April’s poems

… are tongue twisters from Dr. Seuss’s Oh Say Can You Say, the pages of which, thankfully, have been falling out. (I love reading Fox in Socks, but not this book.)

I have changed the poems’ titles.

“Vagueness”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The storm starts

when the drops start dropping.

When the drops stop dropping

then the storm starts stopping.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Quiddity” (Seuss’s title is “How to Tell a Klotz from a Glotz”)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Well, the Glotz, you will notice,

has lots of black spots.

The Klotz is quite different

with lots of black dots.

But the big problem is

that the spots on a Glotz

are about the same size

as the dots on a Klotz.

So you first have to spot

who the one with the dots is.

Then it’s easy to tell

who the Klotz or the Glotz is.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Value”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Upon an island hard to reach,

the East Beast sits upon his beach.

Upon the west beach sits the West Beast.

Each beach beast thinks he’s the best beast.

Which beast is best? … Well, I thought at first

that the East was best and the West was worst.

Then I looked again from the west to the east

And I liked the beast on the east beach least.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The truth is, he’s the liveliest person in the house.

Awakenings; parks; Seusses; Mitfords, pt. 6

Warm-ish temps; constant rain patter. There’s nothing quite like reading Beowulf on the sofa, then dozing off, then waking – gradually and painfully – to the 1⁠-2⁠-3 punch of Modern Talking’s “Geronimo’s Cadillac,” “Brother Louie,” and “Cheri, Cheri Lady.” (The other songs in the queue were more soothing.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Karin obtained a puzzle with “thumbnail” sketches of the U.S. National Parks. Samuel spent hours gazing at the sketches and deciding which parks to visit. He’s keen on the Channel Islands (California).

I rose in his esteem by telling him which parks I’ve been to or seen from afar:

Acadia

Arches

Bryce Canyon

the Gateway Arch, glimpsed from I⁠-⁠70

the Grand Canyon, glimpsed from aircraft

Joshua Tree

Kings Canyon

Olympic, viewed from Vancouver Island (as in this photo, but not from so high up)

Mt. Rainier, viewed from Seattle (and see, again, the photo taken from Vancouver Island; I didn’t see this mountain during my stay)

Sequoia

Zion

I promised to go with Samuel to the Indiana Dunes. Poor boy, he rarely leaves the house, let alone the city.

He and Karin put the puzzle together last night, and this morning Daniel tore it up.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

ThriftBooks had a Seuss sale, and I bought a few of the immoral, discontinued titles (they were in a single omnibus, hee, hee), as well as I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew, which I’d been haunted by but hadn’t looked at since age four. It didn’t disappoint. I still don’t know how it concludes, though, because Daniel keeps slamming it shut before we reach the end. But I can guess.

As for the immoral ones, I re-read Mulberry Street and found mentions of a Rajah riding an elephant and a Chinese man using chopsticks.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I finished The Pursuit of Love (1945), Nancy Mitford’s fifth and best-loved novel. At last, some contrition. Aristocrats celebrated … and punished: not for being aristocrats, but for making un-aristocratic marriages.

Hop on pop

Every day, Daniel clamors for a half-dozen dozen or so readings of Dr. Seuss’s Hop on Pop in addition to the other readings that I have been trying to impose upon him.

Not only does he like to hop on his real-life pop, his taste is for frantic literature. I am partly to blame for this. Some people read slowly to their children; I tear through a book once I’ve figured out which syllables to emphasize. What with all the practicing I’m compelled to do, I eventually knit together a seamless and rapid cadence for each page.

It’s like practicing a level of Super Mario Bros. – run, run, jump! run, jump! duck! … repeat.

I imagine it’s also like rehearsing for the theatre.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Every day, also, Daniel knocks my books off the top shelf of a particular basement bookcase. (He can reach that shelf from the stairs.)

Tonight was the last straw. I hauled all those books over to a corner of the laundry room. This made Jasper very happy. Now he can lie on that shelf, just underneath a vent.

Alas, for the second straight summer, our air conditioner is failing to cool the house.

A technician fixed last year’s leak. But he said the machine was about to die.

Has it died? We’ll find out soon.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Samuel, too, likes to unshelve my books – especially if they belong to a set. Then he arranges them in patterns. (I discussed this once before; tonight Samuel took those same books and laid them out on the staircase, two to a step.)

In this photo he has made a grid of some black Penguin Classics and my set of Lord Peter Wimsey paperbacks.

Karin came home from work early today. She has a fever.

Parenting, round 2; “Bluebeard”

Daniel hasn’t been a great one for sitting still and being read to, but yesterday he badgered me into reading Dr. Seuss’s ABC five times in one hour. Like Samuel before him, he laughed and laughed at the page with the Zizzer-Zazzer-Zuzz.

