Does not compute

The Princess (and sometimes Purveyor of Fine Art) wishes to announce a stunning addition to the castle's art collection, which was discussed previously in this blog. It has been determined, upon expert examination, that a wood rafter in their basement somehow escaped any shaping tools and remains in its natural loglike state, rounded and with bark still on it. The Hero and Princess are delighted with this discovery, and are already making plans to include special mention of it in their open houses, and perhaps a special fee as well.

As exciting as that discovery has been, we must occasionally return to the real world, and discuss actual, serious issues. Such an issue has recently occurred in my position as editor, despite my best efforts to avoid issues of a serious nature at work.

In reviewing an eighth-grade math test, I came across some word problems. A key feature of word problems, you will doubtless remember from your own student days, is that they provide extraneous information, which you do not need in order to solve the problem, and -- at least it always seemed this way to me -- not enough information to solve the problem, such as access to the answer.

This particular test that we give to eighth-graders contains two problems that clearly require much more information to answer. Perhaps eighth-graders would be able to solve the problems as stated. Adults, however, who have spent considerably more time in the real world, many without meaning to, are likely to have quite different answers, examples of which are given here.

Problem 1: Samantha is going shopping. She would like to spend no more than $85. She buys a book for $15, a video game for $22, and a CD for $16. She finds some shorts she really likes for $13.50 a pair. How many pairs of shorts can she buy?

Answer: First, what traumatic events have convinced Samantha that she "would like to spend no more than $85"? This is not a typical female emotion. It must be concluded that somewhere behind this irrational thought is a male.

Second, Samantha is obviously an adolescent, as shown by her ability to "find some shorts she really likes." No female over the age of 19 has experienced this sort of shopping occurrence. This may have nothing to do with the problem, but why set up a significant part of the student population to face a math problem that will in no way resemble their future life?

Problem 2: At the home improvement store, Al bought a hammer for $14 and nails for $6 per box. Al spent $68. How many boxes of nails did he buy?

Answer: Clearly there are some missing factors that could affect the outcome of this problem. Did Al buy anything ELSE that he did not need, such as a new Amazing Saw of Death, because he wants to have cooler tools than his neighbor? Was there a food truck parked outside the entrance to the store whose hot dog aroma Al could not resist? Or did Al perhaps -- as one of our acquaintances did -- see a ferret for sale and decide he needed to bring that home as well?

As you can see, our adult experiences have given us a unique perspective on tricky word problems. And now if you'll excuse me, I would like to go "spend more than $85."

"Come one, come all!"

As we mentioned last week, home renovations can be costly. If you are planning such an undertaking, you may need to be creative in finding funds to pay for your remodeling. Depending on the scope of your project, you may even need to sell some heirlooms, such as vases, jewelry, paintings, Aunt Millie's fruitcake, your hair, your right leg, etc.

If your experience is anything like ours, before any actual remodeling occurs, you will first have to pay professionals to destroy your house. But do not despair, because the result of their demolition efforts may actually lead to ideas for offsetting the costs of demolition and remodeling.

In our case, for instance, the work has left our ceiling a tangled mess of wires that appear to wind all around the basement and have no purpose whatsoever. Pipes have been installed in such a way that they cover the most amount of territory possible, like the Family Circus children's random paths. In short, the ceiling resembles certain art exhibits occasionally seen in great museums.

Which has given us an idea. When we have guests over -- if the county ever allows us to let people in without signing some sort of waiver ("I hereby understand that objects may, without warning, fall on my head while visiting this household. I accept that this is a natural and beneficial part of the process of experiencing "art," and do herein hold the owners harmless") -- we can bill the dangling wires and exposed pipes as an art exhibit:

"View this daring, thought-provoking art collection from everyday life, an interactive, ever-changing display with randomly falling debris that has been collecting in this household for over a century. Take a piece of history home with you! In fact, take several!"

This billing would allow us to charge visitors a slight fee for the privilege of viewing our great exhibit. And if nothing else, people would pay a slight fee for the privilege of leaving the house.

