Archive | April, 2010

Mike Teavee


Good news: boy likes to play with my meditation cushion. Bad news: here, he set it up as “a movie” to watch.

I will invoke the fifth amendment on the topic of whether or not I, ahem, from time to time, ahem, allow him to take in the animated/visual arts. While I cook dinner and his brain turns to pudding on the couch.  Will he meet the same sad fate as the Mike Teavee character in Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Only time will tell.

At least I can say that I have the 25th anniversary edition of Marie Winn’s book The Plug-In Drug, read most of it, and believe nearly every word I read.  Soon as he can rip his attention away from the meditation cushion, I’ll read it to him, too.

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La caballista

We took a hike in the woods recently, the kids and I, while Mama was out of town for some hard-earned R&R. Yes, things started out a little bumpy (see Sunday’s post), but before long we, meaning Baba, had regained our composure and had a delightful time.

We’re nearing the end of our loop through the woods when we espy some rustic bathroom facilities, which, given the preponderance of poison oak (cf Sunday), are a welcome relief. (In the big bag of stories waiting to be told, if only I could fling discretion clean out the window, is a gem about the mother-out-law and some poison oak on her honeymoon, and all I can say is it is the cautionary tale to end all cautionary tales.)  We make use of the park outhouses and rejoin the fire trail, now dotted with Sunday afternoon strollers, joggers, and mountain bikers wending their various ways back home.

Right as we’re about to join them, what should round the bend but three caballeros on three gorgeous horses. They dismount and lead their steeds to drink from a nearby trough, and we can’t do a thing but stop and stare.

The man nearest to us notices the girlie’s rapt attention, leans over, and asks her if she wants to ride his horse.

Utter, shocked silence.

“It’s okay,” he says. “She’s really friendly.”

“Sweetie, that was a generous offer,” I say. “Would you like to sit up in the horse’s saddle? Just for a moment?”

Slow, barely perceptible nod.

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Weekend bonus shot, 04.25.10


Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe, only with way more dirt than herbe, Berkeley, CA.

After a harrowing tour through a poison oak hedge — okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but only a little, and no, nobody got any, thanks to Baba’s code red terror alert vigilance (“Don’t even LOOK at the verdant splendor at the side of the trail, children!  Hands where I can see them! And no zig-zagging!”) — we spread out the picnic blanket in the middle of the first, wide fire trail we saw.  From this spot we were ideally positioned to greet the mountain biking, hiking, and horse-riding passers-by. (“Greetings! No poison oak here, no siree! Have a nice day!”)

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He’s a versatile guy

Like the post two weeks back, when it was all pictures even though I had so much of a story I wanted to tell in words.





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