A Road Less Travelled

  My dad, the HHG (High Holy Guy), is in town visiting us and tonight he came to dinner at the Lansberrys. Since he is an honored guest at their house I helped Theresa and Raquel clean before dinner and did not break any brooms. The children minus Moriah, Noah and Justice ate outside and my father mostly watched as we carried on a very normal conversation. We talked about albino bad guys, the Neo-Puritan view of the regulative principle of worship and identifying children’s cries. Elsie came in with a splinter in her finger and I told her a story with much audience participation about a dog named Rover who borrowed his friend Emily the Canary’s wings and flew to the library on Saturn. The splinter came out and Elsie was fine after a time. James read an excerpt from Calvin’s Institutes and then Seth used his gift of interpretation to explain it to me with the ear infection who hadn’t quite heard. James threw water at Seth and Seth threw water at James, though I don’t remember why. Noah bopped around and was adorable and my father had a good time. It was a very successful evening.

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 As I type this I am sitting at the computer with half a clove of garlic in each ear.

  I esplain.

  Every time I get a bad head cold it turns into an ear infection. Sometimes it turns into two just so I won’t feel off balance. Last time this happened Raquel was not here to console me. She, very selfishly, had gone to live with her parents for three months while she decided if Peoria was actually where she wanted to live. So I was e-mailing her constantly to tell that, yes indeed, Peoria was the best place on earth and if she lived anywhere else that place would perish in fire. Or something like that. So one day I e-mailed her and told her I had a double ear infection and did she she know any home remedies? Raquel asked her mother and her mother suggested garlic and Raquel wrote back and told me to stick a clove of garlic in my ear.

It was like a badly translated insult. You know when you’re watching some foreign film and it’s been dubbed badly. A character will say something and you know it was an insult that probably packs more punch in the original language. “You smell like a sheep that’s been out in the sun too long!” “Yeah? Well, go stick a clove of garlic in your ear!” “Oh yeah?!” and soon they’re fighting and I never quite know why.

Yesterday I woke up with a back head cold and last night I could feel an ear infection coming on. So I stuck a clove of garlic in my ear. It stung at first, but I think it’s helped a little.  

Raquel and I talk about those smarmy e-mail forwards about true friends. You know, True Friends don’t just bring a bottle of wine to your party, but stay and help you clean up afterwards. I never feel like these forwards actually get anywhere close to what it means to be True Friends. They should add something about true friends and garlic cloves. Something like “True Friends won’t just commiserate with you when you’re sick, but will tell you to go stick a clove of garlic in your ear.” Yeah, something like that.

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Yesterday I pulled onto our street and had a vague feeling if surrealism. Had I pulled onto the right street? I must have–I distinctly remembered seeing the sign. So why couldn’t I see our house?

After a few seconds of feeling utterly ridiculous for not being able to recognize the street or my own house I realized what was so odd. There were no cars parked around our driveway. I always drive between the red car on one side of the street and whichever car happens to be parked on the other side of the street and then pull into the driveway, avoiding James’ convertible parked on the other side of the driveway. James’ convertible isn’t always there, but the other cars are nearly inalterable conditions of life. I wasn’t even sure I could park in the driveway without having cars around to avoid.

I’m not sure that this realization made me feel less ridiculous, but it did restore my faith in my ability to drive home without getting lost. It also made me realize how quickly I get used to life being a certain way, and how rarely I realize it until life changes.

Somehow, I have managed to make a deep and bizarre experience out of the fact that the neighbors happen to use their cars on occasion. No wonder my life can seem so complicated.

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  I like Blogpeoria. I like it a lot. It is easy to use, I think the dashboard blue is pretty and the administrator is a nice man. But, alas, it doesn’t have word verification. Word verification is when you have to type the letters you see in order to leave a comment. Of course the letters never spell anything remotely like a word, but it was such a handy thing I never griped about that. Blogpeoria does not have word verification. And for the past week or so this blog has been getting an outrageous amount of spam comments. We got seventeen last night, at least thirteen the day before, and more the day before that. Most of them go to moderation, but some of them slip past the filters and get to where people can actually read them. I suppose I should feel flattered that so many people want to spam our blog, but I am currently finding it a nuisance. So, I am going to turn on the filter that will keep everyone out until either Raquel or I have approved one of your comments. If we decide we like you we will approve a comment and from then on you won’t have to worry about being shipped to moderation. If we haven’t been bribed heavily enough who knows, you could be stuck there for a while. So please, comment early, comment often.