Beware coconuts and toilet bowl cleaner

Today we take a break from all the destruction the Princess is trying to pretend is not going on in her house, and look at some helpful statistics that should help us all sleep a good deal better at night. If not, at least we'll have something to think about while we lie there wide awake.

400,000 people are injured each year by their beds, mattresses, or pillows. If nothing else keeps you up at night, this will, wondering whether you'll be one of the lucky ones to make it through the night with no serious injuries. It is not known how many of these injuries are caused by individuals who, for instance, may be tired of their spouse's snoring.

During your waking hours, you may want to consider how much you are exerting yourself. You have a 1 in 1,428,377 chance of dying from overexertion. This seems quite remote, but who wants to chance it? Definitely do not overexert yourself making the bed, because then you join the odds of dying from overexertion with the odds of getting hurt by your bed. Not good.

Here is one comforting statistic, if you are concerned about your likelihood of being murdered: You have a slightly higher chance of being injured by toilet bowl cleaner than being murdered. Many people choose to avoid this risk altogether by never cleaning their toilet bowl, which of course puts them at risk of being overpowered by bacteria, but they appear willing to take that chance.

Reports of coconuts falling and injuring people appear to be greatly exaggerated, although it does happen. My advice, if you want to be on the safe side, would be to wear some sort of helmet if you plan to be in close proximity to coconut trees. However, you might also want to consider that a small percentage of people are injured by helmets each year. You must weigh the two odds very carefully, keeping in mind that getting injured by a coconut makes for a way cooler story than getting hurt by your helmet.

The odds of getting hit by other falling objects vary -- for hail, they are 1 in 5,000,000. Even more remote is the chance that you will be hit by blue ice, which is frozen airplane-lavatory waste that can unfortunately leak out and has been known to hit houses. To date no person has been hit by blue ice, but you never know.

In our house right now, with all the renovation going on, the odds of something falling have greatly increased, so that our chances of NOT getting hit by something falling from the ceiling is about 0. We are, however, probably safe from coconuts.

I want my house back

Renovating your house is expensive, and there are always more costs than you planned on. For instance, the shopping bills you run up because you can't stand to be home and look at the mess.

At least that is what is happening at our house. Not content to knock holes in the walls of our basement by himself, Joe has brought in a cadre of professionals to do it, with the result that certain military personnel being deployed have ended up at our house, mistaking it for a war zone.

Long-neglected brick and stone walls are slowly coming into view -- what's left of them. The dust has seeped, like a rising mist, throughout the whole house. 170-year-old dust. The dust is black, except that wherever we sit, a ring of white forms itself into a perfect outline on our posteriors.

But Joe will not let me see the progress in the basement. When I come home from work, he greets me at the basement door with "Hey, honey, how are ya? -- Go around to the front."

"Why can't I come in this way?"

"You can't."

"But you came in that way."

"See ya at the front."

This has nothing to do with the fact that the first day after the work started, he very unfortunately got home after I did. He found me in the middle of the basement, "Rachel weeping for her beloved fireplace, which was no longer." He was unable to stem my wails at the sight of what the workmen had done to the house. And that was the best day.

So now I am heartily encouraged to be out and about in the evenings, until the stores close and I have to come home, but not through the back door.

"I spent lots of money today," I say.

"Great, great!" he says. Spending money is incompatible with crying.

Because of the money being spent on this project, and the money being spent to keep me from slipping into depression, we are quickly coming to the realization that the trip we were planning to take to Hawaii this year may have to be scaled back. For instance, instead of a luau on a romantic beach in the shadow of a gorgeous sunset, we may have to hold one in the shadow of brick and dust. Instead of an open fire, our new cast iron stove. And a white ring around our posteriors.

Free the skunks!

Today's post was intended to be about the diligent visits we have been making to the Y to work out, but since we have been there a grand total of two times (if you count running in merely to use the restroom and shower when our bathroom was unusable), and since my personal workout at the Y has thus far consisted of exhausting trips back and forth from various pieces of equipment whose function I know nothing about to the Sanitizer Station, we must look elsewhere for inspiration today.

