Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Jilly Nines and Kevin
"Daddy."
"Yes, Jilly."
"Kevin, the hamster at school, had babies."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Three babies: Leo, Andrew and Bart Simpson."
"That's nice Jilly."
"Yes. The babies and Kevin are going to live at Miss Maya-Sara's house until they are old enough to live at someone else's house."
"That's a very good idea, don't you think?"
We were packing up ornaments from the Christmas tree that had been up since Halloween.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Jilly."
"Where did we live when I was a baby?"
"We lived right here, honey, all of us."
"Daddy, I don't think so."
An angel whispered trick or treat as Jilly put it in its box.
"What do you mean, Jilly?"
"I think I remember a swingset where we lived when I was a baby and now we don't have a swingset."
"That's true, Jilly, but we've never had a swingset."
A golden garland uncoiled and wound its way down the branches of the tree.
"And that's why I want a baby hamster."
"Why, Jilly?"
"So I can forget that we do not have a swingset."
"Yes, Jilly."
"Kevin, the hamster at school, had babies."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Three babies: Leo, Andrew and Bart Simpson."
"That's nice Jilly."
"Yes. The babies and Kevin are going to live at Miss Maya-Sara's house until they are old enough to live at someone else's house."
"That's a very good idea, don't you think?"
We were packing up ornaments from the Christmas tree that had been up since Halloween.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Jilly."
"Where did we live when I was a baby?"
"We lived right here, honey, all of us."
"Daddy, I don't think so."
An angel whispered trick or treat as Jilly put it in its box.
"What do you mean, Jilly?"
"I think I remember a swingset where we lived when I was a baby and now we don't have a swingset."
"That's true, Jilly, but we've never had a swingset."
A golden garland uncoiled and wound its way down the branches of the tree.
"And that's why I want a baby hamster."
"Why, Jilly?"
"So I can forget that we do not have a swingset."
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Jilly Nines - Birthday
"Daddy."
"Yes, Jilly?"
"We need to get a birthday present for Hannah."
"Oh."
"Yes. She wants a spencer book."
"A spencer book?"
"Not spencer book!"
"Oh?"
"Expensive book."
"Oh."
"Yes. With not too many hard words."
We were folding towels, trying to make the corners meet.
"Jilly?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Wasn't Hannah's birthday last week, and didn't we buy her a Thomas train?"
"Yes, but she told me that now she is going to have a birthday every Friday."
"Oh."
". . ."
"Does that make sense Jilly, that Hannah would have a birthday every Friday?"
"Yes."
"It does?"
"Yes. Because she said that I could have every Saturday."
"Yes, Jilly?"
"We need to get a birthday present for Hannah."
"Oh."
"Yes. She wants a spencer book."
"A spencer book?"
"Not spencer book!"
"Oh?"
"Expensive book."
"Oh."
"Yes. With not too many hard words."
We were folding towels, trying to make the corners meet.
"Jilly?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Wasn't Hannah's birthday last week, and didn't we buy her a Thomas train?"
"Yes, but she told me that now she is going to have a birthday every Friday."
"Oh."
". . ."
"Does that make sense Jilly, that Hannah would have a birthday every Friday?"
"Yes."
"It does?"
"Yes. Because she said that I could have every Saturday."
Monday, December 22, 2008
St. Morphine
When Roxanne and I got back to the Bingo Diner, Roxanne went over to her truck, I thought to leave for her home.
I went inside.
There were only a few customers. Dreela was running the grill and the kitchen and Dreela’s mother Vogie was working the cash register, waiting tables and discouraging me, with a broad array of dangerous looks, from sitting at the counter.
Sam Oht, the diner’s owner thought, once they got beyond the occasional squabbling, that there was nothing as efficient as a mother and daughter working together. As a result he hired only mother and daughter teams to work in the diner. Other than Dreela and Vogie there was Kirra and her mom Caspi and Tina and her daughter Rez. Even the bickering, when it inevitably occurred was, the thinking went, entertaining for the customers.
Dreela and Vogie in particular were bound together in their love of food, their love of young children and their boisterous dislike for each other’s husbands--both of whom were banned from the diner while their wives were working.
