|
| . | ||
| . | ||
| . |
Julie's Late-Note Thoughts
![]() |
|
At my office desk.
|
| . | ||
| . | ||
| . |
2005
'A Pocketful of Endings'
|
|
|
|
|
|
Thought for the day: Once the parts for the Christmas play were assigned, there was a rebellion among the sheep. For to be a sheep would be to wear a fur hat with ears fashioned from faux shearling, "baaa" coming through lips that would rather serenade the baby atop toes that would as soon twirl. One might watch on Christmas Eve and wonder, "Which one of the sweet angels was supposed to be a sheep?" But truth be told, the one whose tears afflicted, also gripped most of the rest of the sheep, causing a cascade of fallen lambs in a rebellion usually reserved for willful girls in their teens. The director is a pushover! In the heaven of the play, therefore, one must imagine that all the pretty little kindergarten angels were sheep before they got there; the few surviving sheep bleat unknowingly, some even blissfully, waiting patiently for their turn to rise to white wingtipped shoes come November. Dec. 5, 2005 Quote of the day: On a regular day, if we've got someplace to be, I'm the one running around the house looking for boys' shoes and hats and coats and screaming something to the effect of, "We're going to be LATE! Come ON! Why are you building that Lego thing NOW? Let's GO!" And then once we're in the car, my sons usually get an earful about how they're always fooling around and making us late for things. But this was no regular day. This time, they were waiting quietly in the car, drumming their fingers on their knees when I finally burst through the back door, jumped in the driver's seat and sped off down the driveway. "You can yell at me," I said, as I waited powerless at a traffic light. Bradley broke the silence. "No, no. Stupid is as stupid does." Dec. 2, 2005 Suddenly, Gregory surprised me from behind, lifting my arm and plopping himself down on my lap, interrupting my daydream, my precious alone time. I was annoyed. I was rude. "Can't you go sit somewhere else, Gregory?" "But," he said, after kissing my cheek, "I wanted to fly here on the breeze with you, watch the geese and dream of spending the freezing winter away south." I drew my little boy closer. "Stay." Nov. 30, 2005 "Um, sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but that shirt doesn't go with those pants, 'cuz, you know, the pants are beige and brown and the shirt is bright yellow." He looked at me like I was a flight attendant going over the safety brochure. "Let me try this from another angle," I said. "The shirt contradicts the pants because the pants are HIDE ME CAMO and the shirt screams HERE I AM COME AND GET ME." "Dinosaurs," he said with a cutting glare, "lived in the desert." Nov. 29, 2005 Gregory, my 5-year-old, came in the room just as I was getting started writing the checks. "Whatcha' doin'?" he said. "Paying bills. That's a lot of bills, huh?" "Can I help?" he asked. "Sure!" I was thinking that he might enjoy sitting with me, that he might like to put the stamps on the envelopes, make neat stacks and help keep things organized. But he didn't instantly jump up on the bed-slash-bill-paying-nest; instead, he darted out of the room. I shrugged, and went back to my work. Moments later, Gregory returned. "I got this from my bank," he said, handing me a dollar. "Does this help?"
|