So we will talk about a little-known yet important environmental hazard, one that is every bit as dangerous as plastic soda pop rings to wildlife: the potential hazards of peanut butter to your local skunk. According to news reports, a skunk in Colorado was observed wandering around a concerned citizen's front yard in an erratic manner. Wildlife officials, after exhaustive analysis, determined that the animal's strange behavior was possibly, though not conclusively, due to the fact that its head was stuck in a peanut butter jar.

Officials tried a number of methods to try to free the skunk, including the Hokey Pokey Method, in which the skunk was coaxed to "put its head in and shake it all about." In this effort several officials attempted to show the skunk exactly how to do the Hokey Pokey, which nearly prompted another concerned neighbor to call for backup help.

In the end, one official -- being careful to remain out of range of the end of the skunk NOT stuck in the peanut butter jar -- tied a noose pole, or choke stick, to the jar and pulled for several minutes, yanking the jar free and throwing it several yards right toward Mrs. Hoskins's front window. Per department regulations, the official has been placed on administrative leave while he is investigated for possible cruelty to peanut butter jars, and whether "unnecessary force" was responsible for the broken window.

Officials have no idea how many skunks, or other animals, are affected by discarded peanut butter jars each year, but they suspect the number "could be in the millions." They were careful not to vilify human eaters of peanut butter, however, saying that "it could just as easily have been a pickle jar" that trapped the skunk, although privately most believe that pickles are not as attractive to skunks as peanut butter.

In other environmental news, those who live in our row of homes recently received an e-mail from a neighbor entitled "LB Row Car Washing," which made us very excited as we envisioned a personal car wash service -- performed by a local troop of eager Brownies, perhaps -- coming to our very doorstep. But it turned out to be a plea from a neighbor to NOT wash our cars in the parking area, because the soap and grease eventually finds its way to the waterways and can harm fish and other aquatic animals. Joe heartily concurs with this suggestion, not so much out of concern for the fish as out of thankfulness for an excuse to not expend his energies upon washing the cars.

Now, if only we could teach skunks to wash the cars. "You put your left hand, and you wash it all about..."

Like State Farm and good neighbors, we are there

Spring is traditionally a time when people start looking for a new house. This is because they begin their spring cleaning, and then suddenly realize that no amount of scrubbing or airing or muscle is going to change certain things about their house, and so they hit upon the bright idea of leaving it all behind and starting over somewhere new, preferably in a house whose owner has had more luck with such things.

The house next door to us is for sale, and we have noticed an increase in showings lately. In what is a totally unrelated coincidence, many, many homes in our row have been for sale or rent during our few years here, and the home on the other side of us is now occupied by the fourth tenants since we have been here. Of course this does not have anything to do with us.

But as neighbors to a house that is for sale, Joe and I feel it our obligation not only to keep our yard tidy but also -- perhaps even more importantly -- to offer commentaries on the prospective buyers. Not to the sellers, of course, although if they ever asked us we would be happy to furnish them with a spreadsheet of all the pros and cons of the various people who have come through their house, and our modest suggestions for proceeding with one of them.

In the absence of this sort of request on the part of the sellers, sometimes it becomes necessary to help encourage, or discourage, certain prospective buyers. This task falls to you, the neighbor, because the seller does not particularly care who buys the house. As long as a buyer has the money, and the credit, feral dogs could move in and the seller would happily turn it over.

But in a house like ours, with adjoining walls that are paper thin, the neighbors are going to be part of your life. You will hear their vacuum cleaner. Their hair dryer. Their stereo and TV. Their toaster popping up. Their breathing. A slightly raised voice when one of them encounters the other one eating the last peanut butter brownie. So you must weed out the ones you do not feel would be compatible. For instance, here are some examples of notes we have created on various prospective buyers visiting the house next to us:

First prospective buyers: Con: Noise created while ascending and descending stairs exceeds the threshold set by the Homeowners' Association Stair Climbing Commission. Pro: None identified.

Second prospective buyers: Pros: Look mature, seem very nice upon "accidental" meeting outside. Con: Own a small dog of the variety that feel it their duty to engage in continual yapping.

Third prospective buyers: Con: Own a truck that is longer than the house. Pro: Own a truck that perhaps we can borrow when we need to get rid of extremely large objects.

