Of toilets

The British famously named one of their scientific boats Boaty McBoatface; in the same spirit, I hereby christen our new toilet Flushton McFlushface – “Flushy,” for short. (Karin’s dad kindly installed it yesterday.)

“Flushy” resided some days in our parlor, inside a big box, and became like a piece of furniture to us – which, I suppose, is what it is. Samuel and Daniel played upon, and inside, the box.

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The Middle Ages weren’t always so-called. Likewise, our old toilet, previously unnamed, is now “Not Quite Flushy” because of its position in the History of Toilets – and because of its chief defect.

We carried it out to the front porch where, due to rain, churchgoing (ours, not the toilet’s), etc., it has remained. With luck, it’ll be immortalized by Google Street View. This afternoon it toppled onto its side. I don’t know if it was pushed by wind, urchins, or stray cats; or if a part of it simply crumbled.

I intend to break it into smaller pieces with a hammer, to fit it into the trash.

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Enough of toilets. For the second half of my reading year I’m plotting a march through Dostoevsky. Curious thing. His canon is crowned by the “five major novels.” Russians list them differently than do English speakers. Russians include The Adolescent; English speakers typically don’t. They might include Notes from the Underground (a novella) or reduce the list to four. It’s not as egregious as, e.g., Oregon’s having become the best college football team in the Midwest’s 18-team Big Ten Conference; but it’s gerrymandered, all right.

Anyway, I plan to read Notes, the Russians’ “five,” and probably The Double and The Gambler; so, either way, I’m covered.

P.S. See this useful webpage re: translations.

Plumb tuckered out

An absolute knackering (knacking?) this day, what with the intensive cleaning of various ground-floor rooms. I have been dozing intermittently since 8:00pm. The boys, for the third or fourth time since the floor’s uncluttering, are running in circles, as in Alice in Wonderland’s Caucus Race. This is lively even by their standards – doubtless a spillover of last night’s mirth (we attended an “open house” at Samuel’s new school; I spent most of it chasing Daniel through the halls).

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I saw very little of the Olympics – none of it in “real” time – but was taken with this handballer’s story (NYT). He, too, has sleep apnea. Yes, this is what it’s like.

Earlier today I was slumped on the sofa, unable to remain fully conscious, while Samuel and Daniel crawled over me. I’d beg them to do a little cleaning. They wouldn’t. At last I rallied, was a virtual tornado for an hour and a half, and made the place spotless. The boys helped enough to earn some basement TV time. Then they came back upstairs, beheld the emptiness, and ran their first Caucus Race. Samuel tackled Daniel a few times. Daniel would urge him to stand up and keep running. High spirits.

I actually am the least tired adult in the house. Karin is pregnant again, you see.

Lord willing, our third son will be born the first week of December.

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P.S. The boys have been watching the infamous (but, to my mind, charming) Peppa Pig show. Samuel now calls himself Peppa; Daniel, he calls George; Karin, Mommy Pig; and yours truly, Daddy Pig. My parents visited; they are, respectively, Abuela and Abuelo Pig.

Spring cleaning; Mother’s Day; May’s poem

A desperate house-cleaning, this afternoon, to the detriment of my sinuses. We wished to make the house agreeable for Karin’s mom. We had invited her over for a Mother’s Day supper.

The event was a success.

After Karin’s mom left us, we let Samuel play with marbles in the living room, and I took Daniel to the basement so he wouldn’t put them into his mouth. When the time came to bring Daniel back upstairs, Samuel didn’t want to put his marbles away, and in the ensuing fracas they were spilled under various pieces of furniture. We put one howling child into one room and the other howling child into another room. We moved the dusty furniture around to hunt for the marbles – again, to the detriment of my sinuses.

I don’t recall having ever taken medicine for allergies. This might be a good year to start.

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The first paragraph of A Pocket Full of Rye:

It was Miss Somers’ turn to make the tea. Miss Somers was the newest and the most inefficient of the typists. She was no longer young and had a mild worried face like a sheep. The kettle was not quite boiling when Miss Somers poured the water onto the tea, but poor Miss Somers was never quite sure when a kettle was boiling. It was one of the many worries that afflicted her in life.

I see that in 2014 I gave this novel a “C” grade. Admittedly, I didn’t remember it well. When I previously read it, I was fourteen.

On the strength of this opening paragraph, the novel is shaping up to be worthy of at least a “B-plus.”

