Final exams begin tomorrow and, in the process of checking to see where mine had been moved (so far they’ve changed the date, time and/or location three times in two weeks), I noticed the title of a course not listed in the college catalogue at Eureka College or Eastern:
Ag/Econ 401 - Camel Production: 3 Jun., 8am. Room 319.
After doing some checking, I found out that this listing is only for the written part of the final. There is also a practical exam.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
Three Poems (Give or take a few...)
As per Josh H., a list of three favorite poems:
My all time favorite:
“Love Poem” by John Fredrick Nims
My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing,
Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door,
You make at home: deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.
Unpredictable dear, the taxi driver’s terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before red apoplectic streetcars –
Misfit in any space. And never on time.
A wrench in the clocks of the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease,
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.
Forgetting your coffee staining our flannel,
Your lipstick spreading on our coat,
So gaily in love’s unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.
Be with me darling early and late. Smash glasses –
I will study wry for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.
I think the poem reminds me of every girl I’ve ever fallen for – slightly broken, maybe not totally polished but connecting with people on some amazing level. Are there a better closing two lines than “for should your hands drop white and empty/ all the toys of the world would break” ??? A bit melodramatic but then again so am I.
A solid choice for #2
“Dream Deferred” – Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore –
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugary over –
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Maybe a bit over used but that’s because it really is a great poem. Plus it’s easy to use for class when talking about apathy or indecision (The Road Less Traveled by Frost) or race (A Raisin in the Sun). Or imagery. Or form. Or…
But I just can’t come up with a third. Stephanie reminded me about Edna St. Vincent Millay – “Apostrophe to Man” is all about man destroying civilization and how maybe he should. Or there’s “The Man I Killed” or Shakespeare’s “My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun”.
And I have to admit I do love Dunne’s “The Flea” and some of Browning’s cheesier stuff.
William Carlos Williams – besides having a great name – has written some of those great poems I like despite myself. “The Red Wheelbarrow” and “This is Just to Say.”
But he’s a love him or hate him sort of writer. (I’d be curious to hear what the general consensus is.)
And Maya Angelou and AI and some of the other newer poets doing stuff without punctuation. Lucille Clifton has this great sassy, AMC church-attending, hip swaying, big Easter hat wearing African American voice.
And of course the African poets from Kenya and Nigeria and Ghana who I am not allowed to appreciate because, as one person told me, I can never truly relate to “the struggle.”
Signing off,
The Man
My all time favorite:
“Love Poem” by John Fredrick Nims
My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing,
Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door,
You make at home: deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.
Unpredictable dear, the taxi driver’s terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before red apoplectic streetcars –
Misfit in any space. And never on time.
A wrench in the clocks of the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease,
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.
Forgetting your coffee staining our flannel,
Your lipstick spreading on our coat,
So gaily in love’s unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.
Be with me darling early and late. Smash glasses –
I will study wry for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.
I think the poem reminds me of every girl I’ve ever fallen for – slightly broken, maybe not totally polished but connecting with people on some amazing level. Are there a better closing two lines than “for should your hands drop white and empty/ all the toys of the world would break” ??? A bit melodramatic but then again so am I.
A solid choice for #2
“Dream Deferred” – Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore –
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugary over –
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Maybe a bit over used but that’s because it really is a great poem. Plus it’s easy to use for class when talking about apathy or indecision (The Road Less Traveled by Frost) or race (A Raisin in the Sun). Or imagery. Or form. Or…
But I just can’t come up with a third. Stephanie reminded me about Edna St. Vincent Millay – “Apostrophe to Man” is all about man destroying civilization and how maybe he should. Or there’s “The Man I Killed” or Shakespeare’s “My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun”.
And I have to admit I do love Dunne’s “The Flea” and some of Browning’s cheesier stuff.
William Carlos Williams – besides having a great name – has written some of those great poems I like despite myself. “The Red Wheelbarrow” and “This is Just to Say.”
But he’s a love him or hate him sort of writer. (I’d be curious to hear what the general consensus is.)
And Maya Angelou and AI and some of the other newer poets doing stuff without punctuation. Lucille Clifton has this great sassy, AMC church-attending, hip swaying, big Easter hat wearing African American voice.
And of course the African poets from Kenya and Nigeria and Ghana who I am not allowed to appreciate because, as one person told me, I can never truly relate to “the struggle.”