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I just wrote the closest thing to a nasty business letter I’ve ever written. It was politely worded (with a please and a thank you, even) but it was forceful enough that it makes me a little nervous.

It all started when I decided it was time to finally spend the Christmas money I’ve been saving for the just the right purchase. I settled on some CDs at half.com. They had a good selection of music I actually like at decent prices with okay deals on shipping.

A few days ago I recieved my package–ripped open and missing two CDs. An exchange of e-mails between me and the seller settled that I would go file a claim with the post office.

I had some trepidation over this. I was sure that the postal employees would be very grumpy and defensive as soon as I tried to file the claim, and would do everything in their power to trip me up with red tape.

In actuality I talked to two very nice ladies who informed me that the package wasn’t insured in the first place so there was nothing they could do, but wasn’t it a shame the seller didn’t package it better? I agreed that it was indeed poorly packaged and went off to e-mail the seller. Again.

He informed me that I am being misled, for lo, the law states that the post office must inform me if they have delivered to me a package which is missing items. I sense a failure in logic here. The issue is that the post office does not pay for loss of uninsured materials. At this point I don’t even care if they properly informed me about the loss, especially as they wouldn’t know what was in the package in the first place and so would be unable to inform me of said loss.

My keen senses also detected a ridiculous number of commas in his e-mail, including one in the phrase, “you’re being, misled”. I mocked the commas to get it out my system and proceeded to write the aforementioned not-quite-nasty-business-letter.

As I reconsider, I did not say anything remotely nasty in the letter. I told him that the post office was unlikely to do anything about an uninsured package, though he was welcome to pursue it, but to please refund my money for the CDs I didn’t get. I think the part that intimidated me in the writing was “within 48 hours”. The rest of the letter was perhaps slightly terse but pleasant enough. That phrase pushed it over the edge into saying “I mean business”. Which is, after all, what I wanted to communicate.

Perhaps what really bothers me is this–the seller has a feedback rating of over five thousand. I have a feedback rating of five (one hundred percent positive feedback so far, but still not that impressive). If I decide he’s being a jerk I can add a small note to his record. If he decides I’m being a jerk he can just about wipe out my feedback rating.

Oddly, finding the words for this makes me feel better about the whole experience. I refuse to be intimidated by the large half.com seller with much feedback. I will fight my battles to the bitter end, regardless of…um, well, anything. Maybe I should try this again in the morning when I’m feeling more poetic.

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 So Crystal was working on a project. She needed to spray paint it and so she needed to paint it outside. The only problem was it was nighttime and there is no light on the back porch. So Crystal was wandering around trying to find the flashlight. Then she gave up and tried to find Noah’s flashlight. Then she had to ask for help finding his flashlight. I found it on the kitchen floor and Crystal went outside to paint. I should probably note at this point that Noah’s flashlight is a tiger with the light shining out of his mouth. When you turn the light on it makes this really silly sounding roar. So Crystal went outside armed with this tiger flashlight and Seth and I taunted her the entire time. Eventually Seth went out to help her with something and kindly held the tiger for her. They picked up and he closed the tiger’s mouth. But then Crystal fumbled the spray can lid and it went skittering off. So my big brother had to stand on our back porch holding a roaring tiger flashlight. I only wish I could have been there to see it.

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 Look, it’s a blog post. This is where I finally tell you all the marvelous happenings that have kept me too busy to post. Let’s see, did we actually have any marvelous happenings?

 I got the kitchen floor mopped again and it only took me one afternoon this time, which is something of a marvel in it’s own way. I confered with Moriah about secret projects she’s working on, I bought used books with Gabrielle, I ran out of yarn for one of my own secret projects… I’ve also found the need to file a claim with the post office for the first time in my life. This is not an event I’m looking forward to, but it is probably in some way momentous.