As for acting upon these observations, one must of course act with caution and wisdom. With the prospective buyers who clumped loudly on the stairs, we debated opening our back door as they were leaving and, in a nonchalant manner, saying something like "WHAT TIME DID YOU SAY ALL THOSE PEOPLE WERE COMING OVER? GOOD THING WE JUST GOT THE NEW STEREO!"

All in the name of being a good neighbor.

Breaking a law of nature

There are several laws governing our natural world. There are the laws of motion, the law of gravity, the law of conservation of energy, Mother's Law of Washing the Hands Before Eating, etc. And then there is the Netflix Law, which says that the person who most strenuously argues FOR watching a particular movie will be the first person to fall asleep while watching that movie. Within the first ten minutes.

Some laws have corollaries, too. The corollary to this law is that the person who did not particularly want to watch the movie in the first place will be unable, no matter how awful the movie is, to fall asleep during it.

Let's look at an example of this law and its corollary. Few people know that Netflix can attribute its enormous success almost solely to Joe, who, as a bachelor, watched an unprecedented number of movies and documentaries. He saw no reason for this to abate once we were married, and the little red envelopes continued to arrive daily.

He was particularly eager to see a documentary about Einstein, admiring the man's great brain for math and science. My tastes run more to Pride and Prejudice ("Make haste, Jane! Make haste!"). But I generously agreed to watch Einstein, and when Joe promptly fell asleep -- somewhere around Minute 8 -- I continued to watch Einstein, mainly because at that point I was not on familiar terms with the remote control, and anyway we did not have a copy of Pride and Prejudice lying around.

Joe woke up while the movie was still in progress, and immediately wanted to know what he had missed.

"I can't believe it!" I said. "This is terrible! Einstein was married to this brilliant woman, but then he fell in love with his own cousin, and he divorced the brilliant woman to marry her, but he kind of liked the cousin's daughter for a while, and then he went after his friend's niece, and --"

Amid this rush of torrid details Joe said desperately, "But did they say anything about math?"

The rush of torrid details was replaced by a blank stare. "Math...?"

"Yeah. Einstein. Math. His discoveries."

"Well..." I said, "I suppose they might have.... I didn't really catch that part. But he wrote all these love letters to all these women...!"

Inadvertently, we had discovered a way to circumvent the law of falling asleep during movies. Joe now knows that if he wants to find out anything of consequence, he will have to stay awake himself. And we have Einstein to thank for it all.

Fun makes a (limited) return

When I started working at my current place of employment, the ratio of fun activities to actual work was quite high, but over the last couple of years it has begun to slide alarmingly in favor of more actual work. To address this trend, a new Activities Committee has been formed. We have been reassured that the old Activities Committee has not been overthrown; they have merely retired, but whether this retirement was voluntary was unclear.

The all-new calendar of fun began yesterday with Pi Day, which of course should be celebrated on 3/14, but since that was a Sunday, we all agreed to overlook the irregularity of having it on Monday, 3/15. The celebration began at exactly 3:14 p.m. The object of Pi Day is to honor pi (and, by extension, all of math) by consuming large quantities of pie, and this we did enthusiastically. There was even a gluten-free cherry pie, some of which I took home to Joe so that he could honor pi too. In a reverent manner, of course.

The most radical proposal by the committee is for the month of May, which has been declared No Fun Month by committee members. All fun activities will be banned for the month, ostensibly because surveys showed that employees believe that having organized fun once a month is "too often." To add greater insult, No Fun Month follows April, in which the only fun activities scheduled are Earth Day ("Hug a tree!") and Spring Cleaning Day, which involves forced labor thinly disguised as something enjoyable.

In an effort to add some social consciousness to our fun, the committee has proposed a "smattering of social responsibility" throughout the year. We therefore will be holding Blood Donor Day. Someone apparently figured that we are not giving enough of our blood to the cause of work, and wants to squeeze out whatever few drops are left.

Amazingly, we will be celebrating Sandwich Day in November not by eating, but by making sandwiches and bringing in other food to donate to area food banks. Although we support these efforts to help others, we are all fervently hoping that this policy of donation rather than consumption will not apply to National Ice Cream Day.

