The Glowing Edge

Tag: fire

  • The Maker: Where I’m From

    The Maker: Where I’m From

    This poem made my eyes fill with tears when the Maker read it to me. Maybe because he’s the youngest, maybe because there were so many unexpected insights offered, line after line. I can’t decide whether it’s very twelve (years old) and boy (so much food!), or entirely, surprisingly, out of the boundaries of that sort of reckoning.

    Whatever it is, I find it rare and beautiful…

    Recaptured below with original spelling intact:

    Where I’m From

    I am from rich coffie, from

    busted paintballs to sizzling

    bacon. I am from calm scent to

    blasted remixes. I am from the

    faint russtle of leaves to the loud

    obnoxious alarm of five o-clock.

    I am from my bright red

    guitar, from soft flannel P.J.’s.

    I’m from juicy grapefruit to

    crispy bacon, from dry lips in

    the morning. I’m from crunchy,

    sweet, and yummy. Dark to light,

    bland to rich. I’m from down

    at the rock, from heartless school

    desks, to campfire chats.

    I am me.

  • tragedy

    You know all those people whose well-insured million-dollar houses burned down in California? The Husband and I were commenting on the media people who kept referring to the loss of these houses as a “tragedy” (links too numerous to list here). NPR aired a long story about a writer guy who “braved the flames” of the last big SoCal fire and returned to his house in order to recover a nearly-finished novel from his computer; he also brought out a stuffed polar bear, which he keeps as a fond rememberance of his wacky escapade. The emphasis was on the party atmosphere, the thrill of evading the police barricades, and the silliness of what you will risk your life to save. The more the Husband and I discussed it, the more we believed the word “tragedy” to be inappropriate.

    So we turned to pop music.

    Me: Hey, didn’t the BeeGees write about tragedy?
    The Husband (immediately launching into song): Tragedy! When the da-da-da and the da-da-da it’s tragedy!
    Me: I only know the one lyric too. I have to sing “watermelon watermelon,” like I used to for In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. We should find out what Barry and the guys have to say. It could be important.
    The Husband (returning triumphant from a quick foray onto LyricsFreak.com): I have the treasure! Gimme a beat:

    Tragedy / When the feeling’s gone and you can’t go on / It’s tragedy
    When the morning cries and you don’t know why
    It’s hard to bear / With no one to love you you’re goin’ nowhere

    Tragedy / When you lose control and you got no soul / It’s tragedy
    When the morning cries and you don’t know why
    It’s hard to bear / With no one to love you you’re goin’ nowhere

    Me: Mystery solved. Wow, I really feel…cleansed.
    The Husband: Edifiying, isn’t it?

    Did you know that “tragedy” was the word I misspelled (tradgedy) in the high school spelling bee? That was the fateful word that cost me first place. It was so…sad.

  • how to make sloppy joes

    by the First, age 12.

    Prepare:
    The First: “Hey Mom, you want sloppy joes for dinner?”
    Mom: “No thanks.”
    (disappointed silence)
    Mom: “But you could make them.”
    The First (underwhelmed): “Oh.”

    Then:
    1. Dump frozen turkey into overheated skillet.
    2. Realize paper frozen to bottom of turkey is now on fire.
    3. Ask Mom to stop doing flash cards with cranky 7 year old brother in order to address fire issues and, more importantly, fix your sloppy joes.

    PS: This recipe doesn’t work.

  • Report: First Week of Public School (or: girls, food, and fire)

    I asked the First, first time public-schooler and seventh-grader, for the lowdown on his first week of school. The report falls into three categories: girls, food, and fire.

    1. Girls. They have some cute ones there.

    Mom: So do these cute girls know your name?
    First: Yes.
    (long silence)
    Mom (once it’s clear no more information will arrive unsolicited): Do they sit by you in class?
    First: No. We have assigned seats.
    Mom: Bummer.
    (short silence)
    Mom: Is it a bummer?
    First: Nah. It’s okay.
    Mom: Oh. Okay.

    2. Lunch. They offer it there, and it’s pretty much about eating.

    First: Lunch is good, you can sit anywhere you want.
    Mom: If you are in the lunch room with no one to sit with, what do you do?
    First: I invite people to sit with me.
    Mom: Wow! You invite strangers to sit with you?
    First: No, I invite people I’ve met.
    Mom: So do you ever make new friends at lunch?
    First: No, you make new friends at the lockers.
    Mom: Oh.

    3. Fire. Where the real education began.

    Mom: What was the strangest thing about this week?
    First: The fire drill.
    Mom: A fire drill the first week of class, woo-hoo! You get to get out of class… Why was it so strange?
    First: Well, when they first told us we were going to have one, I thought they meant we were all going to run out of the building as fast as we could. But what they actually made us do was line up at the door and walk out very quietly. It was weird.
    Mom: Hm, I didn’t realize we had missed that in our homeschool curriculum, but I guess we did.