Lift Up Your Hearts!

There's something delightful in hearing a two year old say, "I want some guacamole."

Porter is here. We have a van. All systems are go. Just waiting for the star of the show to make his/her grand entrance.

Sometimes Jonathan will be in a silly mood and talk in nonsense words. Other than that, I've learned that if what he says doesn't make sense to me, it's not because there's no sense to it. The only example I can think of right now (though there have been many) was when, out of the blue, he asked Heather, "Where do the covers go?" We were riding in the car, and could put no context to such a question, until I remembered that earlier in the day (or it may have been the day before) I had changed his diaper while Heather was asleep. It was a particularly messy one, and he needed not only a new diaper, but also a new diaper cover and new shorts. All these go in separate places in the laundry room; the diaper in the diaper pail, the shorts in the plastic basket...but what about the diaper cover? I asked Jonathan, and he gave me an answer I didn't think was right (though it turned out it would have been the correct answer a few months ago). I put the cover in the diaper pail (which was wrong, but there's a limit to how long I'll stand around holding a dirty diaper cover) and promptly forgot about the issue. But not Jonathan. He was obviously dissatisfied with the solution and continued to think about it until he had a chance to ask the proper authority.

Jonathan has his own laptop, a touch-pad device Jon brought home from work. He knows how to plug in the power cord, and is pretty good at starting and using Microsoft Paint, his favorite program. (This is not "child's computer," so Paint is probably the most interesting program on it for him.) He doesn't always get the timing of the double-click right, and sometimes has trouble with a selection because he's leaning another part of his hand on the screen while pointing with his finger, but in general he handles it capably. It's amusing to see several of us sprawled on the living room couches, working away at our laptops, and Jonathan just as busy beside us with his own.

Tomorrow Janet will be with APA and I am so excited for all of them! No news on the baby front, except that Heather is really tired today and is now napping, having chosen that over lunch, so it can't be much longer. Porter's here now, so that accomplishes all but one of the things she was hoping would happen first—the one remaining is the arrival of a minivan, which some friends are kindly lending us as the Labor-Mobile, assuming it gets back from the shop on time.

We gave Jonathan a copy of the Three Billy Goats Gruff story, and if the words aren't exactly as I remember my father reading them to me ([sung] "Who's that tripping on my bridge? Trip, trap, trip, trap on my bridge? [spoken] Oh, it's YOU, little Billy Goat Gruff. I'm going to EAT YOU UP!"), it's still a fun story to read. Jonathan asks to hear it a lot, and has some of the lines memorized already. After he'd only heard it twice, however, he didn't quite remember the title, so he asked if Grandma would please read him "Two Horses Woof."

To my utter amazement, Jonathan knows his left from his right, not just occasionally but consistently.

He can put on his own sandals, which have Velcro fasteners, though if he undoes the toe strap as well as the ankle strap when he takes them off, he usually needs help redoing the lower one, which is quite tight, especially if he puts his foot too far forward.

When he is either not in a mood to ask for help, or else doesn't see someone to ask, he can be very patient and persistent. As he was working hard to put on his shoes one day, I overheard him encouraging himself with, "I'm getting there, I'm getting there!"

Heather has a gingerbread house cake mold that belonged to my mother, and putting it together is a non-trivial exercise. The other day Jonathan spent about 20 minutes working with it, until he succeeded.

I once read that a study conducted at a preschool revealed a high percentage of the girls' utterances to be recognizable as language, whereas what came out of the boys' mouths was mostly sound effects. Jonathan is a clear exception to that trend. He is verbal to the point of being a chatterbox. Like his Aunt Janet, he embellishes his play with long and detailed narration.

That said, the past couple of days have brought an annoying trend: Suddenly his precociously clear and logical speech has been replaced by deliberate baby talk: words shortened and/or made "cute," vowel sounds altered, pitch raised to a near whine. I know it's normal, especially with a new baby coming. I remember Janet going through that stage, and once when I enjoined her to "talk like a real person," she responded indignantly, "I NOT a real person, I a BABY!" But I do wonder where it came from, as he was never spoken to in baby talk himself.

In honor of my father, who knew to display an iris on this occasion.

