card (by Terry Rea)
Billy guest-blogged for me last summer — well, sort of; I linked to his blog instead of writing an entry myself, because I will never be as good a storyteller as Billy if I live to be 110. If you didn’t click over to his blog last time, do it today. It’s a good time, believe me. “The Fish Hook” is still my favorite, but every single entry is worth a read. Before you go, though, here’s a little more about Billy, a brief biography he wrote himself for his memorial:
“A life without love is not worth living.”
“There is no second, third or fourth place.”
By far the most important thing in my life was my family — both the one that brought me here and raised me at Stafford-On-Alley, and the one that Ev and I created together in our long marriage. I was blessed with a caring and faithful wife who kept me civil — most of the time. She was my granite. I am also proud of my children, and of theirs. I was fortunate to have many close long-term friends.Other credits are minor by comparison, but I will list them anyway:
· Chosen as the first ever “Sweetheart of the Cinderellas” — A Teejay sorority
I truly love my city, state and country.
· Promoted to the rank of Corporal in the National Guard — three times
· Held a certificate of completion in BasicOxy-acetylene Welding from the Richmond Technical Center
· Inducted into the Fan District Softball League Hall of Fame
· Lead “singer” for the Franklin Art Reparatory Theater (FART)
· And seven-time co-chairman of the Egg Toss at 4th of July block parties
(I said they were minor.)
One of my passions was playing sports, although I was not endowed with size, speed or talent. I played as hard as I could in every game I ever got in.Now, my time on Earth is done. Life here was most fulfilling. I know not where I go from here, but ere now, The Troll has left the building.
If you knew Billy, you were lucky. If you didn't, you really missed out. My thoughts and prayers are with the Snead family, and with all of Billy's lifelong friends. There will truly never be another like him, and he will never be forgotten.
I was surprised to find that two of Sendak’s most popular works, Where the Wild Things Are and the Nutshell Library, dated from the early 1960s.
Regular readers of this column should not be surprised to hear that The Boy’s favorite Sendak title is, of course, Where the Wild Things Are. As a toddler, he would ask for it over and over, presenting the book to me or to Tad with a plaintive “Batcha How?”
“Batcha How” was his imagined narration of what the Wild Things were chanting in those glorious text-free pages of wild rumpusing, and every time we reached that part of the story, he would hop up from his seat in the lap of whoever was reading the story and stomp joyfully around the room, waving his arms in the air, chanting “BATCHA BATCHA HOW! BATCHA BATCHA HOW! BATCHA BATCHA HOW!” Because of course, if there was a wild rumpus happening somewhere, he was going to be a part of it. During quieter times, we would sometimes find him sitting in the laundry basket, with a faraway look in his eye. If we asked him what he was doing, he would smile slyly and say, in halting baby speak, “Private. Boat.”
and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Maxand he sailed off through night and day
and in and out of weeks
and almost over a year
to where the wild things are.
Farewell and godspeed, Mr. Sendak. And thank you.
Anyway, last night’s question was one I am sure you have all been asked at one time or another.
“Mama, what’s a cowfoot?”
“It’s called a hoof.” I like questions where I know the answer right away. One of my favorite questions a student ever asked me was whether or not there was anywhere to buy a three-ring binder in space. I was 100 percent sure of my answer to that question, and I was equally sure about the cowfoot.
“No, not that kind of cowfoot!” The Boy replied, glowering at my unsatisfactory answer. “I mean the kind of cowfoot Daddy was talking about today.”
I reviewed the day’s events and remembered that at one point, in the parking lot of Home Depot, there was a discussion that involved The Boy whining in such a way that his dragged-out vowels took on a cartoonish drawl. In response, Tad had asked him, “Aw, why so sad, little cowhand?” Which totally shut him up, and then Tad chucked him into the shopping cart, and we went in to buy hardware. And I guess The Boy had filed the term away for future inquiry.
“Oh, you mean cowhand,” I said. “A cowhand is somebody who helps out on a ranch, with cows.”
“But cows don’t have hands.” He was still frowning, like maybe I was lying to him.
“Well, in this case, the word ‘hand’ doesn’t really mean an actual hand, it means to help out. You know, like ‘give me a hand with this’ — they give the ranchers a hand with the cows. They help.” Which might not be the best and most accurate etymological explanation ever, but for a 6-year-old up past his bedtime, it’ll do, you know? Cowhand.
