Four-Hundred-and-Fifty-Three

I don't look under my foot and find crazily curious or seriously silly drawings and the like much anymore.  But, every now and then something does come to my attention.  I've had this stack on my desk for a while now.  Do you mind looking at them so I can tenderly archive them into the fabric get them off my desk.

Let's see...

This was in one of Nick's notebooks for school.  That dino is too damn cute to intimidate any thing bigger 'n a bush, in my opinion.

There's this from Zack:

This is, clearly, a Ninja fight.  There are a lot of questions one could ask here.  Which direction is the carefully rendered "death star" headed?  Is Ninja Dude on the right executing a fatal death kick, ducking the star, or falling dead onto his face?  Do these dudes know each other?  Why are they blind folded, seems hard to duck something with a blindfold on?  Why is my favorite part of all this the shadow underneath horizontal dude?  What is the damn context here!?

Lets move on to this top-hatted turtle from Nick:

Again, more questions than answers.  Is that his natural shell or is it giant checkerboard Jamberry of some sort?  Why is he going uphill?  Is that a monocle?  Why is he hoofed and how can he be holding his cane?  Was he finalist in the Monopoly piece competition?  Is that Lincoln's Hat?  Again, I need context!

Let's try something that makes more sense, like this Maze from Z-man:

Yeah... well, that didn't work

Perhaps this lesson Nick did to study for a test a while back:

Well now, see.  This all makes sense, doesn't it... ?

Both of the boys worked on these, the fianl renderings are all, I think, Zack's, but I heard them talking about names and such together.  In a perfect world of my own design - fiction, that is - these are names for some as-yet-realized punk-pop-heavy metal-post-apocalyptic-fusion bands.  The truth is, they are names for clans - or guilds is it? - they lead or are a part of in a couple of on-line kids games they play.  I like the fiction better:

REMiup.  A bad REM cover band?

XTOXiC A good XTC cover band?

 BiO ToXiC  Aren't they a basketball team?

I hate to say it but XContaminated just doesn't work for me... for anything.

I think this is the final logo, XToxicon.  I think it's a mash up of all of them...  I love that, "The Toxic Keepers".

They did mock up something for a glam rock tribute band.

Sorta just speaks for itself, doesn't it.


So, that's what I found, thanks for taking a look.  It's been fun.


I've been doing this a long time now, it'll be five years around Thanksgiving.  Four-hundred-and-fifty-two posts, not too far off from my hope of a hundred a year.  Sometimes I poke around in the archives.  I wince a bit at some, laugh at many, and, even this short ways away from them, I feel the weight of melancholy that hangs on them.

Writing this post, I decided to try to recapture what I did earlier on in this trip, I hope you don't mind.  If you write or paint or sing or whatever, I think it's important to look at how you used to do things.  It can offer insight, that's true, but it can do more - it can offer a sort of validation.  You can say to your former self, "hey, that was good" or "you were right about that" or "I cried again, just as you did when you did this."  It can feel good, but there's more:  If you recognize and validate the thoughts you once had as good and right, you can rest assured that your future self will probably feel the same about what you're doing now.

Make sense?

As always, peace.


If you are interested, there's tons more of this stuff in the Archives.  Try the labels "silly" or "take-home folder" or "paper arts" or my personal favorite, "hairbrainage".

"Curators Of Childhood"

Our Museum Of Bookbag Art acquired a couple new pieces last week:

Here is one:

Peebles, Zachary.  Blue Egyption Cat.  2016.  Paper Mache and acrylic paint.  MOBA.

 

ibid.  Detail back.  MOBA

 Here is the other:

Peebles, Nicholas.  Blue Egyptian Cat. 2016.  Paper Mache and Acrylic paint.  MOBA.

ibid.  Detail back.  MOBA.

Both will be on display in the "Basement Gallery" from now until, well, I don't know...  2030 or so.


An early goal here was to to archive some of the things I've found interesting or amusing or important.  I think I've succeeded.  The boys really wanted these on the blog.  Here ya go, boys.  (The funny thing is I can never bring myself to throw this stuff away, even after I document it, so I put them on a high shelf next to an unplayed dulcimer on top of a bookcase.  I wonder who'll throw them away?)