I'm too busy playing with Jonathan to write much about him, but here are a few delightful Jonathan-isms:

I'll friz it to you and you friz it to me. If there's a word for what you're doing when you throw a Frisbee back and forth, it can't be any better than Jonathan's.

There's an emery board in there. He was looking in my travel kit, and he was right; I just didn't expect "emery board" to be in a 2.5 year old's vocabulary.

The baby's head is pressing on my bladder; I need to go to the bathroom again. His baby brother or sister is due in less than two weeks, so I guess he's heard this phrase a few times....

Oh, you DO have nipples! He took a nap with Grandma, and I had to explain to him that, unlike Mommy, I couldn't provide him with any milk. Later, he was with me when I was changing into my pajamas, and that's when he came out with this statement, an expression of amazement and perplexity on his face. Boy did that make me feel old: all the right equipment but totally useless.

While Mommy was cooking, Jonathan and I made up the Word/Horse game. We spread some of his word cards around on the floor, I get on my hands and knees and he climbs on my back. Then he directs his horse, pointing to a word and telling me to go there: Go to "Mommy," now go to "Aunt Janet," now to "loves." He made the game more interesting by asking me to make new cards for "tickle" and "fall off"; you can imagine what happens when the horse and rider arrive at those cards! He also has great fun with the difference between the cards and what they represented. For example, if I trot up to the Mommy card and say, "Hi, Mommy!" he laughs and says in a "how can you be so silly" voice, "That's not the REAL Mommy, that's the WORD Mommy!"

When I was in high school, a semester course in economics was required for graduation. I managed to convince the school to accept an advanced physics course instead, so I can't claim to know much economics. Yet being married to a guy who majored in that field in college helps, and in any case the following scenario not only makes no economic sense, it makes no sense at all.

Last time we took the Venture to our favorite mechanic, we asked about a slight shimmy, and were told that everything was okay, but if it got worse we should probably have a wheel alignment done. It has now reached the point where it is "worse" enough, so today we took it to a nearby tire store / garage and asked them to look at it. (Bllue Book doesn't do wheel alignments.)

When they called to tell us it needed two new tie rods, an alignment, and a new tire, I was floored and took the easy way out: I turned the phone over to Porter. He politely told them thank you but we couldn't have the work done today and would be in to retrieve the car. If the tire really needs replacing, we need to look into the warranty situation first, and any tie rod work we want to have done at Blue Book. Particularly since they had replaced a tie rod end last April, and had not that long ago given the car a clean bill of health. In any case, we think it calls for a second opinion.

But that's not my real quarrel with the local place; I'll reserve judgement until after we get that second opinion. What flabbergasted me was the reaction of the mechanic, who kept telling Porter, "But you don't have to pay anything now"! It reminded me of the time Janet was at an outpatient clinic, trying to decide whether or not to get an x-ray there. She tried many times to find out how much the procedure would cost, and I don't think she ever received an answer. She couldn't find anyone who would admit to knowing what the charge would be. Yet even that was less absurd than those who puzzled, "Why do you want to know? You don't have to pay anything now; we'll bill you and you can pay it later."

Pardon me, but—huh? The cost of something doesn't matter if you don't have to fork over the cash this instant? If economics classes are still required in high school, they're not doing much good. And—double huh? The only reason one might do or not do something, be it medical or automotive, is its dollar cost? Even economists, who are accustomed to measuring the strangest things in terms of their dollar value, would choke on that attitude. At least my economist did.

I think I've discovered another reason why our culture is in financial trouble.

Any extravagance around the time of a birthday counts as part of the celebration, and thus comes without guilt. Thus when Porter wanted to attend the Mad Cow Theatre Company's It Was a Very Good Year, part of the Orlando Cabaret Festival, and even suggested we get the special dinner package, who was I to complain?

Enter into a Time Machine as you walk thru the doors of Club Moo, Mad Cow Theatre's intimate nightclub room. Grab a chair at your table as you sip a cool drink and enjoy...a celebration of one year in the life of America: the news, the lifestyles, the gossip, and most important—the music.