In the past we have offset our philanthropic efforts by personally consuming huge amounts of food during a staff Thanksgiving celebration. This year we are having something called the "Turkey Trot" the week before Thanksgiving, and we are promised "food, lots of food, and who knows what else?" Lots of cots, hopefully.

For December we anticipate an All-New Holiday Extravaganza, which presumably will replace the traditional Very Expensive Holiday Extravaganza of the previous few years. No details have been forthcoming, but I am picturing perhaps a midday meal where employees who are interested in some holiday cheer at the office will gather in the break room to trade bag lunches with one another, take turns throwing their money away in an attempt to wrench a soda from the stingy soda machine, and then go back to eat at their desks. If there is no budget for decorations, we will be forced to use what we have on hand, which consists mainly of plastic flowers and yards of 4th of July garland.

In January we can look forward to Re-Gifting Day, in which we will all bring in gifts that were lovingly bestowed on us by friends and loved ones at Christmas, and trade them for gifts that were lovingly bestowed on someone else by THEIR friends and loved ones.

The Activities Committee is also offering us an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime "opportunity for world domination" by participating in Wii games in honor of Video Game Day. As I have shown a remarkable disinterest in achieving world domination, I just hope they also serve some food.

Important tips for buying a car

Buying a new car is a very complex and important process, and should be undertaken with the utmost care and caution. A certain person in our household, who shall remain nameless but is not me, laments that the last time he bought a car we were engaged, and wishing to be a supportive groom he shared in the task of choosing items for the registry, and ended up spending more time researching slow cookers than cars.

To avoid this, here are several tips on what to do and what not to do when looking for a new car. These tips come from car experts, such as anyone who has ever driven a car, so they are as trustworthy as what the car salesman himself will tell you.

1. You must do extensive research on the cars you are interested in before you ever set foot in a dealership to drive one. There are many reasons for this, not the least of which is the "new car smell" factor. According to one car expert, the smell of a new car is a "powerful intoxicant," one that is "not even understood by top medical researchers." Therefore you must be careful, even when you do eventually go to test-drive a vehicle, not to inhale while you are doing so.

2. Similarly, merely seeing a brand-new car can be dangerous. We women, for instance, see a cute car, and something happens inside our nervous system, which begins transmitting signals roughly translating into "Awwwww!" much like it does upon seeing an adorable kitten with large, sad eyes. You men may have a slightly different reaction -- you see a cool car and suddenly, in your mind, you are blasting down the highway in it, miles of city and countryside flying by -- but the point is that what we see inevitably biases us. So looking at the car is also out.

3. Touching a new car, too, can be dangerous, particularly if it has plush leather seats; a padded, heated steering wheel...ahem. You get the idea.

So where does that leave us? Fortunately, there are still two senses available for evaluating a new car.

1. Listen. Although we women are generally good listeners, this does not necessarily extend to cars. If it is not emitting any alarming noises, we're good with it. You men no doubt can glean a lot more from listening to a car's inner workings:. "Ahhh, yes, sounds like the pistons adjoining the rams are perfectly balanced, and there's no friction with the celtics."

2. Taste. Though a somewhat unconventional method, a quick taste of the car can tell you important information, such as "Yup, yup, it's metal all right." If the car is made in China, a quick taste may give you other things, some of which may mean you eventually will not have to worry about buying a car.

You should now be fully equipped, with your two senses, to objectively evaluate a new car. And should you at some point need to evaluate slow cookers, you know who to talk to.

Why should the west have all the fun?

For years garbage has been collecting in a vortex in the Pacific somewhere between California and Hawaii. Now we in the eastern half of the country have our very own garbage dump, in the Atlantic.

It has been discovered that some of the trash occasionally escapes the vortex and, in the case of trash from the Pacific site, escapes to Hawaii. It does not -- and here I quote -- "go to the California beaches." Personally I think this shows very good taste on the part of the garbage. Although it is not known exactly where the Atlantic trash goes when it escapes the vortex, rumor has it that some of the items prefer France, and some prefer Holland. In light of this, it's very likely that my own personal trash has been to places I haven't been.

