Why I Love My Girls

I love my girls because they give me things. I love my girls because they feed me. I love my girls for the cute noises they make. I love my girls because they come back even if I've been chasing them around the yard.

I love my girls, so I have many. I love them for their variety and their color. I love them because if I watch them a while they never fail to make me laugh. I love my girls because they play hard to get. I love them because they stop running in the evening and let themselves be caught.

I love my girls all year round, but I really remember the basis of my love in the spring. You see, that's when my girls start laying eggs again.

Now all the reasons I've said love my girls are real, but some more real than others. I've always been true to my belly. I like to eat. Eggs from the hens make so many things so much better.

That's why I love my girls.

My New Laptop

I got a handwritten letter from my friend Eric last year. I wanted to write him back, but the penmanship classes I had at Sacred Heart were all many years ago, and I never did have a very good hand.

Around the third grade I started taking typing during summer school. My mom was a legal secretary at the time and she knocked out a blazing 80+ words per minute. It was her idea that we all learn to touch type before we were 10. She was right. It was a good idea.

Our typing classroom was a room full of Royals, Burroughs, and all the other usual giant typing machines. Any one of them could have served as an anchor to a reasonably large boat. We got a great workout doing our typing drills. These machines were beasts.

Just after my letter from Eric came, I set out to find an old portable. I liked the idea of being a bit more thoughtful and taking time with a letter...and must say it was all kinds of fun to open the mail box and find a personal letter. It'd been a long time.

So I got this wonderful machine at a yard sale for five bucks. Nice. Robin cleaned it up and got me a new ribbon for Christmas. During her research locating the ribbon etc. she found the same machine for sale on the internet for many hundreds of dollars. Evidently it's rare and there are collectors. I have a collection of one.

While it's in pretty good shape, it can't make the letter G or the number 6.

My street address is 9767 so I thought that'd present a problem with return addressing an envelope, but I've got a PO Box 1104...OK problem solved there.

But the letter G is something else. Count your Gs...consider your gerunds! They are everywhere; and not. Being raised on my grandmother's knee so to speak, and she being a native of Alabama, she disdained the use of the final G almost completely. There was a lot of doin', goin', and workin' with Grandmere.

So along with a lot of clickin' and clackin' as I churn out the post, you might hear a Coosa County drawl echoed in my typewritten lines.

Back to my typin'...

I Finally Got My Light Bright

When I was a kid, just like everyone else I was hooked to the television. All the normal marketing and advertising tricks they'd come to perfect to suck up the minds and wills of children worked magnificently on me. I can still hear the jingles from Saturday mornings 40 years ago; I am haunted by Hasbro.

We could not afford most of the really "neat-o" toys that were advertised. Were we able to afford them, my mother would certainly not have bought most of them anyway; she had other ideas.

There was one I still want. It was called Light Bright. You may remember it. It was a little 8x10 back-lit panel with a grid of holes in which you could put little colored plastic pegs and make a glowing picture. They had templates of course...the usual cartoon characters etc., but I wanted to make my own.

I never got my Light Bright, but now I have my cameras.

Always fond of breaking the rules, I've found if I do so with my cameras and software I can get my Light-Bright after all...and here you have the result.

It's a picture of my kids' favorite toy; their rope swing.

I had one of those. My mother approved entirely.

Merry Christmas

Patrick

inheritance

How far will you take a joke? At times I think I'll go farther than most, and sometimes baffle those around me with the lengths to which I'll follow a tangent. Ironic laughter (even if it's me laughing alone) seems to motivate me far more than what most people would find worthwhile goals.

Perhaps it's my legacy from my dear departed father. He wrote a lot, and never ever forgot how to laugh.

My kids, like most kids, love to play pirate. When I was their age I did the same.

While I undertook the construction of all kinds of pretend forts and rafts, and later learned to sail on salt water, I never did get to dig up buried treasure. As all parents do, I wish to make possible greater things for my kids than I had myself. So I procured a giant bag of coins.

Some years back the European countries about to go over to the Euro had to collect and convert all their national currency and coin. Just after the conversion, these coins and bills became essentially worthless...unless you really wanted a giant bag of loot.

