out the back window of her truck when I opened my door to greet her. The first thing I said was, "Oh! Your dog could be my dog! They look so much alike!"

I talked to Stacy for a long time, and Maui and Cassie met but there was no sweet reunion. Cassie treated him as she'd treat any other dog she'd just met. Stacy gave me many Dog Whisper-er inspired pointers on how to curb Cassie's barking. Cassie went back inside, Maui went back into the truck, and Stacy and I continued to talk.

Apparently we talked too long. Maui grew impatient and whined out the back window. Then he moved to the front seat. Then he honked the horn. Three times.


No, not my dog. But I wish he was.

volunteered

A parishioner at my church owns an Arabian horse stables that annually hosts something called The Black Stallion Literacy Program. I imagined a philanthropic and eccentric old lady reigning benevolently over her modest ranch, where a dozen underprivileged kids, each with his own horse and his own caring volunteer, made magic by learning to read. I pictured myself leaning against a haybale, the warm and wriggling body of a frustrated first grader beside me, the two of us on a journey to enlightenment there in the illumination of sunbeams swirling with dust motes.

The reality is much different.

Still, I'm glad I stepped out of my daily routine to volunteer my time to this program. I arrived on a rainy Thursday morning and signed in, then enjoyed half a donut and a cup of coffee from Bruegger's while I chatted up some other volunteers.


We sat for a brief orientation during which I learned that the program is far bigger than I realized, encompassing at least nine states. The progr…

because we can

We went for a hike at Sabino Canyon. Temperatures here have hovered around 80 degrees lately.


We hiked Esperero to Rattlesnake. This is a nice vantage point.


The boys engaged in many hushed, heads-together conversations, this one about a rock with the letters H and L mysteriously shadowed on it. What could it mean?


What does it matter when you're together? BFF

artistic endeavors

One day last week Jack came home with this drawing, done independently at school. It looked familiar. I asked him about it, and he told me those are bombs and eggs and a mechanachick. A what? "From that book," he told me.


This book. Poor farmer's homestead is destroyed by a tornado, leaving a pile of metal rubble. From that pile of rubble he constructs a whole new farm of Mechanimals.


Spot the mechanachick that Jack drew in such peril? "I didn't get it right," he said. "I forgot the buttons."



He came home with these in his backpack last week, too. Reproductions of Van Gogh's Starry Night and Sunflowers.




And just this past week, a friend of mine posted something on fb that relates.


I wonder where Jack will take this? I was surprised to see such artistry from my staunchly unartistic child. The Van Gogh reproductions are school work, so they don't really count. But the Mechanachick... he did that on his own. How does that speak to his soul in a w…

what happened to the doll

That poor doll came from the preschool. The kids somehow tore off one of her arms so Robin was going to throw her away. I said, "I'll do something arty with it" because I can't bear to throw anything away. I salvaged both arms (for a Hands Are Tied cigar box shrine) and let Cassie have the rest. The boys helped her destroy it. Unkind, I know. She was an American Girl, but not the kind Tom Petty sings about.

my boys play with dolls

Mim's Challenge

Mim piggybacks a challenge:

fourth picture folder, fourth picture


December 13, 2008, before the Downtown Parade of Lights

first act

We watched the good dogs and threw around the Frisbee, waiting for a court to open for the Big Boys. The good dogs were boh-rohin' and the Big Boys were good throwin'. Drumbeats in the distance charged the air. When a court opened for the Big Boys, the mamas and the Brazey decided to check out the drumming and then pilfer the recycle bins.

We walked toward the grassy area below the bandstand. I expected a small crowd, a group of drummers, maybe a high school drum corp. Instead we saw one lone dude, smack in the center of the stage, wailin' on a First Act drum kit from Target: a mini bass, a snare, a tom, and a cymbal. It seemed he'd positioned himself to take full advantage of the acoustics in the bandstand.

We sauntered by and made jokes as we explored the Hopi woman statue and the maze around her. "What if I got on stage with him and did The Running Man?" I demonstrated. "He'd just keep wailin'" Mandy said.

The Status Quo part of me wanted …

2009

more walk, less talk