“They need to make more words,” he grumbled. “Because they can’t have one word mean lots of different things. It’s too confusing.” He’s complained before about various glitches and exceptions in the English language. He always takes them extra personally, and he seems to think there’s some governing board that we should go to with all of these grievances.
“It happens a lot,” I said, ready to end the conversation.
“I know it does! Like cinnamon!”
“What?”
“Cinnamon! Sometimes it’s something you sprinkle on toast, and sometimes it means different words with the same meaning! Those things don’t even have anything to do with each other!”
Synonym.
Cinnamon.
I thought about trying to explain, but between homonyms and synonyms (and the fact that cinnamon and synonym are technically neither), my head started to spin.
I’m moving bedtime up an hour. I can’t take this any more.
That said, I can't help but think it would have been a better interview if the questions had been a little more creative. If you guys have any questions for The Boy, I'd be happy to do a follow-up interview with reader questions! In the meantime, this is what I got:
1. What is something Mama always says to you? “I love you.”
2. What makes Mama happy? “Me!”
3. What makes Mama sad? “When I don’t behave.”
4. How does Mama make you laugh? “She plays the Witch Doctor song.”
5. What was Mama like as a child? “Probably like me.”
6. How old is Mama? “30.” (This kid is getting DOUBLE TREATS today.)
7. How tall is Mama? “Quick, find my tape measure! Um, I don’t know, 4 feet?” (Tad: “Yeah, that’s about right.”)
8. What is Mama's favorite thing to do? “Find things she remembers.” (It’s true that I suffer from clinical nostalgia.)
9. What does Mama do when you're not around? “Clean the house.” (Because that’s the only time it stays clean.)
10. If Mama becomes famous, what will it be for? “Showing houses.”
11. What is Mama really good at? “Loving me.”
12. What is Mama not very good at? “Archery.” (Huh? I mean, I guess he is right but ????)
13. What does Mama do for her job? “Shows houses.”
14. What is Mama's favorite food? “Sushi.”
15. What makes you proud of Mama? “When she gets a lot of money.” (Ouch. I think this is a result of us stressing the fact that if Mama doesn't go to work, there will be no money to buy new toys. I can't say it's my favorite answer.)
16. If Mama were a cartoon character, who would she be? “Velma. That was easy!”
17. What do you and Mama do together? “We have ‘try new things’ parties.” (It’s a trick I use to make him eat new food and read new books — if you tack "party" onto the end of any activity, he is all for it.)
18. How are you and Mama the same? “We both like to eat candy!”
19. How are you and Mama different? “I am little and she is big — but big of age, not big of size.”
20. How do you know Mama loves you? “She always tells me she does.”
21. Where is Mama's favorite place to go? “The Fair! That was too simple!”
Cliff and I hung around chatting for a while, and eventually Tad and The Boy arrived to pick me up (they’d taken the car to do some errands while I was working). And, while I was tying up some last minute business that had fallen by the wayside while I was eating cookies, The Boy cozied up to Cliff, because he was a captive audience. His favorite kind.
“You know, I have a new pet,” The Boy informed Cliff, winding up for a long dissertation. “His name is Piney. He is a very cooperative pet — well, he is usually cooperative, but he doesn’t like to exercise.”
“Is that so?” Cliff was a good listener.
“Yes, but I don’t mind too much. I made him an environment to live in. It has plants and dirt, so he’ll have all the things that he’s used to. And water! But the water isn’t really for Piney so much; it’s mostly for the plants he has in his environment.”
Cliff nodded. “I see. Is Piney a turtle?”
It was then that I came to the realization that Cliff thought I had a normal child. As opposed to the child I actually have. I looked up momentarily from what I was doing and gave Cliff the “word to the wise” face.
“Piney is a pine needle.”
Cliff raised one eyebrow. “A pine needle?”
I laughed. Because that would be ridiculous! A pine needle for a pet! Imagine.
“Aha ha ha! Sorry, I was distracted. No, he’s not a pine needle.”
Cliff looked relieved.
“He’s a pine cone.”
Because that makes TOTAL SENSE.
Later that night, we brought Piney — and his “environment” — over to Baboo’s in a cardboard box so that he could attend family dinner. Piney was introduced to all present, and most of them were very tactful about the fact that he was, in fact, a pine cone. Later that night, my brother even found a pine-cone companion for Piney in the backyard. So now Piney and Spike are residing happily together in their muddy little environment.
When I left for work this morning, they were sunning themselves on the front porch. I think we’re giving Piney a pretty nice life. You know, for a pine cone. Not that he is very high maintenance. We probably should work with him on that exercise thing, though.
