April 26, 2007

Product Placement Ruins Perfectly Good Dream

I was not only playing Castle Master (see my very first blog), but was in the Castle itself. In my dream I had one final key to collect. All I could see was a white porcelain sink, and I nearly sunk into despair. "I want to win," I said between clenched teeth.

I then noticed that the drain plug was actually rooted into place like a plant, so naturally I started pulling it. Twenty feet of root came out--at the end of which was my coveted key!

Noticing that the root was starting to twine around my arm, I grabbed a nearby stick of dynamite (conveniently placed, of course), and eased the roots around it, quickly standing back. The blast destroyed the root, and I knew then that I had won the game.

My moment of glory came when a warrior riding an ostrich (from Joust, of course!) bent down to offer me a warm handshake. I can still feel the ostrich's soft feathers beneath my hand.

When I walked away, warm with the pride of my accomplishment, I noticed a can of Pepsi. Its logo was almost glowing in my dream. I walked by in disgust, but the can reappeared, perfectly placed as if before a camera and glowing, ever glowing.

"Can you imagine: a product placement in a dream?" I asked the nearest person. "I wonder how much they paid to do that?"

April 24, 2007

King of the Library

I was in the Fort McMurray library today picking up travel guides for our upcoming trip to Peru when a peculiar incident took place. From what I could tell, a librarian had committed a small crime: opening a door and in the process, undoubtedly rattling her keys.

A street person took issue. "Lady, do you see what you did?" he said, visibly upset. "You woke me up from my nap!"

The poor librarian, a mere slip of a girl in her early 20s, replied with a measure of incredulity, "I'm just doing my job."

"And a damn good job you're doing of it!" he spat back, still incensed that his nap had been interrupted.

Perhaps this elderly gentleman was in the middle of a delicious dream. Perhaps he was intent on lapsing into a diabetic coma. Perhaps his wrath against a mere peon working at the library was justified.

Nevertheless, his indignation did make me wonder about the so-called harsh realities of life on the streets. Perhaps--and I about to suggest something scandalous in its political incorrectness--life on the streets does have its perks.

April 22, 2007

Portrait of a Gray Person


Birds are people, and here is proof: this bird is eating her cereal out of a bowl as any civilized person would.

April 21, 2007

My People

When slotting people into convenient categories, my husband and I refer to his people (i.e. engineers who like spreadsheets) and my people (i.e. eccentrics with a passion for dark poetry). Rule-oriented and logical, Rod's people work with the system. My people focus on the important things--words, ideas, and art--and have difficulty navigating through the more mundane tasks of life (i.e. I will often make coffee and then promptly forget to drink it; our house is littered with half-filled cups).

Different people groups don't always understand each other--or even recognize each other as "people."* Marriage thus involves a good deal of dialogue and open-minded participation in what is essentially a foreign culture. For example, I recently attended an engineering party in which participants played a sexualized version of Tetris, imitated other engineers, and discussed titillating details regarding slurry piles and lump dumps.

Tonight was Rod's turn to experience culture shock. Along with Rod's colleague, we attended the Full Moon Cafe, a get-together of artists/musicians/writers.

Upon our arrival, the drumming began. We were invited to sit in a small circle and select an instrument. The session felt ominous at first: as the drums beat, we wondered if we would ever get our five dollars back. We stared at other participants and noted that some were grinning sheepishly and providing only a half-hearted accompaniment. It was awkward at best.


Then a miracle happened. Rod selected the egg--a marvelous egg-shaped shaker--and oh, how he did play! The group grew larger and everyone relaxed and started having fun. A series of performances followed--a belly dance and numerous musical pieces--and Rod even hummed along to the music.

Tonight my respect for this man grew. Somewhere in Rod's heart, an egg-shaped creative void was waiting to be filled. And by embracing differences, he drew me nearer. Now if I could only learn to love spreadsheets . . .

*In our household, there also exists Holden's people (good rabbits who know how to use the litter box) and the gray people (a largely misunderstood and persecuted group of feathered folk). I, of course, am a passionate defender of gray rights.

April 19, 2007

A Child's Take on Depression

I'm posting a wonderful paragraph from She Got Up Off the Couch and other Heroic Acts from Mooreland, Indiana. For those of you who aren't familiar with the charming Haven Kimmel (author of A Girl Named Zippy), her personal memoirs are unconventional, to say the least. The naive, quirky, and wilful Zippy--Haven's childhood self--is irresistable.

The following is a clever description of depression from a young and egocentric girl's perspective. Here, Zippy ponders her "new" driven and independent mother as Delonda shops for a dress:

"Where was ye olde Delonda, I was beginning to wonder, the one who wore Mom Mary's hand-me-downs year after year and never left the house, the person who was somehow too good for a place like Wilhelmina's [a dress shop]. I sat down under a tree, fanned myself, kicked at some dust to make a point. Never mind the lights being turned off, the lack of plumbing, the cold, humid haze in which Mom slept away the days, year after year, a silent, unmoving, unmovable mountain under blankets and afghans. What need did she have for trivialities and costume jewelry? Rising up on Sunday mornings, making do with virtually nothing (and even that nothing had to be pinned together and was so frayed it barely held), she had not seemed embarrassed or concerned. My cheerful, obese, popcorn-eating, science-fiction reading holy Mother: her eye had been on God. I missed that woman fiercely, but I barely knew why. All I knew is that as long as she was trapped I knew exactly where to find her."

April 17, 2007

We Are the Knights Who Say "Nii"

I recently visited my brother Nii Ako in Boston (see photo). Please note that why my mother chose to give her son such an exotic name still baffles me and my other brothers, "Rob" and "Brent."
Nii has implored--read, nagged--me to visit for the last ten or twenty years and was understandably skeptical when I announced my plans to visit. Nevertheless, I was true to my word.

Massachusettians are a peculiar lot. They do not--or cannot--put fences around their yards, for one. They plant their universities in the middle of the forest (as I discovered when attending a children's literature conference in Amherst). They also choose, out of their own free will, to live in a state that's difficult to spell.

Nii Ako, my brother (see photo again), is married to a wonderful, hospitable woman "Atta." She is also called "Comfort," which can lead to no end of confusion when you answer the phone and encounter someone asking for "comfort." They have two exuberant sons, Sowah and Nii-Odoi. I trust that Nii, out of respect for our mother, will name any future sons something less exotic, like "Bert" or "Ned." However, he has no immediate plans to put any "buns in the oven," so to speak.

One of the highlights of my trip was the arrival of Kathryn Andrea Taxbock of Ottawa and her--get this!--fiancee Mark. "Kathy," as she is called, explained that she wants nothing more than to be like me, to emulate me in word and action. Naturally, since I recently married, she wants to acquire a husband as well. I will say here that as much as I enjoy being idolized, sometimes Kathy can be a little on the creepy side.

All in all, Boston was fascinating, though I regret not having time to visit Salem, where I understand they still burn witches. My gratitude goes out to my brother for showing me a good time--even though he started nagging me to visit again!

That is all for today. I will now field questions.

April 11, 2007

Precious Memories


Christmas is a special time, a time of food, sharing, and laughter as the generations mingle. We learn so much from each other, don't we?

One of my happiest memories from Christmas 2006 involves the delightful moment when youth passed on its wisdom to the wisest one of all. Indeed, I will never forget the moment my grandmother learned to flip the bird.