Possibly these enormous vortexes of trash in the oceans are not so good for the environment. But we shouldn't think of this development as entirely negative. One person's trash is another's treasure, right? Some savvy, shabby chic person is bound to find this floating patch of garbage a treasure trove. Perhaps scientists, if they are bent on getting these garbage patches cleaned up, could offer day trips to the sites and let people pick away. Just think of the possibilities! Disciples of Martha Stewart could undoubtedly find something with which to make a shower curtain, or something to tie to the end of a window shade for a shade pull.

Maybe that plastic pitcher I didn't mean to throw out is there somewhere. Could I get it back?

A house full of holes

During dinner at our house, Joe will often announce his plans for the rest of the evening, which typically involve working on his school project and then working on some secret, personal computer project, although sometimes he will vary his routine and do the secret, personal computer project first. When we are finished eating he will leave the table with great energy and enthusiasm, clean up, sit down at the computer to begin his tasks, and promptly fall asleep at his desk.

He recently announced a new initiative in which, instead of going straight to his computer after dinner, he would go down to the basement and attack his current woodworking project. This would, he hoped, provide a change of pace and allow him to direct his energies more effectively. Of course the stakes are much higher should he fall asleep with a saw in his hand.

This new resolve was met with some dismay by myself, as his woodworking projects are often associated with the appearance of spectacular new scratches on the hardwood floor or other destructions to the room, which he only vaguely notices. In the middle of the floor in this room -- which is slated to become a family room -- are two distinct Zs etched into the floor, as if Zorro had been by twice and left his calling card, as well as the beginnings of another Z, as if Zorro had been interrupted the third time. Joe disclaims any knowledge of the origin of these marks, and seems unconcerned that Zorro, though a fictional character, has apparently visited our house three times.

The other night, under the guise of building a device that will allow him to look at several of his math books at the same time while at his computer, Joe descended to the basement and began his work. Normally when this occurs, the pleasant zzt-zzt sounds of a hand saw are emitted as the saw goes back and forth, back and forth. This time, however, there was a hideous, high-pitched whine that seemed to herald a thousand trees being cut down. I expected at any moment to see a vibrating saw come through the floor of the room above, possibly with Zorro at the other end.

When the torturous sounds finally ended, Joe came upstairs to announce that he had cut into the bump-out in the ceiling, which houses minor household things like water lines and phone cables, and that everything appeared perfectly in order. This was in preparation for taking down the whole ceiling, which is necessary to expose the old wooden beams assumed to be there. Doing so, it is hoped, will add to the ambiance of the room, while skillfully directing visitors' attention away from the Zs in the floor and the numerous other holes in the walls and ceiling, thinly disguised by wood planks and plastic sheeting.

"I thought you were going to work on a book tree," I said.

"Oh," he said carelessly, "I'll get to that. But first I have to see what's behind that other bump-out."

Oh, Zorro. If ever your assistance was needed, it is needed now. Just be careful with the floor.

Jane and June get fined?

I came across a short story at work intended for first graders, one of those stories about children who have a disagreement and solve it in a way that bears no resemblance to the way real children solve things. The story went something like this:

Jane: Well, June, I think we should ride bikes today.
June: But, Jane, I want to run.
Jane (thinking hard): Hmmmm, well, let's ride bikes today and run on Sunday.
June: But I want to run today. (pause) I know! How about if you ride your bike and I'll run next to you!
Jane: Great idea, June!
(Group hug ensues)

Problem solving among real-life children goes something more like this:

Kiley: I wanna ride our bikes.
Juniper (rolling eyes): We did that LAST time. Let's run!
Kiley: Shut up and get on the bike or I'll kill you.
Juniper: You did that last time, too.

No doubt we adults write stories the way we do hoping that real-life children will act a little more like the children in the stories, although WE certainly never did when we were children.

But this particular story about Jane and June, and the solution to their problem, does bear a remarkable resemblance to a recent news story from England. This story reported that a man was driving slowly along a country road while his dog trotted happily beside the car on a leash. But this being real life, things did not work out quite so well for the duo as for Jane and June, as the man was eventually fined for "not being in control of a vehicle."