I wrote a post a while back, Rowing Ducks or Crepe Paper Thumbs, about parades and stories and stuff.  In it I said, "We are the curators of childhood. Whose, I am not sure, I get mine mixed with theirs sometimes. Most times. We tell the story of their parade."

We parents are the curators of childhood, not just the stuff like this, but so much more.  It's an important job.


From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."

"Hey, Dad, why don't you surprise me with a piece of fruit"

 Dude, that pineapple's gonna leave a mark...


That's all for today, see, I didn't keep you too long.  Stop by again on Friday if your walking by.  Peace.

Chess and Salvation

I've played a lot of chess in my day.  I've gifted chess sets to friends on several occasions, I even knew an old man who carved them.

That being said, I've never played on one this cool.

It used to be that I understood what they boys were talking about - hell, I even speak fluent toddler - but now, as their horizons reach further, as their education experience broadens, as their personalities and sense of selves expands as it will forever, I, um, don't.

Nick made this for an extra math project his teacher had given him to, well, keep him busy and focused.  Apparently, it's called "Decimal Chess" and one has to draw a card and solve a decimal problem, i.e. one and three-fourths is what as a decimal, what is the average of .5, one-fourth and 1.25, use a number-line to solve...  you get it.  You can move after you solve the problem, if you don't the other player moves again.

I suggested that chess was hard enough without solving an equation - although the idea of getting two or more moves in row is sort of interesting.  He said they were easy equations and everyone would know them.

Remind me not to play "Decimal Chess" with Nick...

I found this piece of notepaper on the floor.  It is Z's writing so I asked him about it.  He looked at it and quickly crumpled it up and said he didn't remember why he wrote it down.

"True Salvation is off to a good start."

It sounds like an opening line to a novel.  Perhaps, True Salvation is a new band.  Maybe he is experiencing a profound religious, uh, thing...

You know what?  I am not going to ever find out.  I am well past knowing everything about them.

That's sad... and good.


This parenting thing can really mix a guy up.


From Marci's  "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."

"Chanting always works."

There is that...


Thanks for coming around again.  Peace and goodwill and stuff.

What's Theirs is Mine

Lets play a game of "What's on the Coffee Table?"  (It'd help if you said that in your best game show announcer voice.)  ((Thanks.))

First, we'll need a table.  Oh, look, there's one right here.

There on the far left is a box of Z's Rubik Cubes, he's been heavy into them for quite some months now.  I made model airplanes when I was about his age - simple plastic ones put together with a glue that still wafts through my memory whenever Marci puts on nail polish.  I made ten or twelve I'd say, mostly WWII fighters and bombers and a Messerschmidt or two.  I suppose I learned a great deal attaching the bomb-bay doors and and tiny Rolls-Royce engines and Goodyear tires.  I'd like to say I considered war and logistics and the nature of good and evil and all that.

I asked Zack the other day why he was so interested in the cubes.  "I dunno, Dad, it just something to do."  Yeah, same with model airplanes, just passin' time not thinking about passin' time.

There's a deck of cards there to the right of that book of magic tricks Z got from the library.  I grew up watching people play cards.  My parents often hosted bridge games of two or three tables.  I used to watch my parents and my two older brothers play Hearts when we were camping.  One time, Dad went off to the latrine and handed his cards to me.  I played that hand and bid and won the next.  They didn't even know I knew how to play.

If you look closely you'll see three box lids, one says "Red Team" on a red piece of construction paper, the other says "Black Team" on, well, black (or, more accurately, that hopelessly dark gray black construction paper always is) paper.  Between the final lid is upside down and lined with orange duct tape.  These are components of card game called "Donut #s."  The pound symbol here indicating numbers.  There is a whole two page set of instructions I will spare you.

I am glad to see cards coming out more here in our household.  We haven't taught them many games yet.  I should get on that.

On the far right end of the table are two books by Newbery award winning author, Sharon Creech.  One is called The Unfinished Angel the other The Boy on the Porch.  Nick has, of course, read them both and was very enthusiastic about them.  I read them and so did Marci.

