The Night R2 Ate the Geek Boy
Tuesday, 24. June 2008, 18:18:04
I am having a "happy flash" at the moment, and life is too dull of a place this week not to make note of such a moment. The reasons for my joy moment are a bit complex, so suffice it to say I feel downright gleeful. I am reminded of a girl I know at our church who is always happy. Even when she pretends to sulk she's happy. And I remember one week in Sunday School when we were discussing ways we think God speaks to us, ways we feel His presence, and she said she thought her randomly, unreasonably happy moments were gifts from God. Well, I'll take unreasonable happiness any day.
My feelings aside, I suppose I should explain the title of this blog. . . . On second thought, put the title aside also, with all other weak McManus immitations. Now to move on with my narration.
Last night was a little wild in our home. At the end of an hour of sillines (in which no small white dogs were seriously injured), Dad mumbled something about not telling Mother and watched Samuel reel up the stairs, gasping and hicupping fitfully. But are we not to share our joy with those less fortunate? (Timothy and Mother, are you reading this?) Does not Proverbs say that he who scatters shall increase the more?
This Biblical injunction in mind, I will go so far as to say that our kitchen trashcan featured prominently in its quest to ingest Samuel. (Note: For those unfamiliar with our home, the kitchen trashcan has a swinging dome lid, making it look more or less like an albino cousin of the famous robot. Hence the name R28U.) I can also testify to the fact that Samuel can climb up and fit between the bannisters (albeit with much gasping and looking ridiculously like a gangly blue beetle on an oiled skateboard). And, to dispel certain rumors, I would like to point out that there is no aluminum foil on top of the cupboards. Not any more, at least.
The crowning moment, however, undeniably belongs on Dad's wall of trophies. Taking up the giant purple ball with which my mother is accustomed to exercise and with which we children are accustomed to toy, my father turned to me with a devious face. Whispering something about taking Samuel unawares, he crept to the starewell and released his burden with a shove. Each thump of the ball's descent was accompanied by an expectant nod from my father. At this stage in the proceedings Samuel, standing in the office just behind my father, raised his voice to inquire into his dear parental's actions, no doubt with a mind to edification in wisdom. From my position I had been watching both of them from the moment Dad seized the ball, and now I relished my father's fleeting, shocked expression as he turned slowly round. . . . Aye, if he only he hadn't a had the Duck . . .
To top off the evening, I shall upload some old pictures of Geek Boy and the Cool Dudes, which you should be able to find among my photo albums by the time you read this.
And to bottom off this post, I finished "Middlemarch," all 811 closely-typed pages of it.
My feelings aside, I suppose I should explain the title of this blog. . . . On second thought, put the title aside also, with all other weak McManus immitations. Now to move on with my narration.
Last night was a little wild in our home. At the end of an hour of sillines (in which no small white dogs were seriously injured), Dad mumbled something about not telling Mother and watched Samuel reel up the stairs, gasping and hicupping fitfully. But are we not to share our joy with those less fortunate? (Timothy and Mother, are you reading this?) Does not Proverbs say that he who scatters shall increase the more?
This Biblical injunction in mind, I will go so far as to say that our kitchen trashcan featured prominently in its quest to ingest Samuel. (Note: For those unfamiliar with our home, the kitchen trashcan has a swinging dome lid, making it look more or less like an albino cousin of the famous robot. Hence the name R28U.) I can also testify to the fact that Samuel can climb up and fit between the bannisters (albeit with much gasping and looking ridiculously like a gangly blue beetle on an oiled skateboard). And, to dispel certain rumors, I would like to point out that there is no aluminum foil on top of the cupboards. Not any more, at least.
The crowning moment, however, undeniably belongs on Dad's wall of trophies. Taking up the giant purple ball with which my mother is accustomed to exercise and with which we children are accustomed to toy, my father turned to me with a devious face. Whispering something about taking Samuel unawares, he crept to the starewell and released his burden with a shove. Each thump of the ball's descent was accompanied by an expectant nod from my father. At this stage in the proceedings Samuel, standing in the office just behind my father, raised his voice to inquire into his dear parental's actions, no doubt with a mind to edification in wisdom. From my position I had been watching both of them from the moment Dad seized the ball, and now I relished my father's fleeting, shocked expression as he turned slowly round. . . . Aye, if he only he hadn't a had the Duck . . .
To top off the evening, I shall upload some old pictures of Geek Boy and the Cool Dudes, which you should be able to find among my photo albums by the time you read this.
And to bottom off this post, I finished "Middlemarch," all 811 closely-typed pages of it.
Ah yes, I read this, dear daughter. I'm glad R2 didn't 8U or your brother! Thanks for sharing your joy with us "unfortunate" folks. I'm off to go shooopping with your G'ma P; NOW who's unfortunate?
By anonymous user, # 27. June 2008, 17:57:57