That night, but maybe it had been the case for a long time, my imagination seemed to carry all the weight of a flat tire. Sitting in a booth alone, I was ready to surrender the rest of the night to the random topography of fate, when Roxanne walked in, came over and sat with me. I was nursing a cup of coffee, mining its deep caffeine taproot.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said followed by a long sigh. I could tell she’d been wanting to ask me a question all day. Asking me earlier would have been difficult, now it was a chore.
“Sure,” I said. I did not mean it. I knew what she wanted. I knew what I wanted. Lying should have been immediately regrettable but it was not. Not for Roxanne and me. Our anxiety was always skin-tight. We’d spent the day moving the furniture out of my father’s house, Sorro Hill Farm, packing up his camera collection to bring to his new apartment at St. Kitts assisted living.
Roxanne and I had been to school together and had never left ‘Neath Lake.
Neither of us could imagine a more emphatic desolation. We never talked about it. We were friends. We’d weathered a few storms, but not together.
She was beautiful. Her lips were thin as razors.
We’d graduated from St. Morphine high-school thirty years before. Her eyes were so blue they looked as if they’d been made by a counterfeiter.
“Will you go to the reunion with me?” she asked.
“I’ll pay,” she said. She knew I wouldn’t have the money. It wasn’t telepathy. Her brother was my bookie and the local cop.
I went inside.
There were only a few customers. Dreela was running the grill and the kitchen and Dreela’s mother Vogie was working the cash register, waiting tables and discouraging me, with a broad array of dangerous looks, from sitting at the counter.
Sam Oht, the diner’s owner thought, once they got beyond the occasional squabbling, that there was nothing as efficient as a mother and daughter working together. As a result he hired only mother and daughter teams to work in the diner. Other than Dreela and Vogie there was Kirra and her mom Caspi and Tina and her daughter Rez. Even the bickering, when it inevitably occurred was, the thinking went, entertaining for the customers.
Dreela and Vogie in particular were bound together in their love of food, their love of young children and their boisterous dislike for each other’s husbands--both of whom were banned from the diner while their wives were working.
That night, but maybe it had been the case for a long time, my imagination seemed to carry all the weight of a flat tire. Sitting in a booth alone, I was ready to surrender the rest of the night to the random topography of fate, when Roxanne walked in, came over and sat with me. I was nursing a cup of coffee, mining its deep caffeine taproot.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said followed by a long sigh. I could tell she’d been wanting to ask me a question all day. Asking me earlier would have been difficult, now it was a chore.
“Sure,” I said. I did not mean it. I knew what she wanted. I knew what I wanted. Lying should have been immediately regrettable but it was not. Not for Roxanne and me. Our anxiety was always skin-tight. We’d spent the day moving the furniture out of my father’s house, Sorro Hill Farm, packing up his camera collection to bring to his new apartment at St. Kitts assisted living.
Roxanne and I had been to school together and had never left ‘Neath Lake.
Neither of us could imagine a more emphatic desolation. We never talked about it. We were friends. We’d weathered a few storms, but not together.
She was beautiful. Her lips were thin as razors.
We’d graduated from St. Morphine high-school thirty years before. Her eyes were so blue they looked as if they’d been made by a counterfeiter.
“Will you go to the reunion with me?” she asked.
“I’ll pay,” she said. She knew I wouldn’t have the money. It wasn’t telepathy. Her brother was my bookie and the local cop.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Old Technology
harps and halos. . . according to google: 557 thousand search results.
horns and pitchforks. . . according to google: 138 thousand search results.
Ratio: 4:1
Seems OK. Please advise
horns and pitchforks. . . according to google: 138 thousand search results.
Ratio: 4:1
Seems OK. Please advise
Friday, December 19, 2008
If You Can't
Friday, December 12, 2008
Jilly Nines - What's in A Name?
Jilly was at school.Miss Maya-Sara asked each student in the class to make a drawing.
"What does 'happy' look like?" she asked them.
Each child set out to draw things such as their pets, candy, a television, baby brothers and sisters, baseballs, dolls. . .
But Jilly.
Drew a page full of nines and a little girl, stick-figure in the middle of it all.
Miss Maya-Sara asked her, "Jilly, it's wonderful, but I'm curious, why did you draw this?"
"It's me and my favorite number," she said.
"Oh," said Miss Maya-Sara as she posted the picture on the classroom wall with all the others.
"A page full of nines. It's fun-billion," said Jilly.
And since that day, she's been Jilly Nines.
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