"Oh 5h1t!"? - Letter to a Home Town

Our Very Patient and Very Loved '2-Pid Tat' Rena

Olivia, the newest of the chickens, hopped on top of the composter, then made ready to jump the fence into the neighbor’s yard. I was worried and annoyed. Part of the unspoken agreement I have with my neighbor about the chickens is that they stay on our side of the fence. I had already clipped Olivia’s wings, but the allure of a safe haven from the flock bullies set her small mind in motion to find another way.  Seeing what she was about to do, the Figlet called out as I had so many times before “2-pid Chickie!”

It was contextual. It was eloquent. It was very nearly properly annunciated. It was funny. But as much as it made us giggle, it was also the proverbial warning shot. When I lofted the “2-pid tat!” from the bed for using me as a scratching post while we were reading stories, we knew it was time for the language police to start walking the beat.  

Apparently there was an episode of Modern Family called “Little Bo Bleep” that aired last winter and cause quite a stir. I can’t comment on it. We don’t have a TV. I also can’t blame the TV for any colorful additions to the Figlet’s vocabulary. Seeing as she doesn’t go to daycare, we can’t blame that either. The culpability sits squarely on our laps here at home.

The language police were doing a pretty good job throughout the spring. The pets apparently got smarter. “Please”, “Thank you” and “Excuse Me” all made their debut. Aside from being told a few times that I have a “Nice butt-butt” while getting dressed, the Figlet’s language development would make a pastor proud. (Okay, so there was that one widely publicized and highly overrated incident posted on Facebook by my Companion, but we don’t talk about that.)  

Then, a couple of weeks ago when the language police were looking the other way, something slipped out of hand onto the kitchen floor and “Oh 5h1t!” slipped out too. No sooner was it said that it was repeated. My companion and I looked at one another in a collective effort not to laugh. The language police rushed to the scene of the crime, but it was too late.    

The following week at the beach, crouching down letting the water lap at her feet, a wave just big enough to knock her over did just that. Out of the salty spray came the unmistakable words “Oh 5h1t!” It was contextual. It was eloquent. It was properly annunciated. It was funny. It was also hard evidence that removing the phrase from our own vocabulary and straight faced efforts of non-reaction weren’t going to be enough to alter her behavior this time.

At the urging of the language police, now when something falls, it gets sound effects. More often than not, that sound effect starts with an S; “Oh Shazbot!”or “Oh Sploosh!” It isn’t the easiest thing to condition ourselves to, but it has one big advantage: when the Figlet comes out with a creative expletive alternative, it is perfectly acceptable to laugh!  

I hope that this letter has found you and yours in good spirits and good health. Until I write again…

Letters to a Home Town "Assembly of a Dream"

I won't be posting all of my "Letters" here, but you can count on a steady trickle of my favorites, both old and new. This one was from about a month ago....

I am not sure how it really happens, but in the myth that I have created there is a little workshop in the recesses of my brain. There is a Dream Maker who works there. She goes out each night and picks up scattered bits of thoughts and memories to use as supplies. Sometimes she gathers unfinished sentences and sights that were in the periphery – things I saw but didn’t notice. Some materials are plucked from the pile of things I thought but didn’t say. When the dreams play, often there are things of obvious source. Others I have no idea where she found them. Sadly, no matter how well crafted, chances are I won’t remember a dream when I wake. To the Dream Maker this does not matter. She gathers, assembles and creates because the act of creating makes her feel whole.

In the drifty space just before waking I know there was a dream playing. I could feel myself straining to hold on to it, catching bits like a conversation overheard from another room. The cat must have noticed my lids flickering because she began to knead. I feel like I am in the impulse isle of the store, the one you have to go down to in order to get to the register where they put all of those things that you didn’t know you needed but now you suddenly do. I grab randomly, tossing things into the cart of conscious thought just before opening my eyes.

Dear Cat, I find it rather gross the way you drool on me when you purr. I also find it endearing. I am conflicted. Also, please stop tenderizing me.  

The dream was gone but somehow I grabbed onto some of the bits the Dream Maker used to assemble it. The common theme - letters. I know this for sure because my first waking thoughts came phrased like short letters. I decided to follow this through; to encourage some morning pondering in short letter form.

Dear Coffee Pot, Please brew faster. If you could also ask the dishes to wash themselves I would be forever grateful.

Dear Almond Butter, I still can’t get past your consistency. It is too much like peanut butter which I am allergic to. I am sorry. I am putting cream cheese on my English muffin. 

Dear Sleeping Child, I am changing your middle name to “Zilla” until you are three. When you have children of your own you will understand.

Dear Politicians Seeking (Re)Election, I am pretty sure that Dr. Seuss wrote If I Ran the Circus after listening to politician on the stump. This is not a complement.  

Dear Every Place I Have Ever Lived, The number and composition of your population does not determine your values. Your populace does.  

Dear Dream Maker, Thank you for participating in my personal myth, cleaning up my brain scraps and putting them to use.

Dear Letter Home Reader, I hope that this letter has found you and yours in good spirits and good health. Until I write again…