Signing off,
The Man
Sunday, May 22, 2005
I've Been Tagged! Books
Argh!! I love talking about books but when Johnny D tagged me to narrow my discussion to five…It’s like he asked me which of my children I love the best. Sure, easy enough of a question to answer when you only have one but almost impossible to answer when you have hundreds (books…er…not children). But since I never back down from a tag (insert Michael Jackson’s Beat It into the soundtrack for the rest of this blog) here’s my answer at this moment.
How many books do you own? Hundreds, not thousands. Maybe a few less in the US than here in Africa.
The last book I bought: Locally - Some Sweetly Held Thoughts by Rahel Asgedom.
The author is a good friend and colleague and the book is her first collection of short stories and poetry. Plus, at less than two bucks I had to buy it.
Books from the States are almost impossible to buy here but we do some shopping through the internet. Real Questions, Real Answers About Sex should be arriving shortly. Here people don’t ask their parents about sex and are about as likely to talk to their priest or Muslim religious leader so the white married couple with a child get a lot of questions.
Last book I read: I just reread Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. There go four hours I’ll never get back. Because we don’t have access to many new books, I find myself going back to some of the classics to reread – Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Chronicles of Narnia, Where the Wild Things Are, Charlotte’s Web, The Things They Carried...
Last book I read for the first time: The Revolutionary Communicator by Jedd Medefind and Erik Lokkesmoe. Good discussion of communication techniques used by Christ written by experts who understand communications without pretending to know absolutely everything about God.
Oh, and I finally got around to reading Brave New World which was kind of a letdown. The hype set me up for a fall.
Five books that mean a lot to me…: Ok, I can’t do this one directly so I’ll group.
Invisible Man by Ellison, The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead and Native Son by Richard Wright. All three gave me a new perspective on race and race relations. The Intuitionist is definitely on my all-time-favorites list. If you like allegories centered around elevator inspectors, this is the book for you.
A New Kind of Christian, Where Do We Go From Here? and Blue Like Jazz. I don’t always agree with everything in them but all three had me reevaluating my faith. Also introduced me to the idea of thinking about Christianity and its function in a postmodern age. (For those of you who think “Post-Modern Christianity” is blasphemy, read them and then if you still think so please accept my apologies.)
The Great Brain, A Series of Unfortunate Events, The Chronicles of Narnia, A Swiftly Tilting Planet and Harry Potter. Great children’s books. The Great Brain is the first series of chapter books I remember reading on my own. Most are also viewed as blasphemy by some.
This Side of Paradise, The Great Gatsby, The Sun Also Rises. I love Lost Generation Literature. Is there anything better than books filled with people who are miserable because there is nothing to really be miserable about? Plus I’m still hopelessly in love with Lady Brett Ashley and Daisy Miller.
King Leopold’s Ghost, The Last King of Scotland, A Passage to Africa and Things Fall Apart. Especially the first and last books are great introductions to understanding Africa. King Leopold’s Ghost may be the best book on African history I’ve ever read – it is certainly the most readable and most graphic.
Eighteen books instead of the suggested five. No wonder I only lasted about six weeks as a journalism major…
But the literature discussion isn’t done yet. I haven’t even touched on “books I once thought were great but have now learned better,” “books I know I should read but haven’t/can’t,” “favorite literary villains,” “books I wish I hadn’t have read,” “books my spouse likes but I can’t stand” etc.
Anyone have suggestions for books on marriage and relationships? If Amanda and I are expected to be the resident experts, we need some help.
And is Ben Miller blogging? Or Phil, Yes Phil? I’d love to see their literature lists.
How many books do you own? Hundreds, not thousands. Maybe a few less in the US than here in Africa.
The last book I bought: Locally - Some Sweetly Held Thoughts by Rahel Asgedom.
The author is a good friend and colleague and the book is her first collection of short stories and poetry. Plus, at less than two bucks I had to buy it.
Books from the States are almost impossible to buy here but we do some shopping through the internet. Real Questions, Real Answers About Sex should be arriving shortly. Here people don’t ask their parents about sex and are about as likely to talk to their priest or Muslim religious leader so the white married couple with a child get a lot of questions.
Last book I read: I just reread Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. There go four hours I’ll never get back. Because we don’t have access to many new books, I find myself going back to some of the classics to reread – Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Chronicles of Narnia, Where the Wild Things Are, Charlotte’s Web, The Things They Carried...
Last book I read for the first time: The Revolutionary Communicator by Jedd Medefind and Erik Lokkesmoe. Good discussion of communication techniques used by Christ written by experts who understand communications without pretending to know absolutely everything about God.