I can't say that I really ever gave juvenile fiction a second thought over the many years I've been an avid reader.  I never studied any of them, oh, wait, I did take a long look at The Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, which wasn't intended as a children's book.  Anyway, since the boys started reading I've taking a look at some of their favorites and I'll tell you what - there is a lot to be learned about plot and structure and character from these simple books.  I'd recommend them both to readers of all skill levels.

There in the center, to the right of the deck of cards is Nick's Hexbug and controller.  Below that an eraserless pencil, a calculator, a lovely San Damiano cross Marci came home with, a little black box and a thermometer and mini-compass key-chain.

So, I guess that's everything on the table.  You'll notice there is nothing of mine on the table.  I got to thinking about that.  At first, I was tempted to play the pity card; to feel sorry for myself because nothing of mine was represented.  It is easy, as a stay-at-home-parent, to feel like you no longer matter, that you've simply become your children's keeper.

That's honestly too easy and insipidly shallow.  You see, although nothing of mine is on that table, I just made it all mine.  I made this a memory.  I made a moment, created a scene, gave their things my narrative.

In a way, I think that is what parents who are involved, who pay attention to their kids, who worry and wonder for them, who seek a story for them, do.  We make our memories out of their now.

Or something like that.

In retrospect I could've at least put my coffee cup on the table...

... it is a coffee table, after all.  My coffee table.


I know said I'd spare you the two-page instructions from the game the boys invented but they are just too damn cute silly confusing adorable interesting to ignore.

I'm a little confused but, I'll catch on sooner or later.


Peace to you all.

Bookmarked

I read just about every night before bed.  So does Marci.  So do the boys.  We never seem to have enough bookmarks even though they are issued constantly and, with a few hours training anyone can make one out of anything.

In fact, every year at school they are the go-to gift at Mother's Day, not Father's Day, mind you, no, nothing is made for dads at school.  You know.  These are cute, really, they pick flowers in the beginning of the school year and press them and then make and laminate the bookmarks around May.  The flowers are always a little tired and weary, but, it adds to the charm.

Anyway, when Nick heard us talking about bookmarks the other day he decided I needed a new one:

Yes, the fifties did call and asked for their checkered sweater-vest back... and, yes, I do look remarkably like a puppy.  And, I do say "huh?" a lot.

Nick made one for his Mom when he was about three, it is worn out and faded, but, Marci uses it all the time:

What prompted Nick to make me a new bookmark, you might be wondering?  Well, I use a couple of computers, a Toshiba laptop Nick once called the "Tooshba," which is what we always call it now, and this one in the basement.  I was complaining to Marci that I didn't like not having my regular bookmarks for the sites I go to on the one upstairs.  Nick did not understand the new use of the word and, trying to be helpful, decided to make me a new one.

It is full out summer here in the Midwest, hot, humid, sweaty and slow.  I have trouble this time of year writing longer, thoughtful pieces, so, bear with me as I just archive some memories and the like.


From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."

"Boom! You just got downgraded!"

Boom...

Thanks for taking a look around here today, I am glad you did.


Oh, and here is the bookmark Nick uses... when he can find it:

READ like a Woreor (warrior)

Yep...

 

No Time For Now

It is Summer here, school's out, pool's in... and, once again, I feel like I don't have much time to get anything written.  I could post some nonsense, but, I like to give what I write a little more time than...

Wait.

Nonsense.  I can do that.

Nick and Zack had a Economics unit at the end of the year at school.  It culminated with an "Entrepreneurial Fair" held in the cafeteria.  It was a hoot.

Zack made "chatties," a paper fortune teller (see below, from a post called "The Paper Arts") with eyes drawn on it and a mouth that, well, chats.  He teamed up with a couple of his mates, one of whom brought in cookies made by his mother and the other little dude made paper airplanes.  They stood amidst the chaos and barked and cajoled and basically just had a good time carrying on.  Zack put some (read, not much) time and effort into it, and, well, he had a good time.

Nick, on the other hand, took it all quite seriously.  He made "Yarnballs."  Actually, he and his mother made them, lots of them.  Here's what they look like:

He had about forty for the sale and he sold out.  He made twenty dollars for the cancer charity they were donating to, and, well, he learned a lot as well.

