Category: FAMILY

pet peeve: people who text while hanging out with other people

pet peeve: people who text while hanging out with other people

Posted on by wrekehavoc

OH RLY?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RUjnqH3kMw

one day, BC came in from our cul de sac. she had been hanging out with our two neighbors, two lovely girls who are only a year or so older than she. and, in short, she looked rather annoyed. i asked her what was bothering her.

well, mom, what is up with people who are standing right next to you and hanging out with you but they are busy texting other people?

what indeed?

just as netiquette was created for people who use the internet and email, some sort of celliquette needs to be created, for i fear civility is on its way out.  i’m delighted that movie theaters now, as a matter of course, remind patrons to turn off their cell phones once the film has started, but more has to be done.

and i’m afraid it needs to be directed especially at the young, who text more than they talk.

it’s bad enough that people use cell phones while driving. how they can text and drive is beyond me — and it’s wildly unsafe, as this extremely disturbing and GRAPHIC public service announcement shows. that sort of thing looms much larger than just a pet peeve — that’s a matter of public safety. and there are many, many dangers in the land where sex and texting intersect, especially for our young people. not a pet peeve but a serious, scar-worthy scare.

so i will return to the lighter, fluffier world of interpersonal relations and texting. just as we parents work hard to teach our kids social skills when they are small, we need to continue to help our kids navigate this brave new world where technology and personality intersect. you taught little janey to share; now you need to teach her to pay attention to actual human beings when she’s with them. you need to teach her not to text and walk without looking where she’s going (to which i would add: dumbass girl. lucky you didn’t just walk into traffic, like i have seen so many, many pedestrians do. too bad the city can’t sue you for stupidity.)

you would think it would be common sense to not let something like texting take over, but it is. and i can’t tell you how many times i see people, usually young twenty-somethings and below, with other friends — and texting with other people who aren’t even there. here’s a thought, you social slackers: if you aren’t going to interact with the friends you’re with, STAY THE HELL HOME.

i’m grateful that at least BC has gotten the idea that ignoring people you’re with is a rather rude endeavor. maybe she can turn into some sort of evangelist on this issue?

until then,  i will quietly seethe whenever i see this sort of activity.  maybe i’ll actually call a friend to vent about it.

pet peeve: stupid intentional misspellings

pet peeve: stupid intentional misspellings

Posted on by wrekehavoc

yesssss. you know what i meannnnnnnnn!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJDBERdHzUA

i realize that this mostly is generational. but jeez! what is going on with spelling these days? i see posts from people, generally under the age of about 25, where they take poetic license with spelling, and not just because they are abbreviating, either.  i completely understand that in the age of texting, people are shortening words as much as possible in order to expedite the communication of the message.

but reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeallllly now?

there’s a whole school of thought behind satirical misspellings;  but there’s something different about these misspellings — they seem to happen just because.  it started for me with prince. i think he started a ball rolling with his creative titling ability, like LOtUSFLOW3R, Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic, and so on. (maybe having your own symbol has something to do with it?)

and now? as a result of creative urban misspellings (dawg, anyone?), the world is littered with messages like:

lucy is myyyyy besssssssssst frendddd, my BFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF! i looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee her!

lord. if i see BC typing away like that, i may lose my mind. spelling is something she could work on, and i don’t think a trend that simply adds and subtracts letters wherever one pleases is going to help her later in life.

do youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?

(and yes. i realize this is all being stated by a woman who refuses to capitalize much.)

pet peeve: parents who want to build the perfect child

pet peeve: parents who want to build the perfect child

Posted on by wrekehavoc

not everyone can be doogie howser.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96avgzOZ8so

they pump bach into their bellies while they’re pregnant, hoping it will boost junior’s math scores. they start teaching their child to read before he’s a year old. potty training? done by 18 months. and by age 5, junior’s expected to tackle Dostoevsky. oh, and he’s also a contender for the next olympics in gymnastics, too.

oh, their child is gifted, oh so bloody gifted. let me tell you something: i was a freak of nature back in the day, tested with a college reading level in the 2nd grade. i know a thing or two about getting that label slapped onto your file. i was (and AM!) very fortunate to have parents who never pushed me one way or another. i was permitted to just be me, which isn’t always the easiest thing to be, you know.

