Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Must be a Good Book.

My daughter was, and is, an incurable romantic. When she was tiny, she would build castles out of blocks, and envision a princess calling to a prince (not the other way around, mind you, as might be a bit more proper.) "Prince! Oh, pri-ince!"

Meg used to make her own swords, daggers and lances too. Rich showed her how to shape wood down in his workshop, and she'd work for hours sharpening some piece of wood, painting it silver, and fixing fake jewels to the hilt, which were constantly falling off and needing regluing. ("Well, you'll just have to find it again. Do I look like I'm made of jewels??"). I'd made her a purple cape with pearls and jewels attached to it, and a crown to go with it. All this occurred after we'd read her the Narnia series, and been to Vienna's armor museum. It seemed to give her the impression that a woman's place was in battle, with a bow and arrow, and a nice, lethal dagger.

Things cooled off a bit after she tried to joust with a tree, and lost.

Now she says, "I don't know what I was thinking of. Somehow I thought I could win!"

Friday, December 09, 2005


Conversation heard this snowy morning:

Me: There is no school today.

Meg: Yes, that’s a good thing; it means I have no homework this weekend.

Me: Well, there’s some things I’d like you to do for me today.

Meg: Well, I do have a LITTLE homework.

Me: I need you to bake up some cookies.

Meg: Well, I don’t have to get it done RIGHT away.


Rich (shoveling hard): How about if you work at the other end of the driveway so I’m not running into you?

Eleanor (wisely pushing shovel to shave off manageable sections of snow so as not to rupture herself): OK. And you don’t have to do the whole layer of snow at once. I’ll clean up after you; just get the bulk of it off.

Rich: (surveying my work) We don’t have to get it THAT clear. Just how clean do you want this driveway?

Eleanor: Clean enough to get the mail in stocking feet.

Rich: You are a crazy woman.

Eleanor: Hey, Bud, I’m a New Englander. Don’t tell me how to do my job.

Rich: Whoa. (exeunt)