Oh, and I finally got around to reading Brave New World which was kind of a letdown. The hype set me up for a fall.
Five books that mean a lot to me…: Ok, I can’t do this one directly so I’ll group.
Invisible Man by Ellison, The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead and Native Son by Richard Wright. All three gave me a new perspective on race and race relations. The Intuitionist is definitely on my all-time-favorites list. If you like allegories centered around elevator inspectors, this is the book for you.
A New Kind of Christian, Where Do We Go From Here? and Blue Like Jazz. I don’t always agree with everything in them but all three had me reevaluating my faith. Also introduced me to the idea of thinking about Christianity and its function in a postmodern age. (For those of you who think “Post-Modern Christianity” is blasphemy, read them and then if you still think so please accept my apologies.)
The Great Brain, A Series of Unfortunate Events, The Chronicles of Narnia, A Swiftly Tilting Planet and Harry Potter. Great children’s books. The Great Brain is the first series of chapter books I remember reading on my own. Most are also viewed as blasphemy by some.
This Side of Paradise, The Great Gatsby, The Sun Also Rises. I love Lost Generation Literature. Is there anything better than books filled with people who are miserable because there is nothing to really be miserable about? Plus I’m still hopelessly in love with Lady Brett Ashley and Daisy Miller.
King Leopold’s Ghost, The Last King of Scotland, A Passage to Africa and Things Fall Apart. Especially the first and last books are great introductions to understanding Africa. King Leopold’s Ghost may be the best book on African history I’ve ever read – it is certainly the most readable and most graphic.
Eighteen books instead of the suggested five. No wonder I only lasted about six weeks as a journalism major…
But the literature discussion isn’t done yet. I haven’t even touched on “books I once thought were great but have now learned better,” “books I know I should read but haven’t/can’t,” “favorite literary villains,” “books I wish I hadn’t have read,” “books my spouse likes but I can’t stand” etc.
Anyone have suggestions for books on marriage and relationships? If Amanda and I are expected to be the resident experts, we need some help.
And is Ben Miller blogging? Or Phil, Yes Phil? I’d love to see their literature lists.
5 Meaningful Books - Short version
Here are my five:
A Prayer for Owen Meany – John Irving
Perhaps the greatest opening lines in all of literature and a huge influence on me just when I was trying to figure out where my life was going.
The Sun Also Rises – Hemmingway
Tragic, brilliant, pathetic people. Oh, and Lady Brett Ashley…sigh. I fell in love with this book before I burnt out on Hemmingway.
The Last King of Scotland
A fictional book about Idi Amin’s doctor. “If you could have killed Hitler, would you?” sort of question only in Africa.
The Intuitionist – Colson Whitehead
If this was in order, my #1 pick. Amazing writing but more than a little off. A book you’ll either absolutely love or be stuck in a permanent confused-dog look after reading. Think Invisible Man with elevators.
And of course,
Blue Like Jazz
I kept finding myself objecting to and judging the narrator at the beginning of chapters only to be nodding my head in agreement with him by the end. Great ideas that every Christian needs to think about. I don’t know if it’ll make the list in another few years but right now I’m still chewing on it.
A Prayer for Owen Meany – John Irving
Perhaps the greatest opening lines in all of literature and a huge influence on me just when I was trying to figure out where my life was going.
The Sun Also Rises – Hemmingway
Tragic, brilliant, pathetic people. Oh, and Lady Brett Ashley…sigh. I fell in love with this book before I burnt out on Hemmingway.
The Last King of Scotland
A fictional book about Idi Amin’s doctor. “If you could have killed Hitler, would you?” sort of question only in Africa.
The Intuitionist – Colson Whitehead
If this was in order, my #1 pick. Amazing writing but more than a little off. A book you’ll either absolutely love or be stuck in a permanent confused-dog look after reading. Think Invisible Man with elevators.
And of course,
Blue Like Jazz
I kept finding myself objecting to and judging the narrator at the beginning of chapters only to be nodding my head in agreement with him by the end. Great ideas that every Christian needs to think about. I don’t know if it’ll make the list in another few years but right now I’m still chewing on it.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Internet takeover
I thought I'd gotten past this when we opened a secure email account. I thought "It happens to banks and Hardee's and even gas station chains but it won't ever happen to my nice little secure internet system." I'd been waiting for the announcement that Eureka College had been taken over and was now the Bradley University Campus in Eureka. Or for Eureka, the city, to be officially renamed Yahoo, Illinois. It was ok when the college football bowl games started getting renamed things like the "Office Depot Bowl". I was even fine with Tom Cruise being bought out by L. Ron Hubbard's little Hollywood religion and Madonna moving from New Testament to Old with her new name but not my stable little internet company.