But clearly, the situation came about because the man and the dog had had a heated discussion beforehand on whether they should drive or trot to Muggleswick, some distance away, and had hit upon the happy solution that one would drive and the other would trot. For the foreseeable future, they will both have to trot, as the man's driving privileges are now revoked for six months.

Luckily for Jane and June, stories usually end more happily than real-life events. Although I am waiting for the story in which the girls vigorously protest their outdated names in favor of something more modern-sounding and daring, like Kiley and Juniper. Now there would be a more exciting story. You just know Kiley and Juniper are NEVER going to agree on anything.

One Fish, Two Fish, and Many, Many Bugs

The Princess is under the weather today (although fortunately, for once this does not include snow), but in honor of Dr. Seuss's birthday Mar. 2 she wishes to share the following poem, written as a fond ode to her workplace.

Stinkbugs, Pink Bugs

(a little-known adaptation of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish)

Stinkbugs, pink bugs, icky bugs, sticky bugs.

The North Suite is full of downright yicky bugs!

Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my!

What a lot of ugly things go by.

Cave crickets, centipedes.

Millipedes, velocipedes.

And probably some named Siegfried!

Some have two legs, some have four. Some even have a whole lot more.

Some are big and some are small. Sometimes from the ceiling they fall.

Some are fast. Some are slow.

We see them come. But they will not go.

They’re in our cubes. They are not rare.

They go everywhere, even in our hair!

They’re on the microwave. They’re in our salt.

We would like to just say “HALT!”

Where do they come from? We cannot say.

But we wish they would just go far, far away.

Stinkbugs, pink bugs, icky bugs, sticky bugs…

The North Suite is full of downright yicky bugs!

Mom and the zombies

It is important for younger people to spend time with the older generation, because our elders have vast stores of experience and wisdom to pass along. Their experiences, and their wide range of reading, all make them uniquely qualified to help guide the younger generations through life. I recently had a discussion with my 84-year-old mother about a subject which, in days past, I may not have been so willing to listen to, but I now realize my mother's vast depth of knowledge about the world.

"I've been reading about Jane Austen and the zombies," she said.

Editor's note: The material that follows is somewhat mature, and should be read only by those who recognize that if an 84-year-old great-grandmother can handle it, so can they.

I had seen that book in the bookstore and had quickly passed by it. Clearly, my wiser mother had recognized the book's potential for broadening one's understanding, whereas I, younger and less in tune with things, had dismissed it out of hand.

"It's a really thick book," she said, "because it's got the actual Pride and Prejudice story, so you'll be reading that, and then all of sudden these dead people come out of the ground and go around trying to bite Elizabeth and her sisters.

"If someone gets bitten, they have to kill them and cut off their head, because the vampires want to eat live brains."

She gave a rather graphic description of the sad demise of Charlotte, a friend of Elizabeth's, and how Charlotte's husband -- the oily preacher, Mr. Collins -- could not bring himself to end her life, but the deed had to be done, and so his mother-in-law stepped in to carry it out. "And of course she had to cut off her head," my mother said matter-of-factly.

Then there was this patch of cauliflowers," she went on -- leaving me little time to wonder who else in my beloved P&P was to be a casualty of the zombies -- "and the zombies thought the cauliflowers were brains, and so a whole bunch of them went to the cauliflower patch." I was a little unclear as to all the details of the cauliflower patch, but the outcome seemed good, as several zombies were caught and -- what? Killed? How does one deal with something already dead? That was a little unclear too.

"I don't mind the parts about cutting off their heads," my sweet mother said. "That doesn't bother me at all. But they're always vomiting! That's just silly."

Clearly, when you get to be her age, you recognize what is of value, and what is not.

"I was going to read another book after I finished the first one," she confessed, "but then I changed my mind. Now I'm just reading my Bible."

From this enlightening exchange I gleaned a little insight of my own. Although listening to the wisdom of your elders is beneficial, try not to do it right before bedtime. You might start dreaming about cauliflower patches.