The Game of Life

At The Kid's football play-offs (that's flag football) this past weekend, talking with some of the other parents, one father had a lot of big-life-questions that he was trying to work through. He remarked, "I wish I could visit the homes of other parents... what do they do with the artwork? Do they keep it all or just the three-dimensional pieces made of sand?"

He went on: "Remember, the box top from the game Life? Everyone was having such fun. Do you remember playing that game?"

"Yeah," I said, "I remember that you could sell your children when you neared the end of the road."

The man just stopped and stared at me, blankly.

I was momentarily confused...didn't everyone try to accumulate children when playing Life so they could sell them at the end?? Apparently this was a goal only to those of us of a certain social strata... because I looked over and another woman about my age and, um, caliber, was bent over laughing her ass off in recognition.

BTW... I think this child selling arena was actually the space on the board entitled "College" wherein, now that I read the rules, one is supposed to pay $40k (this can't be the 1977 version) or some such sum. My brother, being the good, red blooded male that he is, convinced me, perhaps rightly, that he should be reimbursed for his progeny. That boy was way ahead of his time.

(And the answer to the question in the back of your mind is: Yes. He has 4 children... so far.)

Waking the Dead

We watched The Howling night before last. Having seen it at the way-too-early age of about eight with my older brother I remembered being scared to death, so during one particular scene where his breathing was becoming labored and his feet were inching closer and closer to me, I asked The Kid, "Is this okay?" "Yesfineitsfine" was his reply, eyes glued intently to the screen.

Yesterday I asked him about the movie again, this time in relationship to the Italian zombie movies for which he has absolutely no tolerance. "It was fine. The scariest part was the fully naked woman and whatever they were doing by the fire."
"Yes, but what about the werewolves? When they changed, that was pretty scary, right?"
"No. Not really. It was cool the way they pulsated."
"But zombies are still too scary?"
"Mom, don't you know that the undead is a lot more scary? The undead are real. Werewolves are just fantasy." And with that, he swiftly moved on to asking to see An American Werewolf in London.
To think that I was once somewhat proficient in the folklore of demonology. Not anymore, apparently.

The Spanish Lesson

Applying to new graduate programs is always a challenge. What to say about my past work experience: how much is enough, how much is too much? Amongst all of the queries about clinical experience and life before nursing is the inevitable question: do you speak a second language? The honest answer -- though I had a few years of ASL and can communicate (whatever that means) and some French (not super useful here in California) -- is a resounding NO.

A fellow MEPN, wondering how the hell I got into the program being monolingual said, "You don't even speak a few words of Spanish? " NO. I can fake it, but why would I want to do that when we're talking about a someone's health?

Anyway, The Partner decided that I should have a working knowledge of Spanish to make patients feel like I am, at the very least, trying to communicate. Fair enough. Tonight he began compiling the "Dirty Dozen" words and phrases, as it were. Phrases such as, "How do you feel?", "Are you cold?", "Are you hungry?", "Do you want water?", "Where are you from?".

Listing off possible phrases as we drive through the Mission, from somewhere in the backseat The Kid chimes in: "Are you a virgin?"

Yeah, that one should come in handy. Thanks.

For My Heart's a Boat in Tow

The Kid is pretty amazing... evidenced in this rendering of the human heart which he placed amongst my study materials as an illustrative reference. Check it out.

Invisible Costume

The Kid was so pissed this Halloween when no one knew who his costume was supposed to represent. What? Hasn't every other ten-year-old wanted to dress up as Claude Rains in the 1933 version of The Invisible Man?

Every time someone asked, "And what are you supposed to be?"
He just stared ahead blankly as if to say, "What is wrong with you people?"

Just a Body

The Kid is ten. Driving home from school last night we had this conversation: "See that dot on their license plate?" he asks, pointing to the car in front of us, "it means that guy's a donor."
"A what? Organ donor? No, they don't put it on your license plate. Someone needing a kidney might run you off the road... they put the dot on your driver's license."


"Oh... Are you a donor?"
"Yes, of course."
"What part of your body?"
"The whole thing."
"Well, that's good. They might as well take it all and help someone else. You won't be needing any of it anymore."
"Does it bother you?"
With some disdain, "No, mom... It's just a body."

Song to the Siren

Now from his breast into his eyes the ache of longing mounted, and he wept at last, his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, longed for as the sun warmed earth is longed for by a swimmer spent in rough water where his ship went down under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea. Few men can keep alive through a big surf to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind: and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband, her white arms round him pressed as though forever.

- Homer, The Odyssey

I'll See You in My Dreams

♥ S.L.M. ♥
December 17, 1929 - September 8, 2009

Irony

The Kid said to me today:
"I hate irony....
when it's happening to me."