i remember a time when i was 9 years old. i was at the OLD ocean county library (not the big beautiful one that stands now in the middle of town). backtracking: my mother may never join a 12-step program for library addicts, but she pretty much wrote the book on how to visit a million different libraries every week. consequently, i believe that in the 1970s and into the 1980s, she knew every librarian in ocean county. the happy consequence of this is that Middlebro and i have always loved to read. (BTD, not so much, though i hear tell he now reads… voluntarily…) anyway, i brought my books up to dennis, the long-haired librarian, to check them out. elaine, he called to my mom, are you sure you want to let your daughter take these out? and before her, my mom saw my selections du jour: romeo and juliet by shakespeare, god bless you, mr, rosewater by kurt vonnegut, and war and peace.

i’m sure my mother wanted to burst out laughing, but with a straight face, she turned to me and said:  are you going to read all of these?

and earnestly, i replied, yes, mom.

it’s so important to let your child’s personal freak flag fly. besides, it can provide hours of amusement.

in short, i have no patience for parents who are pushing their kids to be la creme de la creme. i’m not entirely sure what drives this, but i suspect something went kerflooey in someone’s childhood, and he or she is trying to make it right by foisting this heavy weight onto his or her child’s psyche. sure, it’s great to expose children to all sorts of experiences; and if your child shows an early extra interest in math, or reading, or whatever, then by all means, let him pursue that as long as he enjoys it. but don’t push so hard.

this isn’t a science experiment; this is your child.

let him be a child. he will learn to read, he will learn to compute mathematical equations, he will learn to do all the things he is supposed to do. but right now, stop pushing him into some sort of mold of what you think he ought to be.  instead, why not sit back and watch this person unfold into a unique individual. let him be himself. and love him, warts and all.

if you want to put that much effort into making someone change, work on yourself first.

pet peeve: people who cut in line

pet peeve: people who cut in line

Posted on by wrekehavoc

there’s only one line you can cut me on: the line to hell.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71IFbyQ7D-o

we have become a nation of people who believe that rules are there for other people to observe. somehow, other poor schmucks should be reading and following the words on a sign or face severe penalties. lines are there to control crowds, make order out of chaos, and keep people from going where they oughtn’t. the rules of lines are clearly outlined in kindergarten: someone is in front, then everyone else is behind him or her. and we wait until we get our chance to be wherever it is we wish to be.

but not you, my friend. for you are special.

you do not need no stinkin’ line. lines are for suckers. so you trample my kids at the Costco checkout like an elephant on speed and push in front of us because you’re bigger.  (mommy needs a moment to get herself together and not bark at the other grownup, i found myself saying to jools when he started marveling at what happened. what i really needed was a mojito and perhaps a water pistol. but i digress.) you ignore the mile-long line of ladies waiting desperately to pee at the concert. you let your kids push in front of all the other kids at the moonbounce.

i think what grinds my gears the most about this: what you are teaching your children… and mine. i get that there are emergencies at times, and i am most willing to give up my place in line to someone who needs it more for very serious reasons.  but you are teaching your kids that other people do not matter as much as they do in all arenas of life. and for those of us who are trying to teach our children that lines are part of life, you are showing them that following the rules does not pay.

in short: you suck, and you are making your kids suck, too.

i have a special memory. we are in disneyworld, a land that makes me break out in hives inherently for so many, many reasons (some of which i have shared here. and here. and here. (among other places.) you may ask yourself why i continue to go to disney. i wish i had a good answer for you, but in short, i am often outvoted. and there are bright spots to it, of course, starting with the fact that i actually get to go ON A VACATION. a huge plus, and not something everyone gets to do these days. i wrote about it once, but i thought i’d end with this little bit.

we were waiting on line for the animal safari in animal kingdom — a neat place and a neat ride, incidentally. i like to use lines as a teachable lesson for my kids. you know, an exercise in patience and fairness? a woman and her two kids continually tried to push ahead of us, the family ahead of us, and the older couple on the motorized scooter in front of them. eventually, they succeeded, hitting their trifecta of triumph. what we didn’t know: the woman’s friend and the friend’s young son did not push ahead and remained behind us. why are you so far behind? miss pushypushy asked her friend. why don’t you come up here and join us?

in one of the rarest moments ever, BS and i said in unison, NO! we had had it. for 20 minutes, this woman kept on pushing, nearly trampling over people. i added, if you’d like to join your friends, you can move back and join them.