And, as always, I learned a lot about him as well.  You see, as his brother barked and yelled and kidded and pretty much made a nuisance - in a nice way - of himself, Nick sat quietly behind his display of shoeboxes and soft-sold the hell out of his product.  Many, many, many girls oohed and awed at them and, by the end of the day, besides selling out, he had about a dozen more special orders to make for many of them in the coming days.

Yeah, that's my boy.  I wonder if his advertising campaign helped?

 "Have you ever wanted to throw a ball in the house, now you can with YARNBALLS  50¢"

That's just good copy right there.


From Marci's "...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat..."

 "I am from Crazy Town. I am the President."

I used to be...


I am glad you could stop by for a little nonsense, sometimes I forget that silly and simple and easy is just fine.  Good enough is still good.

That Telling Moment

I guess any moment fully examined will show you its secrets. I watch and think and ponder over the boys far more than I would care to admit. That seems funny really, I was once an extraordinarily selfish person... oh, it wasn't as bad as all that, I just had a pretty high opinion of myself, still do I'd say.

So, if say, I look back on this long day at the incredibly crowded pool, and wish I could recount the comings and goings of dozens of boys and girls, mingling and playing and learning and sometimes hurting and alone. I look back and realize the complexity of it and I step away. I fold the memory up and slap it in my brain and file it away haphazardly, never, probably, to see it again... unless I need it.

I think about the span of this their third year of elementary school, the boys I saw off that first day cannot be these same two gangly, cheerful, openhearted, well, man-cubs. You can see the men they are to become just under the skin. You can see their minds grasping deeper meanings and wondering more difficult thoughts, growing, hardening, like the muscles of their long legs and backs. It is not my story to tell, I feel. It is mine to watch and consider but it is not mine to tell... unless I need to.

I see them both making faces into the mirror when they think no one is watching. Mean faces, silly faces, a single eyebrow arched, a perfect monkey face. I think about how essential that is, I relate it back to me and am afraid to think about it too hard. Childhood is weird and confounding and damnably difficult at times. The complexity of meaning and import that goes along with a boy making faces in a mirror is more than my heart can bear... unless I need to.

But I want to, I want to share a moment, two really, that, selfishly, I want to remember. But each is wrapped in the longer story that is my story, your story, Nick's story, Zack's story.

It happened in a baseball game. Zack was in center-field and a pretty good hit was arching his way, to his right and coming down fast. He ran toward it and slid open-gloved to snag it. We practice these over and over in the back yard, he loves sliding on his knees, it's a catch he's made dozens of times... he missed it.

A little later, I am fairly certain the bottom of the same inning, Nick fouled two down the first base line, barely missing the ump once - he apologized profusely - and then smacked one over the head of the fielder in center. Some classic cartoon bumbling and an overthrow found him rounding second and the third base coach was sending him home. He slid, the throw was late and... he hit an in-the-park home-run. No one saw that coming.

Two moments - the agony of defeat and the thrill of victory - in one inning, two brothers and two beaming, heartbroken parents.

Here's what else happened, what else I learned, they learned, we learned... there's more to every story which is why every moment has a story to tell.

After the game, Zack was upset. I wasn't sure if it was the mishandled catch or the fact that his brother got a serious hit. I asked him, my heart told me it was the catch. It was. He knew he should have snagged that ball.

"We've practiced those over and over Dad. I should have caught it."

 A lesson, a hard lesson, one of life's toughest - sometimes things just don't work out. Sometimes practice doesn't make perfect. Sometimes we fail, blatantly, obviously, fail. A lesson in humility that feeds the lesson of persistence that feeds the notion of self that reaches out, across the space between us, and sees the heart in front of us.  He will remember this missed catch when he sees someone else miss theirs, when he sees another struggle, when he sees an unfairness that cannot be changed, he'll remember this missed catch.

I asked him if he was upset about the home-run and he said, "Oh no, I'm glad he got it, it's just that, if only, I just wish I..." and he trailed off, his voice breaking, with a look of curious resolve. He'd accepted the lesson and the memory and had made it his own. A moment, brief, fleeting... telling.

Nick was proud of himself, he enjoyed the boys running out to smother him at home. It is rare to see jubilation as the one who invoked it. It is a nice feeling, and he let it sink in. Marci went to give him a hug and she said he was beaming. I went over to see him and he was happy, that glowing, barely contained joy that children so often express. They seem to quiver and hover. They are brighter, shinier from within. You can hear the dancing heart.