Right now I am trying to figure out how to open email through a company that, like everything else in this world, has been bought out by a more aggressive thriving company who in all likelyhood will be bought out by another, more aggressive thriving company sometime in the next sixteen minutes. Somehow I'm now working through wingnet instead. New protocols to learn, new format. I'll probably even need to learn to write with a new font.
And I'm the one whose supposed to be good at accepting change. Can't wait for Amanda to have to learn the new system.
All this is to say that if you are trying to contact Amanda or I through our "headsail" account, it may take us a while to respond.
Sincerely, Best Buy Jonathan
Right now I am trying to figure out how to open email through a company that, like everything else in this world, has been bought out by a more aggressive thriving company who in all likelyhood will be bought out by another, more aggressive thriving company sometime in the next sixteen minutes. Somehow I'm now working through wingnet instead. New protocols to learn, new format. I'll probably even need to learn to write with a new font.
And I'm the one whose supposed to be good at accepting change. Can't wait for Amanda to have to learn the new system.
All this is to say that if you are trying to contact Amanda or I through our "headsail" account, it may take us a while to respond.
Sincerely, Best Buy Jonathan
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Three weeks left!!!
As usual, as the semester winds down I feel like there's so much a need to cover and not nearly enough time. That's why I didn't cancel class despite the horrible head cold and runny nose. In the middle of the lecture, cough drop lodged in my cheek and pockets filled with kleanex, I began speaking about the need to use proper source citation when researching.
Without warning a bubble roughly the size of a basketball errupts from my right nostral. I reached for a kleanex and turned away from the class but the damage had been done. The class roared.
In attempt to save myself some dignity I explained "That may be the most embarrassing thing I do all year." Without missing a beat a student replies, in perfect English, "The semester isn't over yet."
Sure, he can't pass a quiz to save himself but he can nail a punchline.
Without warning a bubble roughly the size of a basketball errupts from my right nostral. I reached for a kleanex and turned away from the class but the damage had been done. The class roared.
In attempt to save myself some dignity I explained "That may be the most embarrassing thing I do all year." Without missing a beat a student replies, in perfect English, "The semester isn't over yet."
Sure, he can't pass a quiz to save himself but he can nail a punchline.
Learning Humor
At only 8 months, it's tough to define my son's personality. He'll let anyone hold him. He'll eat anything. He likes to squeeze lemon and banana peels in his hands. He is a sleep fighter. He loves looking at people's faces. He hates loud noises. I'm not sure what he'll be like later but right now what is developing most is his sense of humor.
One of the things Amanda and I brought with us from the US is our hayfever. From birth, one of the few constants in our son's life has been sneezing. It's not so much the sneeze that he finds hilarious as the "Bless You" that follows. Sometimes he'll sneeze, hear the "Bless You" and then fake another sneeze so he'll hear it again.
At least he doesn't react that way when someone burps.
I don't get it. Goofy
One of the things Amanda and I brought with us from the US is our hayfever. From birth, one of the few constants in our son's life has been sneezing. It's not so much the sneeze that he finds hilarious as the "Bless You" that follows. Sometimes he'll sneeze, hear the "Bless You" and then fake another sneeze so he'll hear it again.
At least he doesn't react that way when someone burps.
I don't get it. Goofy
Monday, May 09, 2005
Onomatopoeia no more
My favorite word used to onomatopoeia. It flows and has lots of vowels and I love to share examples of it with my English classes. “Slurp” and “bang,” “splash” and “baptismo” (thank you Roger for sticking that forever in my brain).
But I think my new favorite word is “expatriate.” Is there any other word that is so pretentious yet so shallow and empty? The word is very much Hemmingway’s. Like the romantic idea of Gertrude Stein’s Lost Generation, it presents the image of having given up something or having given up on something. This is a word that should only be spoken if you regularly discuss bullfights and safaris over drinks while watching the sun set over Kilimanjaro.