The package including the show, dinner, parking, and a glass of wine to take into the theater. Porter had chosen the year 1925 (other options were 1935, 1945, and 1955), and as we relaxed at our excellently-situated table I thought (as any genealogist would) about relatives who were alive in 1925. I tried to imagine myself as them, until I realized how extremely unlikely it would have been for any of my grandparents to be sitting in a cabaret drinking a glass of wine. So I just enjoyed the show. I'm sure they would have known the music, anyway. The cast comprised four singers and a pianist, and the show was simply some of the songs popular in 1925, held together by a minimal story line. The music was well done, and we were relieved that the era was presented straight, with no looking-back-from-the-future, mocking humor. My knowledge of the popular songs of any era is abysmal, but found I knew about half of these.

• I'm Sitting on Top of the World (Joe Young & Ray Henderson / Sam M. Lewis)
• Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue (Joe Young & Ray Henderson / Sam M. Lewis)
• Looking for a Boy (George & Ira Gershwin)
• Oh! Lady Be Good (George & Ira Gershwin)
• It Had to Be You (Gus Kahn & Isham Jones)
• Tea for Two (Irving Caesar / Vincent Youmans)
• Everybody Loves My Baby / Yes Sir! That's My Baby! (Jack Palmer/Spence Williams, Gus Kahn/Walter Donaldson)
• Always (Irving Berlin)
• Charleston (Cecil Mack & James P. Johnson
• Sweet Georgia Brown (Ben Bernie / Maceo Pinkard & Ken Casey)
• Clap Hands! Here Comes Charley! (Joseph Meyer / Billy Rose & Ballard MacDonald)
• Sweet and Low-down (George & Ira Gershwin)
• Shake That Thing (Papa Charlie Jackson)
• Keep Your Skirts Down, Mary ann (Robert King & Ray Henderson / Andrew B. Sterling)
• I Never Knew (Gus Kahn / Ted Fio Rito)
• Who (Hammerstein & Kern)
• Manhattan (Rodgers & Hart)
• Save Your Sorrow for Tomorrow (Al Sherman / B. G. De Sylva)

We had some time between the end of the show and our 5:30 dinner reservations, which we spent in the library. Porter found a book to check out, and I spent my time in the genealogy section, where I found Gary Boyd Roberts' The Royal Descents of 600 Immigrants. (Gary was the New England Historic Genealogical Society librarian who helped me get started on my research.) I didn't get very far in the book before we had to leave, but I did find that Robert Abell (a 9^th great grandfather on my mother's side) is the 11^th great grandson of Edward I, King of England (1239-1307). This is "Longshanks," who had William Wallace executed, and though Braveheart depicts him inaccurately and unfairly, he was nasty enough. You can't go very far in genealogy without running into both heros and villains, often in the same person, which is why I take as my genealogical motto Aslan's words in C. S. Lewis' Prince Caspian: You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve, and that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor in earth.

Dinner at the nearby Napasorn Thai restaurant was wonderful. Because it was part of the package, we had to choose form a smaller menu, but that was no hardship. The spring rolls and gyoza we had for appetizers were perfect, and our dinners of pad Thai and panang curry were nearly as good. Next time we'll save money by making our own package—but this was definitely worth the cost because otherwise we'd never have discovered Napasorn. It also really felt like a date, because Porter made all the arrangements, and that was heavenly.

Last year I was well prepared for Ash Wednesday, with a rather extensive personal program planned out for Lent. This year, what with company and an intensive two weeks devoted to reroofing our house (and not done yet), it came as a shock this morning to realize that February is over. We were thus saved from having to decide with which of our two churches to celebrate Shrove Tuesday, a small blessing but one we could have done without. No crawfish gumbo, no pancakes.... :(

Maybe I'll dust off some of last year's ideas...they worked pretty well.

Most of you will hear about this sooner or later—it was on the front page of the CNN website tonight, so no doubt it will be on the evening news. So yes, that's our Milwee Middle School at which a student brandished a pellet gun that had been modified to look like a 9mm handgun. There was a brief hostage situation; the school was "locked down"; and the student isolated and later shot by the SWAT team, after which the remaining students were sent home. The gun-wielding student, who was labelled "suicidal," is currently in the hospital on life support.

