Category Archives: This Never Happened To Pablo Picasso

He Turns Down the Street

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Cute little murder monster

Baby trash panda looks totally adorable when not lunging for me.

The raccoons have been gently evicted from the eaves of our house and relocated to a more rural locale. We hope for the best for them, but at least one did not have the best survival instincts. Fingers crossed, they live long, happy lives, full of delightful and mysterious leftovers. We hope so, but they couldn’t stay here. Pete found one of the babies inside the chicken run, nibbling chicken food, near very alarmed chickens, so that had to be the end of that.

 

I have one more week of American Sign Language class. Earlier this evening, I suddenly realized I’d acquired enough of the basics to tell a story. As you know, stories are my thing; being able to tell a story is kind of hip, kind of cool, kind of Charlie. Tomorrow, I’m going to tell a story in class, which would be much like tearing off my Foster Grants to reveal my superhero identity, but since I am a middle-aged person, I have zero doubt my young classmates will notice a bird, a plane, Superman.

 

When You Gonna Give Me

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WordPress, bless its heart, pushed me out of the nest, forcing me to squawk in a new birdsong. Between the better! bright! idiot-simple! publisher and the new laptop, I feel pretty stupid. I haven’t figured out how to name and tag photos yet. This one of Drusy, Queen of Crunchy Paper, is sitting here with its dull file type name and number. Imagine my chagrin!

IMG_3052.jpg

In other news, the crunchy paper has been vanquished and placed in the recycling bin, as a warning to all the others.

Into the Flood Again

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So, I was pushing through things with my head down – my laptop is dying and I’m saving up for a replacement – when I suddenly realized April is nearly over and Poor Impulse Control is a gangly twelve year old. While I’m relieved that the blog doesn’t need braces, it’s still exasperating. What am I going to do with it? Where should I go now? I’ve given it a whole lot of thought and re-registered with the unnamed university. The application process, the counseling meetings, the phone calls have all offered daily tests of my resolve, and I didn’t know I had that. This has been very damned unnerving and I haven’t started having those naked/missed exam dreams yet.

Smell this!

Smell this!

On the other hand, a twelfth anniversary was worth marking. Faced with the choice between murdering me or setting up a blog so I’d write, Paulie Gonzalez set up Poor Impulse Control and demonstrated tremendous restraint. As thanks, I sent him a lovely port wine from Unionville Vineyards last week and hope he has a serene weekend. Thanks, Paulie, you mad charmer!

With good luck, I should acquire a new laptop pretty soon and posting should be easier, my stories should be lemony fresh and springy. And that’s good because no matter how it whines that all the other blogs have them, I’m not buying the blog heels.

Cool Down Stop Acting Crazy

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My nephew comes to the house once a week to turn over the compost and do little jobs around the garden. I’d seen him walking down our street with an older guy and noted where they stopped, because even though this is a very small town an angry mob needs good directions. My nephew said this older guy is sponsoring him for Christian confirmation, but he, my nephew, is struggling with the concept of faith. His entire family goes to church every Sunday with sincerity and sheet music, so I waited patiently for him to say, “April Fool!”

We looked at each other.

We stood there.

We stood. Suddenly, I remembered I was the grownup, which was a little awkward.

The “African daisy” (Osteospermum app.) a half-hardy perennial native to southern Africa. It comes in many colors and is a popular bedding plant. Photographed at Longwood Gardens. Photo: Bob Hosh

The “African daisy” (Osteospermum app.) a half-hardy perennial native to southern Africa. It comes in many colors and is a popular bedding plant. Photographed at Longwood Gardens.
Photo: Bob Hosh

I said, “Faith is kind of weird. It comes and goes. What matters is what you do.”

He said something much more mature than I am about collecting principles for testimony, but I am not a Christian and these are not my rituals. I know less about this than he does and more than I want to.

I uttered some platitude about how behavior is most important. By this time, I was ushering him to the door, grinning like a jack o’ lantern in a wind storm. I did not say, “Kid, I’m always in your corner. Call me for tattoos and bail money.” He will never need it.