Thursday, March 11, 2010


Repeated in my head Tuesday morning on the walk to the office, "Let the sticks be sticks and the worms be worms." Had to talk sternly to myself and resist the urge to start rescuing worms. That would be my way of going obsessively off my rocker. Either I would spend every rainy day picking up worms or I would refuse to leave my room for fear of seeing too many worms to save. I've decided that when I do go in for large scale worm rescue I should have a very thin plastic spatula to help me lift them up. With all this worm carnage on the sidewalks why aren't there swarms of robins coming in to feast? Or shrews, or raccoons, or whatever eats worms.

We all attended the second grade music program Monday night. They were more proficient than the kindergartners but also more chatty. In between songs those kids sounded like a flock of parrots up on the risers. I heard one real singing voice and wondered if she'd had lessons.

Our school board has announced that it has decided not to close any schools for next year but to make the budget cuts across the board. So class size will go up by one child and there is an early childhood center that is moving but none the cuts/closings that were most protested will happen (for next year at least). I hope some stressed out parents are feeling relief today. I'm quite surprised really. And proud of the Save Our Neighborhood Schools people. I admire their fire in the belly and wonder why I don't have it. But then sometimes I see them as privileged white people, complaining about resource reduction. Stupid flipfloppy brain.

Here's what I want to dream up. Some sort of bait and switch strategy to motivate Afghanis* at large to treat girls and women better. (*I pick the Afghanis because of the Taliban and their particular targeting of girl's education, but this could be any country particularly oppressive to women.) The US/UN demands some sort of action A. By failing to do A the Afghanis get to assert themselves and thumb their noses at the int'l community. But the sweet tricky beauty part is that by refusing to do A they have to do B instead. And B is secretly the thing that helps girls and women even more than A would have. I need some help with this. I'm in Underpants Gnome territory here but surely there are some huge brains in the world that could dream this up. Something that would enable the Afghanis to say look we do things our own way not yours and see, our girls and women are healthy and happy. To take pride in their well being as their own achievement. Know any Macchiavellis who would be good at this strategizing?

Platform beds. A link to this site hooked me last month. Nod mentioned recently that he's ready for a headboard too. I was looking at the marks on our walls showing where our heads loll when we read in bed. Enough of that. I guess in the new austerity I need to acquire a jar to start saving up for this.

Got up early and made brownies for Nod's birthday this morning. He said he enjoyed the brownie and our cards and apologized for any grumpiness as he was feeling grim about having to be this old. I can only roll my eyes. What, it's injust that you keep aging? I get not enjoying the involuntary metamorphosis but to be actually resentful seems histrionic to me.

Fritinancy corrects Robert Redford's reach for a poetical allusion. I was glad to read these lines from Pope. I only knew the three word phrase which comes to mind so often: Hope springs eternal. But here's the quatrain which expresses in such a pleasing way our inability to settle for the present moment:
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
-Alexander Pope,
An Essay on Man, Epistle I, 1733


amenaneri said...

Oh, the worms, the midwestern worms. I remember the post-rain carnage. Wonder why they don't appear on San Fran sidewalks?

Yummy platform beds. Just be thankful yours isn't up by the ceiling like ours. We're just too old for a full-sized bed in a cramped space. I just want my space, man! One of us often crashes on the couch--we say it's because we're too tired, but I think it's really because we don't want to fight over bed space. We're thinking of getting rid of the bedroom desk and radically changing our closet/dresser situation so we could put a nice bed on the floor.

Do you think you can train Zing to be a mouser? Is it genetic? Maybe she'll make the mental leap between stalking and carcass and get that she could make that happen.

Nimble said...

AM: It's kind of wonderful thinking about one's ideal bed, isn't it? I hope you'll be stretching out luxuriously soon.

I think a mother cat can teach a kitten to hunt. I don't think a human has any chance at teaching an adult cat to hunt. Zing is excellent at the pouncing portion of the program. 2 mice down in the traps and that seems to be the end of the infestation.

Lucy said...

Poor worms!

There was some kind of a theory that by presenting us with mice, cats are trying to teach us how to hunt, as they think we are kittens.

Bee said...

"Hope springs eternal" is one of my favorite-ever sayings. Would you call that a saying? I can't think of a better word for it.

For people who like to read in bed, quilted headboards are the only way to go. If you prop up big pillows between the headboard and your back you won't get the greasy head stains. Tell Nod it's still early days for ageing. He needs to be pacing himself on the depression/resentment.

I would like to offer suggestions for your bait and switch but I'm too tired.