i noticed that the friend behind us suddenly had a few words with BS. i didn’t hear them at first, so i asked BS what the woman left behind had said.

he replied: she told me “have a nice day! hope you get sent to iraq!”

yes. it’s a small world, after all.

only a memory

only a memory

Posted on by wrekehavoc

middle school, the second time around.

do you remember middle school? or junior high? or, as the town fathers called it in my hometown, intermediate school? that period of time that probably ought to be called the bataan death march through puberty? those years when you were sure that everyone noticed the pimple on your face, and you could tell by the whispers that it was the best topic ever amongst the other kids since john snapped jane’s bra in the cafeteria? those years when you were thrown together with kids from all over town, some of whom displayed manners which indicated that their parents apparently were attila the hun and mata hari?

well, now that BC is embroiled in the magical world of middle school, it is, as leo durocher once said, deja vu all over again.

it’s hard to look on to the scene without wanting to scream. or intervene. or just completely become dissembled. each day, i hear the stories: the locker partner who has taken over the locker and who won’t listen to reason. the mean girls at lunch. the teacher who doesn’t seem to care that you cannot see the board and who has no time to discuss the matter with you. and it goes on.

i have been trying to let the girl fight her own battles. i cannot step in forever, deus ex mama that i am.  but i’m beginning to think that 6th grade isn’t the time for the girl to be on her own. i’ve told her that she needs to give it a try first, but if she gets no satisfaction or response, then she needs to tell me what’s going on so that i can join her chorus. but how can she talk to her teachers when there’s no time at class’s start or end and the teacher will not entertain questions during class time? how will she handle some of these girls, who mistakenly believe they are richer and prettier and better than she is?

so here’s my problem. i am now, ehhem, a 21  year old mom who doesn’t possess the same fears that i did when i was a girl of a certain age. my advice now probably is lacking a certain, oh, how do you say, subtlety. a seat was empty at the lunch table, and BC sat down at it. the Queen Bee of All Queen Bees made it a point to walk over from where she was and tell BC to get her ass up off the table and move — that was HER seat. BC, being a sensible little thang, told her that she wasn’t sitting there, so what was the problem? the problem, according to the bigger Miss Thang, was that it was where she would normally sit.

(i know. the logic of 12 year old girls has always eluded me. even when i was 12, just 9 short years ago…)

so BC looked around, saw that two of her friends were sitting elsewhere, and got up and moved.

now, WWWD? (translation: what would wreke do?) if i had been a 12 year old with the mind of a more experienced me, i, of course, would have politely told the queen bee that she’d better leave me alone. pissing me off is not an option. if she wanted to pursue it further, well, i would gladly do so in a way that she would probably always remember. see,  even in my imagined younger state, i am no longer intimidated by 12 year old girls, the likes of whom think they’re fierce just because they shop at Justice.

honey: fierce is a perimenopausal woman who hasn’t slept since 1998, who has not yet had her morning coffee, and who has just about lost her patience for the petty bullshit that passes for social intercourse among tweens.

fortunately, BC followed her own advice and not mine. i suspect by doing so, she will not be ostracized in the cafeteria, at least not this week.

in other news, you think i’m projecting my own delightful middle school experiences on the situation much? mmm, mebbe.

so my new goal: try to erase from my psyche those memories of social-climbing, back-stabbing, and nasty people who won’t listen to you and who treat you as if you are invisible. all the things that made intermediate school so very, very memorable. for no matter how you slice it, middle school is an awful holding pen for the angsty pubescent kids and the teachers who loathe them. ’tis a timeless situation. and it’s time for the girl to make her own memories out of her own fresh hell.

i just need to shut up and cheer her on.

do not touch?

do not touch?

Posted on by wrekehavoc

Recently, I was at elementary school, talking with our gym teacher about my son. I’ve noticed lately that the boy likes to stand on his head, flip around, and basically bounce. A lot. While team sports don’t seem to work well for him yet, some sort of physical activity would probably be beneficial for energetic little him, for me, and frankly, for the rest of the world. (You can thank me later.)

In short, I’m wondering whether gymnastics might be a way to go for him.