"Good job, Nick," I say quietly, looking him in the eye. He knows I am proud of him.

He bursts into a smile, wipes it away with a twinkle in his eye and says, "Well, looks like I'm outta my slump."

I know what he doing, it's exactly what I'd do, he's deflecting. The joy and attention are almost too much for him, he has it now, the moment, the memory and he needs to go on. He knows he can get back to it later - joy deferred, distilled, spread out over time, is still great joy.

Later, just before bed, Zack was brushing his teeth and Nick and I were alone at the table. I smile and say, "Dude, a home run?"

He doesn't really smile but his eyes do, just there, around the corners, as his mind caresses the moment. He gets serious though and says, quietly but with emotion, "Dad, it's over." And it is, for now. I doubt he said anything to his teachers, maybe he told a few friends, he's not said anything else about it in my presence.

Sometimes these boys are bigger men than I - that's the truth.


I while back Zack made a popup baseball field.  It's pretty nice:

And Nick made a nice campfire one:

I don't know, I just wanted a couple of images.  You know how I roll...


From Marci's "...things you don't expect to hear form the backseat..."

N:  Dad you are my minion.

Dad:  No, I don't want to be.

N:  Well, you are.


I feel more like a house-elf...


Thanks for thinking of me and stopping by. See you again soon.

Beyond Bossy or A Thesaurus Of Sorts

Let's move beyond bossy and ban some really annoying words.  Nick brought his ideas home from school, I real place of learning - not the internet.

This thing, this, uh, thesaurus of sorts, is pritty pretty interactive, sort of gadgety.  I'll try to explain.

Here is how I found it:

It opens onto this page:

And then, if you close it and open it from the middle (I'm not sure how that actually works, a sort of fold that goes one way and another way, Jacob's ladder it is magical, or cursed) a hidden list of synonyms behind each worn out word is revealed.  It's pretty very incredibly comprehensive:

Let's look a little deeper at this, I mean, why not?  It's what I do.

Behind the word 'happy' are "extstremley (extremely)  glad, joyous, bursting, joyful, cheerful."

'Sad' reveals "melancholy, unhappy, misrabel (miserable), gloomy, blue, depressed."

'Big' has some useful replacements such as "spacious, colossel (colossal), enomis (enormous), immense (immense), vast, hummingous (humungous)."

I use 'cool' too much, let's see, "amazing, interesting, spellbinding, spectauler (spectacular), inchanting (enchanting), fasanating (fascinating), stupendis (stupendous)."

I definitely overuse 'pritty,' I mean, who doesn't?  I should use "glamoris (glamorous), equesit (exquisite), enchenting (enchanting),  cute, butiful (beautiful), lovey, loveley (lovely), attrative (attractive), stunning."

The suggestions for 'small' are "littel (little), tiny, miniature, minute."

I need some help with 'verey,' too.  "exstremley (extremely), unushaley (unusually), gretley (greatly), apsalutley (absolutely), dredful (dreadful), affley (took me a second, but, awfully), marvalstley (marvelously)."

Finally, for 'great' he suggests, "remarkebele" (remarkable), wonderful, terrific, superb."


Listen, when I first decided to put this here today, I wanted to do it because I thought it was funny - the misspellings, the way it's folded and crafted, the whole notion of putting away worn out words - cute stuff, perfect for what I like to do around here.  But, you know what, Nick thought of all those words himself (I asked and it is pretty fairly obvious he didn't copy them from the board).  Honestly, I am impressed with his language skills.  He knows words, he gets words, he loves words - who cares if he can't spell them, that'll come.

I am extstremley glad he has a strong sense of words.  I am not misrabel that his spelling needs work.  His enomis vocabulary is spectauler.  His littel  heart is marvalstley butiful  and his soul is indeed remarkebele.


From Marci's "...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat..."


"My favorite onomatopoeia is clunk ... or kablooie ... but you don't get to say kablooie often enough."

It is very apsalutley true, kablooie is definitely underutilized...


Thanks, as always, for looking over my shoulder today.  This journey - everyone's really - can get lonely at times, I am glad you come around as often as you do.  Peace to you and yours.

