My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

This is My Brain, This is My Child

I am saddened by the deaths of Vaughn Meader, “Mr. President,” and Lester Lanin, Bandleader of the Social Register Set . All our pop culture icons are fading away……..

Dusty went Trick-or-Treating for the first time this year. Yes, I HAVE been keeping her locked up in the basement. She was, of course, a Princess. My husband tried to convince her to be a pirate princess and even equipped her with an eye patch, his old tri-corner hat from his childhood, and a hook that was a gift from her grandfather’s trip to Disney World (see how it creeps in? I need to do a better job of sealing the cracks around our doors). But, no, she wanted to be a straight forward princess in her pink Barbie princess dress and sparkly headdress (sigh), red tights and red shoes (her special touch).

Since it is challenging to trick-or-treat along our non-sidewalked rural paradise road filled with semis going 60 mph, we drove into town and went house to house in the neighborhood of my childhood. Cool. I can’t tell you how many millions of years it’s been since I’ve walked down my old block in the dark. Lots of kids live there now. Back in the day (see Amiable Jim entry) I was one of maybe 5 kids in a 3-block radius. There were a few houses packed to the gills with Catholics but most of them were much, much older and went to Catholic schools so we didn’t even know the other existed until I was old enough to walk five blocks to the 7-11 and blow my allowance on Charleston Chews and B-B-Bats. By then, it was kind of too late.

Two other kids in the neighborhood (pardon this sudden digression) rear their sad heads in my memory: Bonnie, the raw potato eater who lived with her grandparents (no matter what she said to us, the standard retort was, “Well, at least I don’t eat raw potatoes!”; and Kelly, the youngest of a Catholic brood who got birthday cake smashed in her face by my best friend. I don’t know why, exactly, this happened or whose birthday cake it was. Whether this act was merited or not, I cannot say, but the best part of the incident was when her mother came out on the porch and yelled to us, “Don’t you EVER push cake in my daughter’s face again!” Comedy gold, folks. Right or wrong, it’s still the funniest line ever. See, you’re laughing anyway, aren’t you?

And, to fill and expand the narrow gap that Parents Magazine once occupied, I’ve found this magazine: Brain, Child: The Magazine For Thinking Mothers as well as Literary Mama . Whew! There is intelligence out there. I was worried for a minute.

Happy November! Be sure and vote (for the Johns) tomorrow!


2:54 p.m. ::
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