I hearkened back to my own gym experience. We had entire units on tumbling, on the rings, on the pommel horse. While I never did grow up to be Nadia Comăneci (and yes, I know I am dating myself, you Mary Lou Rettons out there), I enjoyed gymnastics — the weightlessness, even for just that second, before flying over the horse (and often into one of my less intelligent classmates who didn’t move away from it fast enough.) Leaping ever so carefully on the balance beam. What I would give to be able to perform those flips I once did without living in fear that I’d require traction and anti-inflammatories!

So I asked our gym teacher: when will my son’s class get to do a unit on gymnastics? His reply?

Not in this school.

Apparently, the threat of litigation has backburnered this pursuit in our public school. I was told that when a teacher spots a student, he or she may have to actually touch the child; and since movement is involved, there is too much fear that a teacher might accidentally be in contact with a child in an improper manner. And even if that contact is purely accidental, the fear of getting sued, losing your job, and having your reputation sullied beyond all recognition outweighs the possibility of teaching a child to discover this ancient athletic pursuit.

Obviously, my sympathies are ever-present with any child who has fallen victim to a predatory adult; and there’s no question that persons in power who are abusive ought to be severely punished. However, this situation makes me think about where we are going as a society. When teachers cannot teach to children because of a fear that they may touch a child and that the child, in turn, may cry foul (whether true or not), what is lost? There’s a certain communication that comes with physicality; and while I don’t advocate that teachers go out of their way to lay hands on their pupils, this scenario tells me that litigiousness has won the day.  And how sad: for I remember fondly teachers patting me on the head, hugging me, and yes, spotting me in gymnastics. I know how I appreciated all of these gestures; and I mourn the fact that my children will likely have radically different educational experiences with their teachers. There will be little touching.

There is a beautifully sad story entitled Hands in Sherwood Anderson’s masterpiece Winesburg, Ohio that concerns a dedicated teacher named Wing Biddlebaum. Biddlebaum is estranged from society for decades because he has one “flaw”: he expresses himself with his hands. The story shares that in his younger years, Biddlebaum was a teacher who never touched any child inappropriately, but who caressed his students’ heads and shoulders in a supportive manner. Unfortunately, one day, a “half-witted boy” falsely alleged molestation, and Biddlebaum was driven from another town to Winesburg, where he lived alone on the outskirts, cut off because of his hands. He feared communicating with anyone ever again, all because of his fluttering, expressive hands.

Such a loss.

Originally posted on Smartly.

guilty pleasure monday: don’t cry (seal)

guilty pleasure monday: don’t cry (seal)

Posted on by wrekehavoc

as a matter of fact, heidi klum has nothing to do with this selection.

september has started off really poorly. two friends of mine have lost parents, and i ache for them. my parents have lost a dear friend who has battled parkinsons for a long, long time.  september 11 continues to remind us that there is still great division in our nation and in our world. and on the really micro level, BC had a fairly miserable first week as a middle schooler, drawing the lucky straw that put her in the one team that has no other girls from her elementary school. (there are three teams in her grade. every other girl from her school is in one of those two teams.) the principal, realizing the error, was willing to move the girl into one of the other teams; but by this time, different supplies are already bought, project assignments are made, lockers are already figured out. the girl has decided to stay put and make the best of things.

on the bright side,  jools has been placed with a teacher about whom i have heard wonderful things, with two of his best girlfriends as classmates. i haven’t heard anything bad from school yet, so i am hopeful that this year will be a good one.  also, our home renovation is complete, and so while i grumble steadily about the amount of work it is to put my home back in order, i am very grateful that we could accomplish this on time and on budget (and that BS and i remain married in spite of the stressful time.)  and, most importantly, everyone in my family seems to be relatively healthy.

in short, i am trying to focus on the bright side of things. but it’s really, really difficult sometimes. yom kippur, the day of atonement, is coming soon, and so i am thinking about all the negative things i might have done during the past year. i am genuinely sorry about plenty of things.

it makes me want to cry.

but i also know that i oughtn’t. and hence, the selection of seal’s don’t cry.

i’m armed with my tissues. but i’m hoping i won’t need to use them.

guilty pleasure monday: rainbow high (from the musical “evita”)

guilty pleasure monday: rainbow high (from the musical “evita”)

Posted on by wrekehavoc

i want to be Rainbow High!