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For Mother’s Day, lines from the first half of Proverbs 31. Two versions.

I

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

These are the words of King Lemuel. This is the message his mother taught him:

“My son, I gave birth to you.

You are the son I prayed for.

Don’t waste your strength on women.

Don’t waste your time on those who ruin kings.

“Kings should not drink wine, Lemuel.

Rulers should not desire beer.

If they drink, they might forget the law.

They might keep the needy from getting their rights.

Give beer to people who are dying.

And give wine to those who are sad.

Let them drink and forget their need.

Then they won’t remember their misery anymore.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves.

Defend the rights of all those who have nothing.

Speak up and judge fairly.

Defend the rights of the poor and needy.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(International Children’s Bible)

II

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The words of Lemuel, King of Massa, with which his mother reproved him:

No, my son. Oh, no, son of my womb,

Oh, no, son of my vows.

Do not give your vigor to women,

Nor your ways to destroyers of kings.

Not for kings, Lemuel, not for kings,

the drinking of wine, nor, for rulers, hard drink.

Lest he drink and forget inscribed law,

and reverse the judgment of all wretched men.

Give hard drink to the perishing man

and wine to those deeply embittered.

Let him drink and forget his privation,

and his misery let him no more recall.

Open your mouth for the dumb,

For the judgment of all fleeting folk.

Open your mouth, judge righteously,

grant justice to the poor and the wretched.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

(Robert Alter)

Renovations (cont.)

A really grueling couple of days. A close family member was hospitalized; this has colored everything, and our thoughts and prayers are never far from this person.

Karin & I again visited our new house with Samuel and worked for several hours, mostly pulling up staples and tack strips from the previously carpeted hardwood floors.

Karin’s mom gave us money to pay our neighbor to mow the front lawn.

We cleaned the apartment

Two days ago, the temperature was near 60°F. Then, yesterday, it was back down into the teens. Melted water refroze, and new snow blanketed the ice.

Today’s weather was equally cold and snowy.

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Karin hosted a baby shower for one of her friends. Two guests showed up. Not to worry: this friend is having approximately six baby showers.

The important news is that, at last, our living room, kitchen, and bathroom are utterly cleaned and decorated. They’re in the condition that we envisioned when we first moved into this apartment. If we stay another year, we might even have enough time to fix up the guest bedroom.

Disaster

Well, during the hours I was at work, the floor of Mary’s & Martin’s basement endured another flood. M&M don’t know it yet. I won’t tell them until after they get home. Let them have a few more moments of bliss.

Karin – professional librarian, expert book-dryer – rescued some of my books.

Bianca has been staying the hell out of the basement.

We all thought the flooding problem had been fixed. Alas, no.

The Remains of the Day is unfolding nicely. I’d never read it. I’d watched the movie umpteen times, but the movie doesn’t include Stevens’s long, philosophical reflections on dignity and greatness. Stevens is lovable, not least because he puts so much consideration into his butlering.

Home improvement

Today at IU I tutored someone who said, “I don’t think you should be getting paid to do this.”

Um.

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Wanna be my housemate/flatmate/roommate? Or know of anyone else who might want to be? My lease expires at the end of August. I’d like to stay around Keller Park, but that’s negotiable.

Funny, I care more about living near to my church than about living near to my job. (Yes, I’m very pious, but the main reason is that on Sundays the buses don’t travel.)

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More orbiting around those twin suns, Sabby. Their magnetism is irresistible. Last week I was with the male Sabby, the architect, and he was like, “I found some cool stone artifacts in the river. Let’s go haul them out.” And so we did that. I can’t remember what every cool stone artifact was, but one was a part of a century-old balustrade (I think the male Sabby said). We brought them to Sabby’s house and the male Sabby put them away. I’m not sure what he’s going to do with them. (His wife, the botanist, is like him: she’s always collecting leaves and flowers and things, which is a little strange and endearing.)

Then I saw their very old reel mower and felt a sudden compulsion to mow their lawn. And so I did that.

Then this week I was in Sabby’s kitchen, which they’re remodeling, and I had a sudden longing to help them to strip the floor. And so the next day I did that. I helped to tear out a thin layer of sticky stuff and a thin layer of wood and I pounded the exposed staples deep into the bottommost wood layer (see, I don’t know any of the technical terms). It was very extraordinary of me and I’m a little surprised. The female Sabby got me to help her to cook, an activity which wasn’t so extraordinary for me but which felt less effortful than usual.