Margot Goes to Kindergarten #T

Little Margot sat primly at the table.  The pink bow tied her long honey-colored ponytail, the perfect accent to the pink-on-white polka dot pinafore she wore.  Margot's hands were folded atop the table and she listened intently as Miss Roz was giving first-day instructions to the new kindergarten class.  It was a bright, hot August day outside, but the whir of the air conditioning fans overhead promised comfort in the classroom.

The table accommodated five scrubbed and enthusiastic, or frightened, or subdued children and Curtis.  Miss Roz knew within moments of the day's opening exercises that Curtis would be a handful.  What she had yet to learn was that Tina, seated next to Margot and across from Curtis would,  over time, make Curtis appear to be angelic, in a manner of speaking.

Curtis was jumping in and out of his chair grabbing pencils and books that did not belong to him.  Miss Roz, not yet frazzled,  was making a valiant effort to corral the tyke. Tina leaned toward Margot and said, "That is the ugliest dress I ever saw."  Margot, stunned, never said a word, but a tear formed in the corner of her left eye.  And Tina said, "Why don't you cut off that awful hair?  It looks like throw-up down your back."  The floodgates opened and Margot's cheeks were inundated with tears.  She turned toward Miss Roz, but Miss Roz had heard what was going on.  She, too sweetly Margot thought, chastised Tina and asked her to apologize.  Tina turned to Margot again and said, "I'm sorry you can't take a joke, you skinny stick.  Bet your mama starves you so she can eat it all herself, the fat pig."

Margot turned full in her seat, faced Tina, put her pointer finger within an inch of Tina's nose and said, in a clear voice, "You're just a little shit."

This is essentially a true story, especially the last line which is a completely accurate quote.  I have lived to see Margot elected to the local Board of Education. Names changed of course to mask the identities of the real-life participants in this little tableau.

Word of the day: pinafore
 © 2015 David W. Lacy

A Memorable Christmas

It was perhaps the year I was nine though more likely when I was eight. I am thinking eight because that was the year I was in grade three, the year I had the tonsillectomy, the year I missed nearly as many days of school as I attended; the year the teacher had no name.  Okay, she had a name, I suppose, but I cannot remember it.  I may have erased her the day she smacked the back of my hand with the ruler, which is about the only thing I remember about her.

This account is written in the first person whereas in most of my school tales I have identified myself as "The Boy."  This is not a school tale as such.  This particular year as the Christmas wish book arrived from Monkey Wards I began to dream my Christmas dreams.  And I wanted one thing under the tree this year.  This item was so precious, so dear in cost, that I knew to dream of more things besides would place me squarely in the realm of fantasy.  I wanted This. One. Thing.

A Wood Burning Set.

I had never used such a thing.  So far as I know I had never even seen such a thing but Montgomery Ward told me it existed.  And that I needed it.  Lust began.  But dare I hope?  Well, I did.  Hints dropped, days passed.  Hints became less subtle to the point that even Father knew what his only son wanted.

Then Christmas came, as Christmas will.  Sister and I, still p.j. clad, rushed to the tree, and behold there was a package for me which approximated the size I imagined would contain

My Wood Burning Set.

And it did!

I played with that thing a bunch yet no memorable events occurred, neither untoward accident nor fantastic creation.  No physical mementos of my efforts survive.  If I created anything no one remembers it nor do I.

And eventually I did not use The Gift  anymore.

But what do we say about kids and their toys, and the boxes they came in?

Word of the day: tonsillectomy

Happy birthday to my beloved daughter, Ivanelle, aka Ivy.

Old Machinery

I attended the Mid-America Threshing and Antique Show again this year.  I have rather made it an annual excursion, inasmuch as the venue is just a nice bike ride from home.

In the past I have shown you tractors and steam mills at work.  This year my camera concentrated on badging.  Here is some of what it saw.

 The A Model gets a full-vehicle shot.