A Home in the World

"I can't consider any of that time as time away, because you don't want to spend half of your life being away or where you shouldn't be. I choose to think of all the time as being present. I'm always home."

Movie: A New Euphemism For..?

So The Partner says, "Look at all of those trucks along the side of the road. Do you know what they're doing there?"
"No...." says The Kid.
"They're making a movie."
"What's a movie?"
"Um, a movie" I say, "have you ever seen one?"
"Oh," says The Kid, "I thought you meant something different by 'a movie'... like something truckers get together and do in the woods."

Garden Poetry

My mind is longer than any tree's branch.
My arms are like the trunk of a tree.
My hair is a bush in the garden.
My room is a treehouse swaying in the treetops.
My feet are the roots on a tree.
My fingers are like bonsai, each its own.

~The Kid, February 2009

Hello, Marmoset!

The latest greeting I receive when I see The Kid.

This nicely complements the insult he shouts when the dog is attacking:

"You little juvenile!"

The Oracle is Fulfilled

Welcome Perseus! (BKA: Percy.) Half dachshund, half chihuahua -- that's a chiweenie to you -- and the smartest dog on the planet.

To Quote, Two

Upon seeing a fairly drunk man - looking somewhat like Charles Manson but with a more distinct nose - riding a pink and purple ten speed bike, one handed, gesticulating wildly, down Mission street at dusk, he says:

"He's a little bit Judo and a little Menudo."

Further down the road he comments to himself, "You can tell that a society is dying when camouflage is more discernable than anything else that you see."

Two fine quotes from The Partner.
If you haven't already noticed, the man is a genius.

First Do No Harm

The Kid is reading, among other things, The Fortean Times Book of Strange Deaths. He said to me last night after my first med-surg exam, over which I was having mild to massive anxiety, "Mom, you'd better read this; I don't want you to make the same mistake."

"A newborn baby in a Chicago hospital came to an abrupt end when someone accidentally connected the child's heart monitor cables attached to electrodes on the chest and abdomen directly to the mains. Twelve day old Stratton Vasilakos died instantly. Apparently this was caused by a design fault which had resulted in several previous accidents but was supposed to have been corrected."

Somehow that wasn't really the anxiety relief, nor the vote of confidence, I was looking for.

By the way, did you know that "Primum no nocere" is not even in the Hippocratic Oath? I'm no doctor so it doesn't really matter. Interesting, nonetheless. It's actually attributed to the Roman physician, Galen.

Unbroken Circle

On Sunday we went to Tennessee Valley and not only happened upon such a large bobcat that we initially mistook it for a mountain lion, but a beautiful great horned owl. Perhaps foreshadowed by the latter, we were also confronted with a body on the shore. Given the position of Tennessee beach and the tides off of the Marin Headlands, it was pretty likely a jumper.

This was, The Kid pointed out, the closest he'd ever been to a corpse -- which is to say not too close, but close enough to tell us, aided by binoculars, what the man was wearing. There weren't many passers-by that day. Who knows the reason. So we were lone hikers when the coroner's van came by. Once the body was in, and the van passed, The Kid and The Partner both decided it was time to break into song. I scolded them both, unnecessarily imparting the significance of respect for the dead.

"But Mom, we are respecting him," said The Kid."We are singing because we don't know if the circle will be unbroken... we're singing because we wonder if he's a father."

And this was the moment The Kid began to grapple with human mortality. We learned thereafter that when we die he's going to keep a lock of hair from each of our heads in a locket around his neck, and The Partner's umbrella will be forever preserved in a pine box in The Kid's living room -- somewhat like the dog's ashes, which still sit in a tiny box next to his bed, bearing the words, in red sharpied child scrawl: "SAMMY RIP".

The Feminist's Son

The Kid asked if I wanted to hear a little ditty some boys at school had created.
"Sure," I said.
"Well," says he, "It goes, I'll give you a nickle to tickle my pickle."
"Oh, that's not right..."
"I know," he replied, "I think it would be more like a hundred dollars."

Indachshunation

On the lookout for a new dog. We have suffered through months of trying to find just the right kind, size, demeanor, temperament -- one that The Kid will quickly warm up to. Guess what it's gonna be? "Another Dachshund huh? Well, you guys have kind of embraced being wiener dog owners, and I'm sure you still have a cookie cutter that is a wiener."

So, if you hear of any dachshunds for sale. Let me know.

That's Sammy, above with The Kid, circa 2003, Western Addition, SF.
~Comment provided by my comedic and lovable little sister.

My Honey Bear

The Kid told me recently that he thinks he's going to be reincarnated as a kinkajou. Not to worry, says he, "you'll be the mama kinkajou. That's how reincarnation works."