 In more exciting news, we obtained a working washer today. As I type my larger-than-normal load of laundry is cycling through the new front loader. The combination of getting to do laundry again and getting to do laundry in this lovely energy saving machine is pleasant enough in itself. When you add in the fact that the old washer didn’t actually fall on me when it slipped off the dolly on it’s way out the door it makes for a lovely day. Maybe even a day worth writing a blog post about.

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 I finally went back to the old blog to retrieve the last of our belongings, i.e. drafts we never published. I found this one from October of last year. For some reason I didn’t want to post it at the time, but I was afraid if I deleted the draft I would lose all these lovely memories. So here it is for all posterity…

 
October 9, 2005 

We did a lot of painting yesterday. That sentence pretty much sums up all the official work. We did a lot of painting yesterday. If you want more information on what we actually got done then read James’ post. If you want to know the interesting parts then keep reading.

What with the previous owner moving out downstairs while we painted upstairs, showing Gabrielle around the house, and discussing the best layout of my room, it took me a while to actually get started doing anything. James’ introductions of me and Gabrielle to the people moving out didn’t help much–he took the long way about to explain exactly who we were and how all of us fit together and were related or not related. In all of that he somehow neglected to mention that the child Gabrielle was holding was her nephew, but Gabrielle quickly clarified this important point.

By the time I picked up a paint roller the painting equipment had been confiscated from the children and they had been relegated to the back yard. Regardless of Seth’s accusations I didn’t actually plan it that way–but I didn’t mind very much either. Theresa and I did some touchups and corners while Seth painted the ‘tall parts’. This period of time set the tone for the day as I did my best to annoy Seth, but he refused to admit any annoyance–at least until I pointed out that I was too short to do anything else useful in this room.

Other highlights of the day include:

Seth tried to tape Gabrielle’s mouth shut with painter’s tape, but it didn’t stick very well so she just talked away in complete disregard for the odd, blue mustache Seth had applied to her upper lip.

Gabrielle and I sat on the floor of my new closet ’supervising’ as Seth taped the molding in my room that we couldn’t reach.

I demonstrated that I do not throw like a girl by throwing a roll of tape at Seth. (If this did not prove my point completely I am willing to repeat the experiment as many times as necessary.)

Seth used the end of my braid as a paintbrush. I had refused to let him earlier in the day, but then I accidentally dipped the end of my hair in a paint can lid, and…well, I guess it was just that kind of day.

 

 

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One of my all time favorite authors is aman by the name of Lloyd Alexander. He wrote a series that is up on the list of books I grew up with and regard as staples in any literary diet. I read everything I could find that Lloyd Alexander had written except for a book called The Kestrel. I have memories of various people discussing Lloyd Alexander and remarking on how fun his books were. Except for The Kestrel, they would say. Yes, the others would agree, except for The Kestrel. So the last time I was at the library and I saw The Kestrel I got it out. I wanted to see what everyone meant. And you know, they were right.

Often times there is conflict in Lloyd Alexander’s book. Sometimes even war. But it is portrayed almost as a child’s version of war. His books are written for young people and his wars are a young perspective of war. There is always this sense that this is a bad thing, but he never goes into much detail and the questions he asks are not about the war itself. Except for The Kestrel. It is a book that asks brutally hard questions about warfare and honor and I am ashamed to say I don’t have the answers. There were times in the book I thought “That’s wrong”, but then I would hear a character explain it and it almost made sense. I would think “They shouldn’t do that”, but then I would wonder what they should have done instead. I started asking the same questions Lloyd Alexander asked, but I don’t have any answers. I don’t think he does either. So for now I’m pondering, but I wonder if there are any clear answers. The most I have right now is “War is an ugly thing and it always will be.”

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My favorite things from this morning:

My first glimpse of Samuel this morning in Isaac’s clothes that are all too big for him.

Dancing in the kitchen with Noah.

Arianna curled up on my bed reading some of my new books.

The trusting look on Justice’s face as his brothers wreak havoc not two feet from him.

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