the other week, i settled in with BC (who was under the weather) and started to tuck into the film version of evita starring madonna and antonio banderas. i attempted to explain the state of politics in argentina in the 1940s; the nature of eva duarte’s poverty-stricken and sad childhood and then subsequent attempts at sleeping her way to the top; and the actual reality of che guevera, who, while an important character in this play, isn’t actually historically present. girlfriend enjoys musicals, as i do, and so i impressed upon her how musicals can also be about serious subjects and not just singing for singing’s sake. and oh, by the way: evita is my absolute favorite musical of all time.

just as eva was meeting juan peron in the movie, girlfriend asked me to turn it off.

ah well. i was a little disappointed, but maybe evita is not a musical for the younger set. (at least, not until disney decides to take a crack at it and make it palatable for kiddies. what a laff riot that would be.) i saw it on broadway in 1981 when i was a few years older than BC. on the occasion of my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, my parents, my brothers, my grandparents, and i drove to new york to see andrew lloyd webber’s masterpiece. i’m pretty sure i saw it when patti lupone starred in it, though i was more accustomed to elaine paige’s voice in the role thanks to the record Middlebro shared with me of the original cast production.

in any event, my grandparents’ 50th wedding celebration was marked by two things: the first, the fact that i fell in love with this musical productions. the second: my brother’s car breaking down high in the parking deck…on that date, which happened to be easter sunday. try to find a tow truck willing to pull you down several stories on easter sunday in manhattan… anyway, let’s just say i have memories of my brothers and father pushing the car down and around the deck until it was low enough for them to work with. i’m pretty sure i ended up taking the Route 9 bus home with my grandparents and my mom while the boys figured things out with the car.

yep, nothing says happy 50th anniversary like an unexpected trip on NJ Transit.

the vocal acrobatics that the role of eva peron requires is astonishing. it is not for the timid. and i was mighty surprised when i heard that madonna was taking the role in the film production. in fact, surprised is not really the word for it; i was disappointed. while i’m not exactly the biggest madonna fan around, i will give her props in several departments; however, her vocal skills would not be among those. and while she wasn’t bad in the role, i felt her take on rainbow high was passionless.

this is a song to be BELTED out; and madonna is carefully working so hard to actually hit the notes that she doesn’t have a chance to infuse them with much emotion. the end of the song is even lowered a few notes, which is a bit jarring to anyone who loves this song.

i guess i should be thankful that a popular performer like madonna took an interest in this musical and shared it with the masses, who might not otherwise have encountered it.

and who knows: maybe one day, BC will watch it all the way through.

homeless

homeless

Posted on by wrekehavoc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bHeD73YYyQ

every day, i drive through an area called seven corners. it’s a crazy confluence of roads, each sort of crashing wildly into the next. i have tried to count how many corners are actually there; but it takes too much concentration to simultaneously count and navigate through the area, so i’ve never actually figured out just how many corners there truly are in that intersection from hell.

this summer, there are two homeless men who work the streets here. an african-american man has the strip beside eastbound route 7; a caucasian man walks the strip on an access road that feeds into both 7 and ultimately route 50. both have signs that state that they are homeless vets. they have replaced the lady who walked this street last summer; i remember her vividly because not only did we give her money for her family, but BC insisted that we find help for this lady. (i called both social services and the nearest homeless shelter; of course neither could help her.  indeed, despite the fact that she was on that narrow strip of land day in and day out, they said that they could not locate the woman if they wanted to. it was a difficult lesson for BC; that agencies are not prepared to go looking for specific people, like lost pets, to bring in from the heat.)

i only drive on the access road the one man has claimed as his turf. this morning, i dug into my purse and gave the man some change; as i held it out, his rough hand gently scooped it out of mine. he blessed me; and i wished i knew more about how he ended up on this narrow plot of land in the early morning heat.

i often wonder about the stories behind each homeless person i encounter. there was a man i befriended 20 years ago who was on my walk from union station to my office. he had a teenager and was not happy about living on the streets and what that did to his relationship with his son. i would often give him some of my lunch, as i didn’t have much money to spare back then. as the months wore on, my friend started showing up with flour all over his pants and shirt. a local group was teaching him to work in a kitchen, and he was very excited about his baking classes. i cheered him on each day until one day, he was not in his usual spot. i never saw him again; and i always hope that somehow, he was able to take the skills he was learning and get back on a solid path to a life of  comfort and stability.

i fear this is not usually the case, though, with the people i see on the streets.

