The Most Important News of the Decade, Perhaps a Generation


Local news reports a new state-of-the-art high school will open.

National news reports that President Bush will be building new nuclear warheads.

Environmental news reports that a California Condor egg has hatched in Mexico.

Entertainment news reports that Donny Osmond is releasing new music.


A good news day? I guess that all depends on how you look at it.


The thing I find most disturbing about this, is that “Donny Osmond” did not get picked up as an unknown/misspelled word by the spell check. That means that someone thought he was important enough to enter into the spelling dictionary.

We live in scary times.

I cried when Jacques Cousteau died; he was an idol to me, and I respected what he stood for and all he had done for the environment.

Steve Irwin died yesterday. He too worked to teach people about the environment, particularly much maligned animals like crocodiles.

What bothers me most about his death, besides the obvious tragedy, and the family he leaves behind, is the shock of it.

How can someone so full of life just stop?

Chess camp update--

Remember Happy? His twin (yes there are two of him) bit someone.

The twin is named Easy.

False Advertising

I went to chess camp with my son, and agreed to fold origami with the children as a free time activity. I got so much more. I did make a lot of new friends, and met many wonderful children, some of whom were great little folders, as well as great chess players. One child I met defies definition. I knew this child was trouble as soon as I laid eyes on him; he didn’t just have a twinkle in his eye, his whole body radiated mischief.

The child spent the day at my origami table. Every opportunity he got he was there with his rapidly folded models, shoving them in my face, demanding my evaluation and attention. I made him wait his turn before helping him realign his twisted little models.

One of the lovely surprises I received on arrival to chess camp, was that I was to be a camp counselor. I had been told I would room with three little girls; they gave me seven little boys.

And worse, they gave me the child.

He wouldn’t go to sleep; he had many suggestions to make regarding lights out: “Can’t we stay up later? Just ten minutes? Can we use flashlights? Can we play cards?" He ended up listening to his iPod (he is a ten year old) and using the backlight to disturb the other children. He also managed to get the other children to misbehave. All of them lost points in the camp’s reward system before finally giving up and going to sleep over an hour later.

Predictably, the next day the child turned up at my origami table. I looked up and said, “No, you cannot fold. I am tired of you. You wore me out last night. Go away.”

He begged to fold, so I gave him paper and sent him far away, across the room--for his own protection.

Half and hour later he returned, tail between his legs, and asked if he could come back. I said, “As long as you don’t irritate anyone, especially me.”

The rest of the session went without a hitch, and he behaved (mostly) for me the rest of the day.

Oh, did I mention the child’s name? He is called Happy.

After five days of chess camp--we're back. Well, it's only been two calendar days, but trust me, it was at least a week. We ran away as soon as we could. More details tomorrow, after I've slept.

Today I'm going to the mountains for a week of chess camp with my son.

My anticipation knows no bounds.

Dolls

I was a well-balanced child when it came to playing. I liked reading, knitting, and cooking, and I also liked climbing trees, riding my bike, and playing cars with the boy across the street.

What I never liked was dolls. When I was young all little girls were supposed to play with dolls. I had loads of them. Little dolls with fancy dresses and tricycles, big baby dolls that cried when you laid them down, and a doll that would crawl when you wound it up.

Reports are that the wind-up doll made me cry when I was a baby; I don’t remember, but I’m not surprised, because dolls creep me out.

I mean it. Even though I had loads of dolls as a child (my mom and grandma loved them), I didn’t play with them. My baby dolls went without food, diaper changes, or love until one of my doll-playing friends came over, then I went through the motions for her benefit.

The dolls that creep me out the most are the little monkeys that play the cymbals. Or at least the monkey doll used to creep me out the most.

Now I think the freakiest doll is the one that is bending over and hiding its eyes. I know it doesn’t have a face, but I cannot bring myself to check to be sure.

Of course, there is one thing that creeps me out more than dolls.

Clowns really, really, creep me out.

I lie about my height.

It’s true. Most people get shorter as they age. I have gotten taller. That’s because I lie. I got tired of saying that I am 5 feet and 6 and 3/4 inches tall. Besides 5 foot 7 just sounds taller.

When I was younger, I was considered tall. Now that I’m 42, I’m considered short. What happened? I figure I can use that extra 1/4 inch to appear taller.

So, I lie about my height.

Tonight I lay in the hammock,
swaying in the cool breeze,
and watched bats catch mosquitoes
against the darkening dusk.

Dirt

I am not an archaeologist, nor do I play one on t.v. I did however go out into the field with my husband, who is an archaeologist. This is not nearly as romantic as it sounds, because archaeology is all about dirt.

I spent two days breaking dirt clods with a trowel and dodging clouds of dust, all in the 90 degree plus sun.

We found about twenty artifacts. What are artifacts?

Rocks. Yep, rocks.