The rest of the morning, he followed me from one piece of furniture to the next, around and around the house, committing violence against me (and against the house). That, too, reminded me of how Samuel used to behave at that age.

I had to lock Samuel away from Daniel, in the basement, for his own safety.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Today I am watching Daniel walk down the stairs feet first (which Samuel only started doing a few weeks ago). He isn’t quite tall enough. Wherever a step doesn’t provide him a bannister to hold onto, he slides down on his bottom.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Are you the right man for me?

Are you safe, are you my friend?

Or are you toxic for me?

Will you betray my confidence?

This is from the Cocteau Twins’ “Bluebeard” …

I post this song as a tribute to Cho Chang.

Yet another reunion

Lots of rain this weekend, and some tornado warnings. I attended another Zoom meeting with my high school classmates. This time we listened to a guest lecture by our English teacher, Mr. Quiring, who talked about biblical allusions in literature, with examples from poems by G.K. Chesterton, Wilfred Owen, Luci Shaw, and (especially) Harry Smart; we focused on a poem of Smart’s called “The Hen and Her Chicks.” I took up the theme of the nurturing male caregiver and said that I had been reading Horton Hatches the Egg to Samuel.

Mr. Quiring called in from Nebraska. The rest of us called in from these places:

British Columbia (2)

California

The Denver airport (but this person lives in Montana)

Indiana

Papua New Guinea

Queensland

Quito

Texas

Washington State

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Samuel loves to play with our fancy TV remote, and, occasionally, he subscribes us to this or that streaming channel without our permission. Tonight he subscribed us to BritBox. No problem: we watch lots of British TV. A few months ago, however, he subscribed us to MOTV (My Outdoor TV). I tried to watch one of the shows – it was about the hunting of wild hogs, with bow and arrow – but couldn’t get into it. Samuel liked it, though.

Then, on Father’s Day, we went to a large gathering with Karin’s dad’s family. Karin’s male cousins were standing around in the yard putting their bows together, and Samuel went over and stood with them. It was a little precious.

More snow, more Seuss

I spent a grueling day figuring out how to access certain TrueType font ligatures.

Last night, I tried out our new “snow blaster.” With snow this deep, this machine is easier to use than a shovel. But it is more unwieldy than, say, a lawn mower or a vacuum cleaner (not that I would use those things to clear snow). Sweeping the sidewalk around two sides of the house while trailing a long extension cord is no joke. Last night, the cord wrapped itself around a fire hydrant, a parked car, and various snow mounds; also, the prongs of the extension cord seemed to fit rather loosely into the “blaster’s” socket. The machine must have come unplugged fifteen or twenty times.

I decided to call the contraption …

Voom!

… after the mysterious snow-clearing force (or spirit, or what have you) in The Cat in the Hat Comes Back, which Samuel and I have been reading. That book, obviously, is about Matthew 12:43–45:

When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none.

Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished.

Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first.

The narrator blames the infestation of cats on the one with the hat, but I wonder if he is just diverting blame away from himself, like the narrator in the horror-noir Detour. Are the children, Conrad and Sally, really as dutiful as they say they are? Where is the prophetic fish who guided the children’s morals in the earlier book? Is Conrad even who we think he is? His name, appearance, and behavior seem to change from one story to the next.

Who is to say that these children are not really Jay and Kay, the not-so-conscientious siblings in One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish?

A bookish lad

I suppose it was inevitable that, in my second year as a father, this blog should have become an inventory of children’s books (and children’s music, movies, and TV).

Yesterday, reading “The Sneetches” to the boy, I had an epiphany:

This is the story that explains the oeuvre of George Saunders.

He has long been producing variants of “The Sneetches.”

I also knew why the actor Kurtwood Smith has always looked familiar. He is the spitting image of the Zax. Even his nude scene in Cedar Rapids owes a great deal to the Zax.

We went to the library this afternoon. Samuel loves it there. His face lit up when I took him to the sale aisle. Then he cried when I took him away, but he forgot his sorrow when Karin permitted him to explore the stacks.

I take on more responsibility in the home

Yesterday’s temperature plunged to sixty (F); it felt downright cold. I decided that Samuel should wear pants. He thought this was hilarious; he thrashed and thrashed, taking one leg out of his pants while I tried to put the other leg in. He did this every time I changed his diaper.

