1. She IS My Daughter, After All
W: Dad, do you know what a woodpecker sounds like?
D: What?
W: A fart! (She cackles hysterically.)
You know, neither her mother nor I could really disagree.
2. A Portrait of the Artist as a Camper
Those of you who know Christie (and really, who else is reading this?) know that she's not a big fan of desserts. Yes, she'll eat them, but she doesn't live and die for whipped cream the way some people I know do. Give her a pickle and she's totally content. Weird, I know, but true.
Even so, you cannot imagine the care and craftsmanship this woman dedicates to the humble S'more. It is a thing of beauty to behold. First, she places two squares of chocolate (need I mention this is deep, deep, deep dark chocolate, not a stale chunk off a Hershey bar?) on a graham cracker and rests them on the grate near the fire. Not directly above it - oh, no! - just near it. And then she waits. And waits. She adjusts a little. A nudge here. A nudge there. The chocolate starts to sweat. The chocolate starts to soften. Finally, it begins to melt. By the time Christie is ready to eat it, the chocolate is positively glistening.
After waiting with divine patience for at least ten minutes - husband is busily toasting marshmallow two and daughter is already munching on number three - Christie begins the delicate process of toasting her marshmallow. Again, it's art. Careful as a hunter, graceful as a dancer, she slowly circles the fire, bending low, stretching out, leaning this way and that, all in search of the perfect spot to suspend her marshmallow. She tries out three or four complex yoga positions - Marshmallow Warrior I and II, The Flame Salute - before settling down to work. Not too close, no, not too close. Flick the wrist a little. Gently adjust. Juuuuust right.
Was it worth the wait? Heckifino. She wouldn't let me near the thing. Honestly, would you? All I can say is it sure looked good.
3. Almost There
I am sitting on a bench 100 yards above the Nehalem River, spiral notebook in lap, pen in hand. Clouds skim above the wall of trees on the opposite shore more quickly than the lazy current carries reluctant twigs downstream.
In this stillness, suspended between the whisper of the river and the lilting of birds, I almost understand the allure of fishing. The water is seductive - serene and soothing. I've been watching her for three days now - her dips and eddies, her deeps and shallows, the spots where fish strike and salamanders slink. And if there is one thing I've learned about rivers in the last three days it is that I know nothing about rivers. Reading a river is like reading a Russian translation of Finnegan's Wake.
But I think I understand fishermen a little bit better. I understand the desire to lose yourself in a river like losing yourself in a book. I understand the desire to sit in still water as the sun crests a mountain, serenaded by birds and current and stones.
The one thing I can't figure out is why would you want to ruin it all by catching a fish?
4. Roughly
The number of times this weekend the we, my wife and I, either deliberately or accidentally, thoughtfully or carelessly, intentionally or recklessly, endangered the life of our child in or around the Nehalem River and the accompanying rocks, boulders, and forests: roughly 65,000. I'm not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing, I'm just sayin'. 65,000, give or take.
2 comments:
1. Hey, I would too disagree!
2. With all the attention I give to that s'more, you'd think I love them. But really it ain't that great and it seems like to should be - the individual parts are pretty yummy. So I spend a great deal of time perfecting each one (and I only make one) in hopes that it'll be excellent.
4. And she's all the more confident for it, even if our hearts are in our throats.
Re #4--When my mother took me to the pediatrician at age 4, she was very embarrassed about all of the band-aids, bruises, cuts, and self-scissored haircut that I had. The pediatrician told her not to worry--it's the happy, healthy, adventuresome kids that life bangs up a bit, but they became fast learners. Mom
Post a Comment