I got one.

Soon enough it became the stuff of dreams as it was enclosed in a chest and given to Isidore with a complete outfit of pirate accessories.

Random specie from many countries; while beautiful they remain totally worthless. But who's counting?

My kids give me things all the time. As most kids do, they gather things as they find them, and take what they think is the best of what they've found and proudly present them to Robin and me. Treasures all, I wish I could keep up with all the gifts I get from my kids. I've managed to keep a few of the more long-lasting treasures they've given me, but some things necessarily are more transitory.

Ellie gives flowers. Flowers fade and die. Sometimes she gives and gives and gives...and while I can't keep most of what she gives for very long, I'll never be able to let go of her. I hope she keeps piling up things for her daddy.

About the only lasting thing I think my kids will count as a legacy of their father will be an appreciation of that which is beautiful. While you can't count that, and you certainly can't deposit that, I hope they'll keep it forever.

Peace, Love, and Frogs

Our family just completed our usual participation in the Calaveras County Fair. Those of you up on your modern literary history will remember the place as the setting of the tall tale written by Mark Twain, and as the one that set him on the national stage as a writer of note.

Thus our fair is known as the Frogjump.

This years winner was "Bozo" who's set a record, not for jumping far, but for consecutive wins, at 4 years running...er...jumping.

Robin, the kids, and I didn't jump any frogs. Perhaps next year.

As usual I have a booth displaying my photography business, and the kids have entered all kinds of things in the local crafts competitions. All three kids won blue ribbons this year! Lego creations were entered by each, and Elizabeth took a first place in flower arranging.

Eat your heart out Uncle Brendan!

I'm particularly proud of Elizabeth for her prize as the competitors were all adult women and she still took a first prize! She's 5....she's amazing.

I've been told for some time that I should enter a picture in the photography contest. I haven't done so in any venue for some time. Having been a judge in the past it'd be a a bit odd to be a competitor.

There is however the "Mark Twain Liar's Contest" which requires one to enter a piece of written balderdash and then read it on stage.

I was pleased to have been able to attend this years contest, but disappointed to have heard nobody manage a particularly good reading. I don't know about the criteria for the judging of this contest, but if the delivery of the entry is any part, I could take down the field next year.

Certainly I could manage the bullshit.

As for the photography...in the booth this year I decided to include a themed portrait if Isidore. So I got him in the rustic garb and posed him at the neighbor's pond.

Something in the spirit of Mark Twain was in order I thought. It came out well if I do say so myself.

We all had a great time, and Robin and the kids had 4 days of just enjoying themselves. A long needed break for all.

Do yourselves a favor; go fishin' sometime soon.

Patrick

Ellie got the finger

Actually she got ten. Nailed. Lacquered in fact.

It turns out my friend Tony runs a nail salon.

My dear Ellie loves to decorate herself in every imaginable way, so of course would LOVE to have her nails done.

So for her fifth birthday I took her down to Tony's place. They treated her like a princess.

She got flowers on top of pink nails.

Perhaps the best part of the whole event was the time Ellie spent with her hands under the drying lamps. She had a good half hour with a couple of Calaveras County grandmas. Being such a talker, and with those blond curls... of course she charmed the heck out of them.

Dad took pictures. Of course. So here you are.

Born to be Wild

Kids love bikes. I still love bikes, though it's been a long while since I was a kid.

There were a couple of weird things I learned about Robin when we met;

She never learned to swim in the ocean.

She never really learned to ride a bike.

Now I understand that up here in the hills there's not a lot of salt water, but I couldn't quite fathom the fear of bikes. She'd rather break an angry horse than ride a bike on a marked trail or paved road.

So when we moved up here, I reminded myself about the kids, the bike thing, and set myself on the mission of ensuring that they did not inherit their mother's fear of two-wheeled conveyance.

To her credit, Robin takes the kids out to ride their bikes almost weekly, and they love it.

Having removed myself from the fear of their fear of wheels...I must confess to my new fear;

They'll learn to ride away.