I do my share of caring for the boy; but, also, until now, I’d hardly ever bathed him or put him to sleep at night. I’m expert at putting him to sleep during the day, but the night-time task is altogether different. I’ve regarded it, and the bathing, as within Karin’s sphere. Well, tonight, I did both those chores (Karin needed to compose her remarks for Rick’s funeral). I did the bathing particularly badly. Samuel wasn’t pleased. He usually lingers in the tub and splashes the water with his legs for several minutes after he’s clean; this time, he was eager to get out. But he came through the ordeal. I expected his bedtime ritual to go even less smoothly. But he listened respectfully as I read to him, and he finally dozed off during his third book, Dr. Seuss’s Fox in Socks.

There is a social worker who talks to us about our baby every other week. It seems she’s been grading Samuel. Two weeks ago, all his grades were high, except in the category of gross motor skills; but this week, the social worker was pleased to report that his gross motor skills had received a grade of 55 out of 60.

The LimeBike

As Borat says, “In my country, there is problem / And that problem is transport.”

Well, South Bend has joined in an experiment to make transport better, or, at least, more hip. It has adopted the LimeBike system.

Behold these young Seattleites riding LimeBikes.

The system works like this. Garish green bikes are planted all over the city. When you find one, you scan its QR code with your phone. This allows you to ride for up to 30 minutes.

$1 is charged to your tab.

Afterward, you leave the bike in any accessible, unobtrusive place (e.g., on the grass next to a public sidewalk).

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I strongly disapprove of car transport, and so you’d think I’d have high hopes for the LimeBike.

Alas, I don’t.

I don’t think the LimeBike ever will become popular enough to significantly change the transport system. South Benders will continue to drive.

If I recall correctly, that’s what’s happened in the Netherlands. For many years, the Dutch have had a generous bike-sharing system. And many Dutch do use it: cycling is an important part of their culture. But few Dutch commuters switch over from driving cars.

My conjecture is that no matter what country you go to, introducing more bikes won’t change the overall transport preferences.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

But suppose that LimeBikes were to become popular in South Bend, or were perceived to be popular. That would be dangerous, lest support be withdrawn from public bussing.

Mass transit is what really matters to poor people. No one too poor to own a car would wish to depend on some dumb bike. Especially not in snow or rain. And not in old age or illness or affliction.

For the occasional light errand, the LimeBike is OK. Though it isn’t cheaper than riding the bus, in some circumstances it’s more practical. But as a significant influence upon transit patterns, it’s less likely to help than to hurt.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Also, the LimeBike reminds me of Dr. Seuss’s Pale Green Pants. I keep seeing it in strange places, as if it were following me.

This week, there’s been a LimeBike in my parking lot. Every day, the thing has moved a little closer to my building. Now it’s sitting on my front porch.

It creeps me out.

In Seattle, the LimeBike has taken to hanging from the trees.

And in South Bend, it keeps on appearing in the river, as if it were Ophelia.

On cultivating one’s own garden

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these.
[Luke 12:27]

They know me? They like me?
[Dr. Seuss’s Pontoffel Pock, Where Are You?]

The best compliment I ever got was from the Romaniacs’ mother, the Dragon. Or rather it was from the Dragon’s husband, the Romaniacs’ father/chauffeur; but it was about the Dragon. What you need to understand is, I pretty much worship the Dragon. She’s beautiful and good and fierce, and she has no time for me.

One day I was at Popeyes with the chauffeur, and he said, “___ [the Dragon] really likes you.”

That was the compliment.

It wasn’t surprising, because I’d been noticing a softening in the Dragon’s (distant) face. Still, it was good to hear. The Dragon is not effusive. And she has no time for me.

After a few moments, I pulled myself together and said, “How long did it take for her to like me?” “Oh,” my friend said, “about four years.”

Four years.

Two things, I knew at once. First, what an achievement it’d been, getting liked (for who I was!) by the Dragon; all my demonstrations of intense, guileless integrity had finally started paying off. The second thing I knew was that for the rest of my life, with person after person, I’d have a tough row to hoe.

It’s so crucial to be liked, to have some appreciation given you; otherwise, like a shaded flower, you’ll wither and die. But for it to be meaningful, the appreciation can’t be grounded in falsehood. Your integrity must be complete. And that’s what makes the hoeing so very tough.

I write in order to be liked. Like Pontoffel Pock, I seek appreciation — affection — all over the world. These days I’ve been getting page views from Russia, from the Philippines, from Luxembourg. … They can’t all possibly be from real readers; I don’t know what robots they’re from. I don’t understand how the Internet works.

But sometimes I’ll get page views from Montana, from British Columbia, Romania, Ecuador. I can guess who those readers are. Those page views make me happy. And I get hundreds of views from Indiana, which warms my heart, even though I don’t track the different readers.

All this effort to be liked. And yet there’s One who sees perfectly through my guilelessness, who likes what He sees: despite my efforts, not because of them.