Here's a local version of the story:

http://www.wftv.com/news/6056445/detail.html

Time spent celebrating the season precludes (for the moment) collecting and publishing my thoughts on Christmas and culture. That will come later. In the meantime, please know, or remember, that hidden deep within and behind and under and through and above all the traditions and chaos and commercialism of the season lies meaning and purpose and hope and a story unequaled. And have a

Jonathan has his own small electric screwdriver, which he uses to remove and replace the tiny screws on the back of his (non-working) computer keyboard. I would be amazed enough at his physical dexterity, but what really blows me away is his knowledge of when and how to reverse the direction of the tool.

I could write so much more about the great things Jonathan is doing, and I probably will, eventually. But what impelled me finally to write was watching him peel, perfectly, a hardboiled egg for his lunch today. He only just turned two years old!

As promised elsewhere, I am finally printing the recipe (actually, a couple of recipes) for Bay Punch, absolutely the best drink in the world to serve with pizza.

Bay Punch was invented by John Lefor and Chip Nimick for Pizza Night at the Towne House computing center at the University of Rochester in Rochester, New York. The name came from the original pizza source, Bay & Goodman Pizza. It did not change even after we switched to Cap'n Tony's Pizza. The traditional punch bowl is a large dishpan. John says that if it tastes as if it needs more pineapple-orange, add more cranberry, and vice versa. The punch is better if it ages a bit before serving. We used to start making it just as someone left on the 45-minute round trip to get the pizza. Another tradition is the punch ladle, a simple soup ladle, which must be hung on the outside of the punch bowl, and woe to him who puts in inside, where it will slide down and disappear into the drink. Of course this is all tradition—Bay Punch tastes great in a traditional punch bowl, too. But you must squeeze the limes and lemons, not just float them artistically on top.

Original Recipe
96 ounces Ocean Spray cranberry juice (two 48 ounce bottles)
46 ounces pineapple orange juice (used to be one can; it's hard to find that way now)
8 limes (I usually use only 6, but this is the original recipe)
2 lemons
ice

Slice limes and lemons into 6ths, lengthwise. Squeeze juice over ice in large punch container, dropping squeezed sections into bowl as well. Add cranberry and pineapple orange juices, adjusting to taste; stir well.

Notes:
I've tried to use other brands of cranberry juice than Ocean Spray, but have never been satisfied with them. Pineapple orange juice can be hard to find, and orange pineapple isn't the same. In a pinch I've mixed orange juice and pineapple juice. Be sure to let the punch "steep" before serving, which allows oils from the fruit to seep into the drink. If there is any punch left over, remove fruit and any remaining ice before storing, or you will end up with a dilute, bitter liquid.

Faster, Easier Recipe, a very close substitute for the original, easily resized
96 ounces Ocean Spray cranberry juice
42 ounces pineapple orange juice
3/4 cup lime juice (I find the Squeeze-eez brand by Concord Foods the best tasting)
3/8 cup lemon juice (also Squeeze-Eez)
1 1/2 teaspoons Boyajian lime oil (we discovered Boyajian citrus oils in Norwood, MA, and they are the key to the success of this recipe)
3/4 teaspoon Boyajian lemon oil

Mix ingredients very well; this is necessary to disperse the citrus oils. Serve over ice, preferably with a pepperoni and green peppers pizza...I'm on my way over!

I would not do well on one of those music school "drop the needle" tests, in which one needs to name a piece of music based on hearing a small excerpt. It's not that I can't recognize the music—often just a few measures, even a few notes, is enough to bring forth, "Ooo, I know this piece! What is it?" I know that I know it, but identification often eludes me. What's more, I sometimes recognize brief motives from one piece of music in another, and that's even harder to pin down. I had no trouble identifying The Phantom of the Opera in the praise song, You Are My Hiding Place, but the hymn, Jesu, Jesu (1982 Episcopal Hymnal #602) was another story. There are four measures in the verse part that stung me on first singing with that "why do I know this?" feeling and I was never able to determine an answer. One day, listening to Vivaldi's "La Primavera" (from The Four Seasons), I finally found it: there in the third movement, clearly the same motive. Not that there was any sharing between Vivaldi and the Ghanaian folk song that is the basis for the hymn—it's a simple phrase, bound to show up independently in many places—but I was thrilled to make the connection in my mind and resolve the mystery.