Word of the day: badging

In the Woods

Last week we had a wonderful time with the CCF pals at Ouabache (correctly say "wah bash," or if asking directions of a convenience store clerk, "oh BOTCH ee") State Park in Bluffton, Indiana.

Bicycle riding has long been one of her pleasures, but BBBH has not been able to do that for some time.  She was delighted to be able to take a spin in the park.  We were not on the trail a long time, but it was a good ride and we enjoyed it.

 

 Pretty fungi at the base of many trees near our campsite.

 

The denim fabric on my knee.  Lots of sitting around.

 BBBH leads us in singing.

Harvey teaches from The 91st Psalm.

 Old people in their natural habitat.

Psalm 91:14 “Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him;
    I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
¹⁵ He will call on me, and I will answer him;
    I will be with him in trouble,
    I will deliver him and honor him.
¹⁶ With long life I will satisfy him
    and show him my salvation.”

Overshare

I was browsing through stuff I once saved on an old hard drive.  Don't ask.


Examples:

Seventeen undocumented pomegranates were found in a pickup truck stopped by FDA agents on highway 31.

Mrs. Winthrop prepared deep-fried immigrants for dinner.

The greengrocer was fined ha’quid, tuppence for displaying purple eggplant and red tomatoes.

Multitasking for me is ignoring more than one thing at a time.

“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that "my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.” ~Isaac Asimov

Word of the day: ignorance

Caravan Cookstove

Throwback Thursday

I have mentioned, perhaps a long time ago, that I write this blog primarily for my own entertainment and that I am gratified if you find pleasure in it, too.

I do go back through the archives on occasion, as you have no doubt inferred from the occasional "reposts."  I found this one recently, liked it enough to bring it forward.  From November 2011.

Pawing around in the loose pictures box yields not only images, but memories. This may be the principal reason for taking photos and snapshots of people. The examples here were taken in the fall prior to our marriage in February. The little lady checking her watch there in the kitchen may have wondered why I had yet to arrive. Well, as you can see, the refrigerator has morphed into a Dodge Caravan, against which I am leaning. I am enjoying a beautiful fall evening and who knows what I am thinking? I don't even remember.

This may have been the very evening during which she asked me to marry her. At any rate, it is all the beginning of something good, something exciting, and so far, something lasting.
Might I say it is all good? I might, but is there such a thing as any marital relationship in which it is all good? In this instance, it started out good and just gets better and better!

Word of the day: inferred

OS:? Oh, yes.

I have an eye-dee ten tee problem.

Speaking of ten, I chose yesterday to download a new OS.  I have been quite happy with Windows 7 and have become familiar with it, warts and all.  I like it.

So I was advised that Windows 10 would enhance my computing experiences, I would "love it," in today's vernacular.

I am an idiot.

If I go to a "restore point" just prior to the download, will I get my "7" back or am I, again in the vernacular, screwed?

Ta ta da!  Got "7" back.

Shake it Off

Excuse me.  Over here.  Hey! I'm talking to you.

It was that Krup character again.

"I have been in the back of your mind for nearly six years now.  I have begged you, pleaded to be put into a tale suited to my character and abilities.  Still, you do not write me up."

"Okay, Uggy.  Here's the deal. It is true that I cannot get you out of my head.  but I have come to an understanding as to the reason I cannot create and relate the adventures you so ardently crave.  I will explain it in hopes that you will quit pestering me..

"I have thought about my writing, volumes of it now, and I realize that one thing is common to virtually every piece I create.  Each story, or tale, or account of events is based on something that I have lived, or experienced, or observed for myself.  So why am I not able to create your life?  It is precisely because I have never had, nor is it likely that I ever will have, an understanding of what it means to have, to be responsible for, to even conceive of what it must be like to have the kind of resources you have.  Annual income in the 'upper seven digit range.'  Give me a break

"So lacking the requisite experience, how could I possibly create your story?  Get lost, already."

"C'mon, man.  I'll tell you my story.  You can be my amanuensis."

"Don't whine, Krup.  It's not becoming.  'Bye."