A Card (Or Two) For Mom

I so often find things I want to show you here and then I don't.  There is a temporality to them that I sometimes can't beat.  Sadly, they get lost, get played with to destruction, get buried in a pile, fade - colored paper in the sun - forgotten, I am ashamed to say.

So, it's Marci's birthday today and the boys made these for her and, well, uh...  I documented them before she even saw them.  I knew she would like to show them around and perhaps keep that at work.  Yes, a preemptive blog fodder strike.  And, yes, I should know better.

This is Nick's, he made a sort-of-report-card-not-birthday-partying-animals-card, uh, card.

This is the envelope:

This is the front:

This is the inside first page, that's a "loud Speaker" there in the corner.  Yeah, turn the page, if you dare:

Yes, on this parchment- no, vellum-like paper, erased over and over again, lovingly rendered, photo-realistic in approach are "Dancing Anamals."  The tiger is working a turntable, obviously, and "wicky wicky" is the sound a scratchin' tiger makes.  There is a little dancing egg just at the wingtip of the tap-dancing chicken.  Yes.  What's hard to express in a single moment is the sense of rhythm, but, that rabbi is really keeping time as hippo "stompity-stomps" and the turtles "wam wam" away.  It's a lot to take in...

(In the interest of full disclosure, it not really a piece of leather or parchment, but, a lowly piece of brown construction paper drawn on with pencil.  He really had erased nearly every square inch of the thing, and, when I set the contrast on the scanner, to read and see the pencil, it came out looking like parchment.  I do not ever underestimate children's cleverness, but, I don't think he could have preconceived out awesome this would look.)

Here is the final inside page.  Never in the long, checkered history of "dancing O's" have there ever been two more enthusiastic or professional than the two we have here.  "Clap, clap" indeed...

So that is the story of Nick's birthday card to Marci.

This is the front of Zack's envelope.  It's a new font, he still working out the kinks, and, uh, curlicues.

This is the front of the card, it's cut out, that's a black piece of paper behind it, so you could see what it is... oh, well.

But, when you open it up, it does this:

And says simply, "I Love you Mom Your Super."

An elaborate, elegant, well-designed, modernistic piece.

Pop.  A moment, a moment given, from Zack, to Mom.  One never-ending pink and red on white moment.

A story.  A song for mom, through time, from Nick.  One unforgettable story of a report card turned dancing animals card turned into memory.


There's a little more, do you mind?  Thanks.

When I asked them to make these cards they were playing on the Kindles, looking over one anothers shoulders, plowing through MineCraft and a loud hockey game.  I just asked if they'd like to.  They looked irritated as they reluctantly set down their devices and then, and then, they spent most of the next hour making these.  They had no warning, no notion of an idea and yet, they did this.  For someone else.  Because they know...

This, all this nonsense I write about, these words that pile up all over, are merely a place for me to hide while I shout, "I love you" and "I am proud of you" at the top of my lungs and hope you don't notice me doing it.  Please, understand that.


I wasn't prepared to do this today, but, the story sort of presented itself, so I don't have anything "from the backseat" ready.  I could make something up, but, I promised myself I wouldn't do that.

Instead, yes, instead...  I'll tell you one more thing about making these cards, when the boys first came in, they randomly grabbed the top few pieces on top off the paper pile: the card stock I'd put on top, a red piece, a pink piece, and a brown piece of construction paper.  From that, they improvised these cards, these pieces of themselves, these snapshots of their hearts in the spring of their ninth year.


Thanks for taking a look at these with me, it was fun.  I do this for them, I do this at them, and I try to do this by them, but, I am so glad you come along with me as I do all that, it's comforting.

Odds and Odders

So, here's how it all went down.  I wanted to post something today.  I wanted to post some stuff that they boys have done - I've been sort of getting away from that a little.  Actually, I've got a backlog of fodder a foot deep but I wanted to couch this in a positive light.

So, I scan a few things, blunder about as usual with the chip watchagidget from the camera, get it all together to put on the blog, I get ready to light my candle and then I realize...

It's five degrees outside.  It's maybe sixty where I am working in the unfinished basement corner I call my "office."  Well I really never call it that, but...