It’s true some of the expats I know here are lost. Is there a well adjusted member of the Foreign Service who chooses this assignment? Some of the foreigners here don’t really identify with Africa or home. I know a lady who was here when the British were still in charge and can’t imagine going back. Others have their satellite dishes and access to the embassy’s regular imports of Chips Ahoy and Twinkies or they take an occasional dip in the diplomatic pouch. They send there kids to the American school and eat at the foreign restaurants. They manage to take a bubble of America with them wherever they go. There are the Peace Corps/VSO workers who have run out of things to protest in the US so they had to travel here to find new cause worth fighting for. Some of us must be CIA or MI6 or whatever the Canadian equivalent is for no other reason than there is no other reason for bringing a family here. We all must be lost or else why would we have ended up here. (This of course ignores nearly perfect weather, low crime, inexpensive cost of living, beautiful people, great food and a laid-back culture.)
Maybe we’re here as tour guides, to show others the way.
There are other words I could use to describe myself. Here I am forengi (like those big eared, big nosed traders on Star Trek). But I am also Italiano (all white people, naturally, come from Italy). It’s curious how rarely I am American. If I was from Ethiopia, I would be amache (named after an auto assembly plant). Sudanese? You’re a lorry like the big trucks that trek back and forth from there. But all of us living away from home are expats – once part of something else, now removed.
I must end this. I have lions to hunt, wine to drink and Gatsby to read. Nick Adams calls.
But I think my new favorite word is “expatriate.” Is there any other word that is so pretentious yet so shallow and empty? The word is very much Hemmingway’s. Like the romantic idea of Gertrude Stein’s Lost Generation, it presents the image of having given up something or having given up on something. This is a word that should only be spoken if you regularly discuss bullfights and safaris over drinks while watching the sun set over Kilimanjaro.
It’s true some of the expats I know here are lost. Is there a well adjusted member of the Foreign Service who chooses this assignment? Some of the foreigners here don’t really identify with Africa or home. I know a lady who was here when the British were still in charge and can’t imagine going back. Others have their satellite dishes and access to the embassy’s regular imports of Chips Ahoy and Twinkies or they take an occasional dip in the diplomatic pouch. They send there kids to the American school and eat at the foreign restaurants. They manage to take a bubble of America with them wherever they go. There are the Peace Corps/VSO workers who have run out of things to protest in the US so they had to travel here to find new cause worth fighting for. Some of us must be CIA or MI6 or whatever the Canadian equivalent is for no other reason than there is no other reason for bringing a family here. We all must be lost or else why would we have ended up here. (This of course ignores nearly perfect weather, low crime, inexpensive cost of living, beautiful people, great food and a laid-back culture.)
Maybe we’re here as tour guides, to show others the way.
There are other words I could use to describe myself. Here I am forengi (like those big eared, big nosed traders on Star Trek). But I am also Italiano (all white people, naturally, come from Italy). It’s curious how rarely I am American. If I was from Ethiopia, I would be amache (named after an auto assembly plant). Sudanese? You’re a lorry like the big trucks that trek back and forth from there. But all of us living away from home are expats – once part of something else, now removed.
I must end this. I have lions to hunt, wine to drink and Gatsby to read. Nick Adams calls.
I Love This Town
I live thousands of miles from where I was born and yet I am HOME!! Capital letters and exclamation points. (OK, not home in an eternal, spiritual sense but as home as a person can be in this world.) Despite its size and problems, I just love this city. Sitting on my roof I can see mosques and cathedrals and churches. I watch horses and carts go by being passed by UN SUVs going way too fast.
The beggars know me as teacher and the little girl who sells gum always shows me her teeth- to prove that her product hasn't rotted them, despite what I say. The waiter at the Casa knows that whatever the specials, I'll get the one with the most meat in it. There's a grocery where I only by a candy bar once a week, nothing else. I walk into the bookstore to talk literature with the high schooler who works there and to see if there are new paintings for sale. I walk around the city looking at artdeco houses that need saving that I'll never live in. Students stop me as I walk and invite me for tea or coffee.
This city, like the Seattle suburb of Ballard, just connects with me. I never could get used to Peoria. The people in Eureka were great but nobody walked anywhere. Bloomington had gotten too sprawling and stressfull. Indianapolis is one big strip mall. Nairobi is...if you've ever been there, you have your own reasons for feeling queer about that place. But I don't think you learn to love a city because it is perfect. You love a city because it reaches some part of you that others don't. For all its crazy drivers and broken sidewalks, despite having to dodge road apples when biking, even with the frustrations of dealing with shops that close just when you have time time to run errands, this city still makes me smile.
