BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Long about the time the O-spring made her debut in this world – technically, about 4 months prior if you want to be exact – E K and I moved. It was a short move in some ways, long in others. You see, we didn’t exactly change homes, just bedrooms.

We live in a modest house, as I’ve said before. It’s around 100 years old, but it isn’t going to be found on any historic registries anywhere. Nothing special happened here, at least not that we are aware. I’m sure something special happened for the folks who lived here at different times, but nothing earth shattering enough to be recorded in the history books.

Anyway, since it’s relatively small, her supreme evilness and I decided that we would move out of the large bedroom on the main floor, and relocate to the smaller bedroom on the second half-story of the house. Why? Because babies take up a lot of space, believe it or not. They come in a small package, yes, but they require an inordinate amount of support equipment. Cribs, changing tables, mobiles, little Dalek looking things that are in reality bizarre machines that take full diapers and turn them into enormous, twisty, poop sausages. Let me tell you, I thought the thing was ridiculous right up until we switched from cloth diapers to disposables. It was worth its weight in gold when it came to disposal of hazardous waste, as long as your “poo sausage casing” cartridge didn’t run out. Trust me, that was cause for panic…

But, enough about the ka-ka…

The thing is, many years have rushed by, disappearing into the distance and making us wonder just where the hell they went. E K and I are getting older… Okay… I’m getting older. Apparently E K has the Dick Clark gene or something. Either way, the O-spring has advanced a few years as well, so we no longer have to worry about her toddling head first down the stairs or anything scary like that. We have other worries instead, but that’s another blog.

What I’m trying to say here is that we are swapping bedrooms again. The Evil One and I are moving back to the main floor – closer to the bathroom, if you know what I mean. And, the spring is going to have a “tween pad,” up and away from the “grups”… Or so she thinks – my office is still right across the landing from the upstairs bedroom and it’s not moving.

I know, I know, get to the point…

Since it has been better than a decade since any work was done to the rooms, we’re in the midst of updating a few things, and taking care of some of the issues one will have with an aging house. To that end, just the other day we were installing some new quarter-round, and other trim in the upstairs space where we had built some recessed shelves some time ago.

These days, one of the problems with trim and baseboards is that a lot of it is made out of plastic. This is okay if you have a nail gun. If you have a hammer, however, it presents a problem. Why? Because you generally have to hit a nail two or three times to drive it in, and when you do, all of the vibrations and impacts shatter the plastic. And so, this is what I dealt with on a very hot day. Suffice it to say, I ended up screaming a good number of expletives. Fortunately, it was just the cats and me in the house at the time.

Fast forward a few days. I had been forced to abandon the project temporarily since I had to fly off to a faraway land and be that author type guy for a bit. Upon my return, I was sitting in the office one evening – remember the office right across from the bedroom?

Well, anyway, E K had taken up the task of installing the rest of the quarter round. As I answered email I listened. From the other room I heard:

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw Saw Saw…

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw Saw Saw…

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw… Saw… Saw… tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! DAMMIT!

I chuckled, which probably wasn’t a good idea given that I was chuckling at The Evil Redhead herself, then I said, “Now you sound like I did the other day.”

Without missing a beat, the O-spring chirped, “But I bet you used the word that starts with F.”

Kids. You just can’t fool ’em, can you?

More to come…

Murv

As one approaches middle age, there is a tendency toward bruising… But that would actually be Chuin’s line (See Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins… No, really… See it…)

Where I’m going with this is that when you get older, if you’re smart, instead of just collecting more and more crap, you start to jettison some of the crap you already have. For one thing, it’s less work to maintain your house. For another, it’s less stuff you have to move and/or deal with when you get old and have to go live at the Daisy Hill Old People Farm. And, it’s that much less crap your kid, or kids, will have to sort through when you get all corpsified and gross.

Well, E K and I aren’t exactly youngsters any longer. Granted, E K still looks like one, but me, not so much. Still, being the practical Taurus, The Evil Redhead decided the other night that maybe it was time to get rid of some stuff. Now, while in the past she has been more than happy to give away MY stuff and then wait for me to notice, this time she was in a mood to offload some of her own. In particular, clothes.

You see, her supreme evilness actually has some pretty damn good fashion sense. She recognizes what will most likely come back around, and she stores things away. Probably all part of her frugality. A way to recycle clothing that is perfectly wearable, but has gone out of style. But, as with any sort of squirreling away, eventually there are more generic Rubbermaid totes occupying your basement than you need. And so, she set about culling the hidden wardrobe.

Now, there’s also something else I should point out. E K happens to be pretty damn creative. She also knows how to sew, and I don’t just mean stitching in a hem, or darning a sock. She used to make her own clothing, and still has what was at one time a pretty high end sewing machine.

But on with the story…

Her worshipfulness pulled out a few of the totes and began going through the hidden treasures that were old clothes, sorting things out into what was back in style that she could wear, retro sorts of things that would likely come back into style and that the o-spring might one day want, and those things that were destined for Goodwill. As usual, when one goes through such storage containers, she ran across various nostalgic items. You know, things like her Catholic Schoolgirl Uniform… No… Wait… That’s actually in the closet for adult play night… Ummm… Well…

But seriously… A T-Shirt from the college she attended… Some clothing she had crocheted, sewn, and otherwise made. And, T-Shirts she had screen printed or appliqued.

There were plenty of “remember this?” moments as the o-spring watched on in confusion. At one point E K withdrew a screen printed tee from her teen years that bore a silhouette type likeness of Ian Hunter, front man for Mott the Hoople.

Yes… I can hear the younger folk among you saying, “Mott the what?” After all, that’s pretty much what the o-spring said. And so, it was explained, but she still said, “Mott the what?” so we gave up.

Later in the parade of Tees, The Evil One withdrew a shirt that bore an applique of Charlie Chaplin. While Ian Hunter and Mott The Hoople were iconic to us, we were willing to admit that Charlie was likely far more iconic, and the o-spring was far more likely to recognize him.

So, E K showed the spring the shirt and said, “Know who this is?”

The child furrowed her brow and said, “He looks familiar.”

E K replied, “Charlie Chaplin.”

This was when things went south. The o-spring perked up and said, “Oh yeah, he was one of the Beatles, right?”

Obviously, we will be starting an intensive musical education program with her in the very near future.

More to come…

Murv