Leslie’s mom. We bought special table settings. The ones we previously had in the treehouse were Russian, from when we lived there. Very nice but sort of worn. Also, the candleholders were ancient. I am talking ancient as in Romanov ancient.
And last week we finally got cable run up there, says Emmett.
He indicates the treehouse, which is painted Victorian and has a gabled roof and a telescope sticking out and what looks like a small solar panel.
Thomas: Wow, that treehouse is like twice the size of our actual house.
Pam (whispering): Don’t say “like.”
Me: Oh, ha ha, let him say what he wants, let’s not be—
Thomas: That treehouse is twice the size of our actual house.
(Thomas, as usual, exaggerating: treehouse not twice size of our house. Is more like one-third size of our house. Still, yes: big treehouse.)
Our present not the very worst. Although possibly least expensive (someone brought a mini–DVD player, someone brought a lock of hair from an actual mummy(!)), it was, in my opinion, the most heartfelt. Because Leslie (who appeared disappointed at the lock of mummy hair, and said so, because she already had one (!)), was, it seemed to me, touched by the simplicity of our paper doll set. And although we did not view it as kitsch at the time we bought it, when Leslie’s mom said, Les, check it out, kitsch or what, don’t you love it? I thought: Yes, well, maybe it is kitsch, maybe we did intend. In any event, this eased the blow when the next present was a ticket to the Preakness (!), as Leslie has recently become interested in horses, and has begun getting up early to feed their nine horses, whereas previously she had categorically refused to feed the six llamas.
Leslie’s mom: So guess who ended up feeding the llamas?
Leslie (sharply): Mom, don’t you remember back then I always had yoga?
Leslie’s mom: Although actually, honestly? It was a blessing, a chance for me to rediscover what terrific animals they are, after school, on days on which Les had yoga.
Leslie: Like every day, yoga?
Leslie’s mom: I guess you just have to trust your kids, trust that their innate interest in life will win out in the end, don’t you think? Which is what is happening now, with Les and horses. God she loves them.
Leslie: They’re wonderful.
Pam: Our kids, we can’t even get them to pick up what Ferber does in the front yard.
Leslie’s mom: And Ferber is?
Me: Dog.
Leslie’s mom: Ha ha yes, well, everything poops, isn’t that just it ?
Though is true we cannot keep yard picked up, even with recent attempt at schedule, did not like Pam sharing this with world, as if our kids, in addition to less nicely dressed than Leslie, also less responsible, as if dog not perfectly good pet relative to llama, horse, parrot (parrot in upstairs hall says “Bonne nuit!” as I pass to pee) etc., etc.
After dinner, strolled grounds with Emmett, who is surgeon, does something two days a week with brain-inserts, small electronic devices? Or possibly biotronic? They are very small. Hundreds can fit on head of pin? Or dime? Did not totally follow. Asked about my work, I told. He saidwell, huh, amazing the strange arcane things our culture requires some of us to do, degrading things, things that offer no tangible benefit to anyone, how do they expect people to continue to even hold their heads up?
Could not think of response. Note to self: Think up response, send on card, thus striking up friendship with Emmett?
Returned to house, sat on special star-watching platform as stars came out. Our kids sat watching stars fascinated, as if no stars in our neighborhood. What, I said, no stars in our neighborhood? No response. From anyone. Actually, stars there did seem brighter. On star platform, had too much to drink, and suddenly everything I thought of seemed stupid. So just went quiet, like in stupor.
Pam drove home, I sat sullen and drunk in passenger seat of Park Ave. Kids babbling about what a great party it was, Lilly
And last week we finally got cable run up there, says Emmett.
He indicates the treehouse, which is painted Victorian and has a gabled roof and a telescope sticking out and what looks like a small solar panel.
Thomas: Wow, that treehouse is like twice the size of our actual house.
Pam (whispering): Don’t say “like.”
Me: Oh, ha ha, let him say what he wants, let’s not be—
Thomas: That treehouse is twice the size of our actual house.
(Thomas, as usual, exaggerating: treehouse not twice size of our house. Is more like one-third size of our house. Still, yes: big treehouse.)
Our present not the very worst. Although possibly least expensive (someone brought a mini–DVD player, someone brought a lock of hair from an actual mummy(!)), it was, in my opinion, the most heartfelt. Because Leslie (who appeared disappointed at the lock of mummy hair, and said so, because she already had one (!)), was, it seemed to me, touched by the simplicity of our paper doll set. And although we did not view it as kitsch at the time we bought it, when Leslie’s mom said, Les, check it out, kitsch or what, don’t you love it? I thought: Yes, well, maybe it is kitsch, maybe we did intend. In any event, this eased the blow when the next present was a ticket to the Preakness (!), as Leslie has recently become interested in horses, and has begun getting up early to feed their nine horses, whereas previously she had categorically refused to feed the six llamas.
Leslie’s mom: So guess who ended up feeding the llamas?
Leslie (sharply): Mom, don’t you remember back then I always had yoga?
Leslie’s mom: Although actually, honestly? It was a blessing, a chance for me to rediscover what terrific animals they are, after school, on days on which Les had yoga.
Leslie: Like every day, yoga?
Leslie’s mom: I guess you just have to trust your kids, trust that their innate interest in life will win out in the end, don’t you think? Which is what is happening now, with Les and horses. God she loves them.
Leslie: They’re wonderful.
Pam: Our kids, we can’t even get them to pick up what Ferber does in the front yard.
Leslie’s mom: And Ferber is?
Me: Dog.
Leslie’s mom: Ha ha yes, well, everything poops, isn’t that just it ?
Though is true we cannot keep yard picked up, even with recent attempt at schedule, did not like Pam sharing this with world, as if our kids, in addition to less nicely dressed than Leslie, also less responsible, as if dog not perfectly good pet relative to llama, horse, parrot (parrot in upstairs hall says “Bonne nuit!” as I pass to pee) etc., etc.
After dinner, strolled grounds with Emmett, who is surgeon, does something two days a week with brain-inserts, small electronic devices? Or possibly biotronic? They are very small. Hundreds can fit on head of pin? Or dime? Did not totally follow. Asked about my work, I told. He saidwell, huh, amazing the strange arcane things our culture requires some of us to do, degrading things, things that offer no tangible benefit to anyone, how do they expect people to continue to even hold their heads up?
Could not think of response. Note to self: Think up response, send on card, thus striking up friendship with Emmett?
Returned to house, sat on special star-watching platform as stars came out. Our kids sat watching stars fascinated, as if no stars in our neighborhood. What, I said, no stars in our neighborhood? No response. From anyone. Actually, stars there did seem brighter. On star platform, had too much to drink, and suddenly everything I thought of seemed stupid. So just went quiet, like in stupor.
Pam drove home, I sat sullen and drunk in passenger seat of Park Ave. Kids babbling about what a great party it was, Lilly
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