The beggars know me as teacher and the little girl who sells gum always shows me her teeth- to prove that her product hasn't rotted them, despite what I say. The waiter at the Casa knows that whatever the specials, I'll get the one with the most meat in it. There's a grocery where I only by a candy bar once a week, nothing else. I walk into the bookstore to talk literature with the high schooler who works there and to see if there are new paintings for sale. I walk around the city looking at artdeco houses that need saving that I'll never live in. Students stop me as I walk and invite me for tea or coffee.
This city, like the Seattle suburb of Ballard, just connects with me. I never could get used to Peoria. The people in Eureka were great but nobody walked anywhere. Bloomington had gotten too sprawling and stressfull. Indianapolis is one big strip mall. Nairobi is...if you've ever been there, you have your own reasons for feeling queer about that place. But I don't think you learn to love a city because it is perfect. You love a city because it reaches some part of you that others don't. For all its crazy drivers and broken sidewalks, despite having to dodge road apples when biking, even with the frustrations of dealing with shops that close just when you have time time to run errands, this city still makes me smile.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Toys
Even as an adult, I’ve kept some toys around. After all, I need them as educational aids in my classes. Legos help to teach about small group communication roles. Students use the giant talking Tick doll to evaluate it as a children’s toy. Even the “sold exclusively through the Home Shopping Network” Classic Video Games (Don’t you just love Pole Position and Ms. Pac Man???) have cultural value. And while I’m not exactly how to justify the rubber chicken or a bobbily-headed Jesus, I’m sure they have professional purposes too.
But now I find myself surrounded by toys. My eight month old son is by no means spoiled. Most of the toys he has are for the 0-6 month range and came with us on the plane. He also has the range of Baby Einstein toys, stuffed animals and whatever people in the States have sent. His whole collection of plastics and fur could fit in an average toy box and yet they often seem to move on their own.
On a typical morning his toys are typically found in three areas. We keep a blanket and pile of them in his bedroom, the living room and the dining room/kitchen. But it’s like building a tower of pudding. Soon they leak into the hallway and on to mommy and daddy’s bed. You need to dodge the Stackable trucks to get to the computer in the office. Link-a-doos litter the inside of our SUV. Right now a teddy bear is trying to help me type. His toys are underneath tables and cabinets and chairs.
I could accept this if he was walking or crawling but right now all he does is roll. So the fault is either placed on my wife and I or it’s one of those Erma Bombeck, “where do socks end up when they get lost in the dryer?” sort of things. Neither answer is good.
Right now his toys hold little interest for me but eventually I look forward to a time when his toys become my toys. The good news for our pocketbook is that here there are no Toys R Us or Kaybee’s or even Wal-Mart. Instead we have closet size stores selling the best of cheap Chinese plastics. And we draw the line at purchasing Craiolla Crayons or Funstation Vidio System. Plus, our normal “resupply center” has just been closed to us now that the “easy” five hour flight to Kenya has stopped flying. So much for getting brown sugar, rootbeer and DVDs. Still, waiting for the occasional trips to the US isn’t too bad. As long as my boy has empty boxes and crinkly wrapping, he’s happy.
But now I find myself surrounded by toys. My eight month old son is by no means spoiled. Most of the toys he has are for the 0-6 month range and came with us on the plane. He also has the range of Baby Einstein toys, stuffed animals and whatever people in the States have sent. His whole collection of plastics and fur could fit in an average toy box and yet they often seem to move on their own.
On a typical morning his toys are typically found in three areas. We keep a blanket and pile of them in his bedroom, the living room and the dining room/kitchen. But it’s like building a tower of pudding. Soon they leak into the hallway and on to mommy and daddy’s bed. You need to dodge the Stackable trucks to get to the computer in the office. Link-a-doos litter the inside of our SUV. Right now a teddy bear is trying to help me type. His toys are underneath tables and cabinets and chairs.
I could accept this if he was walking or crawling but right now all he does is roll. So the fault is either placed on my wife and I or it’s one of those Erma Bombeck, “where do socks end up when they get lost in the dryer?” sort of things. Neither answer is good.
Right now his toys hold little interest for me but eventually I look forward to a time when his toys become my toys. The good news for our pocketbook is that here there are no Toys R Us or Kaybee’s or even Wal-Mart. Instead we have closet size stores selling the best of cheap Chinese plastics. And we draw the line at purchasing Craiolla Crayons or Funstation Vidio System. Plus, our normal “resupply center” has just been closed to us now that the “easy” five hour flight to Kenya has stopped flying. So much for getting brown sugar, rootbeer and DVDs. Still, waiting for the occasional trips to the US isn’t too bad. As long as my boy has empty boxes and crinkly wrapping, he’s happy.
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