i have seen homeless people bathing in the fountain below the Capitol building, where only hours later, throngs of tourists will stick their hands and legs to cool off in the Washington heat.  i was once chased, along with a friend of mine, by a homeless man who snapped and went from friendly to threatening; he chased us all the way into the ladies room at union station until somehow, he was mercifully diverted. i often remind myself that homeless people are people like any others; most people are okay, but there will always be the liars, cheats, and people with serious problems in the world. these folks just have the added problem of no safety net to catch them and no place of their own in which to lay their heads at day’s end.

but i still wonder. i don’t know what i would do if i were in that situation. and as the economy fails, i suspect increasing numbers of people find themselves in this position.  friends who have come to visit DC often ask me whether there will be any of those people near their accommodations; they want to shield their kids, or they don’t want to be bothered by panhandling, which i certainly understand. but with the economy tanking, i wonder how many of those people will be coming to towns and villages which were formerly considered havens away from our big city distresses?

because in the end, couldn’t we all be those people?

float on

float on

Posted on by wrekehavoc

rest in peace, psychofish.

this past weekend, jools’ pet beta, psychofish, went to the great big fishbowl in the sky. truth be told, he went into a deep hole in our backyard, in accordance with jools’ wishes. i gave the boy the choice, of course: a burial at sea [read: flushed down the toilet], where psycho would ultimately rejoin his fellow fish in the chesapeake bay; or a hole in our backyard. BC protested about the latter; she didn’t want psycho dug up and eaten by some cat. but it was jools’ fish and jools’ decision, so he asked BS to go out back and dig a deep, deep hole with him.

i never wanted a fish. we don’t have dogs or cats because of our allergies. and we never thought to have a fish, either, until jools’ preschool graduation a few years back. along with a diploma, the teachers thought it would be incredibly cute to give each child a beta fish. they neglected to consult with any parents as to whether this would be a good present for the kids.

i could hardly contain my joy.

suddenly, we were in the position to have to run out to a pet store and find a more suitable home for the fish (assuming the sandwich bag would hold for that long) as well as food. oh, and how about some cute little plastic foliage for the fish to enjoy while we’re at it? and considering that the recipient has an older sister? make that two of each plus another fish to go, please.

talk about the gift that kept on giving.

anyway, BC and jools both named their respective fishes with normal, friendly names. however, as the lady who fed them and talked to them each day, i gave them different names, names that stuck. BC’s beta, who is terrified of his own shadow, was re-named scaredyfish. and jools’ fish? the fish that acted like a dog and actually sat on his tail and begged for food? the fish that came to the edge of the bowl and would look to me for conversation? what a mondo bizarro little dude. i dubbed him psychofish. and i’ll be damned if i didn’t get attached to the little guy.  he even seemed to like it when i played the police really, really loud.

when he started to fall ill about three months ago, i started to fret. he began hanging out in his pink palm tree more than usual. (fish in a tree? how can that be?) after awhile, he just plunked down on the rocks on the bottom of his bowl and remained listless. i came to realize that something was keeping him from swimming, like a disease of some sort that affected his fin or fins. we tried cleaning his bowl a bit. i ran out to petsmart and found some fishy tetracycline. we tried this other stuff that was supposed to kill all the nasties in his water.

but nothing worked.

when i found him at the bottom, bloated and not moving, i cried. i knew i had to get it out mostly before the kids saw me or else they, too, would completely lose it.  and when the kids came home from their swim, i said to BS: la poisson est morte.  (we always speak french, albeit grammatically incorrect french, when we don’t want the kids to understand us. this plan will officially backfire next year, when BC has announced her plans to take the language in middle school.) he looked at me sympathetically; i then announced a family meeting where burial plans were decided and men were sent out to dig.

after covering ourselves in plenty of bug spray, we ventured out into the deepest, darkest corner of our yard, thick with vegetation (that probably is where jimmy hoffa currently resides.) there, BS, with jools’ help, had dug a final resting place for psychofish. BS had wrapped psychofish in the garment of ages, a paper lunch sack, and placed him gingerly in the hole. as BS started to shovel the dirt over our fishy friend, we all said a few words about the beta. then, as three of us are red sea pedestrians, BC and i said mourner’s kaddish, leading me to wonder whether G-d would strike me down for saying kaddish for a fish. (then again, that moment also made me smile because BC has been paying attention in services enough to know exactly when to say certain critical parts of the prayer.)

and then, jools started asking for a bigger fish.

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Cape Town, South Africa