Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Sick day   The basement is a wreck. My kid has been home with a cold for two days. I remember what it was like to stay home from school sick when I was nine years old. I would play all day. Watch TV. Drink hot chocolate. Not think about school for a moment. This is what he has been doing. The evidence is everywhere. Scattered about on the floor are swords, scabbards and axes of many different sizes and time periods, from less than an inch to over three feet high, from medieval times to the swashbuckling days of the pirates. There are catapults, a nasty looking saber tooth tiger, a dragon, a bulldozer (did I mention that I have a boy?), a cannon, a helmet. There are marbles dotting the carpet (for the catapult?). There is a thin orange plastic plate the size of a pancake with palm trees sticking out of it: an island. There are DVD boxes: Lord of the Rings, the Simpsons, Shrek. Most conspicuous, however, are the two bar stools that my son has brought from the back of the room to the center of the play area. They sit about four feet apart and stand soaring skyward like two mountain mesas. On one there is a single 3” tall Roman warrior all decked out for battle: a sword in his hand, an axe on his belt, a knife, too. He has thigh-high silver boots, full chain mail, a protective helmet with a plume. He appears to be taunting his opponents. They are on the other bar stool, um, I mean mountain mesa.  Four similarly sized action figures armed to the teeth and staring right back at the Roman warrior. Four of them! One on a horse. Don’t ask me how a horse would have gotten up there. I’m guessing that at least one of these figures is a wizard. Maybe he used his powers to get the horse up there. You might think that the Roman warrior was seriously outnumbered and making a valiant last stand, but I’m not counting him out. I am certain that my son has a plan here. The action has ceased for the evening as Conor has gone to bed. Pity. I’d really like to know how this plays out. So, too, I’m guessing, would the warriors. It’s going to be a long night for them. I dare say, they haven’t blinked. Not a one of them. 11:08:21 PM    Stories  comments []

He knows who he is   He has a laugh that comes straight from his gut: Ho Ho Ho Ho. Just like Santa. I have a laugh that is rapid fire: He He He He. Like a machine gun in my throat. We talk regularly and get each other laughing with ease. Yesterday I phoned him at the office. We shared stories of our Thanksgiving holiday… Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. We talked about the sorry state of our football team, the Washington Redskins... Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. Work is a drag, but at least it provides a good place to sleep... Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. Family obligations keep us from our singular goal of sitting on our asses, watching TV... Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. Both our wives want new washing machines. What’s wrong with a rock by the stream? he says. Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. You are a cheap bastard, I say. You are, too, he is quick to point out. We wear it as a badge of honor. Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. We talked about my blog. He liked the Hummer story. Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He He. And the red wine story. But I am still upset by that, I say. The mess! Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He He. I just don't know how I could have dropped that glass, I say. He says, dumb luck, eh? Ho Ho Ho Ho. He He. Maybe, he says, you've gotten to that age when you just start dropping things. Ho Ho Ho Ho. He. What? he says. You never looked at it that way? <pause> If I was a younger man, I say, I'd come over there and pop you one in the nose. Ho Ho Ho Ho. 8:57:16 PM    Random Nonsense  comments []

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