So, I decide to use a laptop upstairs.  Clever.

Right, so, let's see.  I will load the images onto the blogger page create-a-post, uh, place and then I'll save it and go upstairs.  Okay, now it wants a title.  These are just odds and ends, I don't really know how I am even going to make a cohesive post yet... I'm just cold.

I type in "Odds and Ends" stumbling over whether to capitalize 'and' - as I always do - and then I think again.  These are really sort of odds and odders.

So, now you are caught up.  As an aside, I'd like to tell you that I brought up my candle - new ones, Thanks, Marci - and the cat, Paige, singed her little pink nose out of curiosity.

So, let's play odd or odder.  What is oddest here?

The actual concept of this school project, which seems to be a four panel sort of pyramid thing on which they were to write categorically specific New Years resolutions.  Here is the whole thing - one of the cats nibbled on the point there, yes, the same one who just singed her whiskers - it's, well, three-dimensional:

This is the first panel (note the excellent spelling):

So, now, here is the second panel.  It's a little more, well, difficult to understand.  The copy there on that bottom triangle of the - what the hell are these things even called? - quadrathingee says:  "My to do mor (more) often work with my brother more to make more songes for are (our) band.

I am assuming the category is "to do more often."  You may remember from the post "Memorize This Moment"  that the boys are a songwriting duo, but, I am not sure if I mentioned the band they are in called "Second Place Sluggers."  So that's fairly odd, don't ya think?  Well, it indeed gets odder.  Take a closer look at the artwork above:

(Hold on I have to go downstairs to scan this in a little better detail, I didn't really have a plan today, if you hadn't noticed.)

(Damn, it's cold down here...)

Right, so I am back upstairs and in the warmth and brightness of the living room.  Yes, I know, I shouldn't have left the candle lit.  The cat appears to have a few whiskers left and most of her hair, although I did leave the disassembled quadrathingee dangerously close to the focus candle

We were looking at the boy band above.  Clearly the boys are rockin' their orange hair there on some old-school mics.  But, um, what of the logo above?  It says 2 Place Sluggers, that's pretty hip and that seems to be a slug (because a snail wouldn't make any sense) being crushed under the weight of a plump, suggestive, well, tomato, I think.  Well that makes sense, right?  But, why is there a dismembered leg and shoe - neatly tied -  hanging odiously.  Is it about to kick the happy not-snail?  Odd...

The next panel is his "to improve" quadrathingee quadrant:

That's him, in the "spelling bee" spelling the word 'spelling' which is funny.  Yes, yes he did misspell improve, and, truth be told I just misspelled 'misspell.'

I didn't get all the words when I photographed this but I am not going back into that basement to scan it - the candle might burn the cat, or the house, down:

It says, My somthing not to do eneymore"  Bite my nails.  It's a toxic thing... odd.

Zack made a beautiful calender at school.  I'll show you the months another time.  The cover is odd don't you think:

I am absolutely not sure why that imagery has been chosen.  It is by no means reflective of the theme of the whole thing because that has remained indiscernible even after considerable, uh, consideration.  Really, really, odd.

Here are a few basketball plays Zack figured up for the Nerf basketball team.  The name and affiliation change frequently but they are in the "Basement League."  I think the heart play is cute.

This seems to be a sketch of an area at Hogwarts.  It's good to have a couple of "fun" rooms.  I've no idea where this one came from.  In fact I found it with the page from the playbook underneath the couch...

The arbitrariness of it all is sometimes off-balancing.  For instance, this I pulled out from under a little stand that holds all the art supplies for the boys in the dining room.  It came out suctioned on the end of our trusty Tyson, uh, butt first, as it turned out:

Truly, all I could think to say was:  "Oh, I'm sorry, uh, Je, um, bobol."  I had never seen him before in my life.

Very odd, odder even.

I should sum up but it's so cozy up here...   Note to self, if you take apart a quadrathingee you will never, ever, get it reassembled.  It's a curse thing, I think.

Worst summation ever.


From Marci's  "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat..."

"You win some. You die some."


This post as been dying from the get-go...


Thanks for stopping around today and I'm sorry about not being in my usual place.  It's complicated, and don't mind that burnt hair odor.  It's fine... everything is fine... out, out, damn candle.