All posts by Iris

"He Couldn’t Get That Cushion to Start on Fire": or, It’s Amazing These Kids Lived to Grow Up

Portraits of People and Places

I haven’t been able to get to the computer much. This is not just because I’ve been too busy doing Absolutely Nothing to squeeze in much time for doing A Little Something, but it’s also because my little brother has taken up about 20 hours of every day playing his WWII game online. But I just got to the computer before he could after brunch, so he’s now sitting around waiting for me to get off. Bwah-ha-ha. Now’s my chance to write The Great American Novel while he twiddles his thumbs.

While he waits, I think it’s important that you know that it’s a miracle I’m here today. My dad’s cousin, cousin’s wife, and cousin’s daughter came over for dinner last night (the daughter goes to the school where my dad teaches and today’s move-in day). They started telling stories from their childhood, and now I live in wonder and awe that either one made it to age 18. Mark (my dad’s cousin) was at one point explaining that most of the things that happened to him weren’t his fault. I’ll let you be the judge.

“Things weren’t really my fault ever,” says Mark, a big Harley-riding son of a South Dakota farmer, in his soft, slow voice, dimples digging deep into each cheek. “They really weren’t. I just always got in trouble for them. Take the time we were sittin’ on the porch. One of the porch chairs had some stuffin’ that was fallin’ out. I don’t remember why that stuffin’ was so interesting. It must’ve been callin’ out to us. Anyway, my friend couldn’t get that cushion to start on fire, but as soon as I tried it went poof. We ended up havin’ to throw it off into the yard to keep the house from catchin’.”

No, that wasn’t his fault at all. And there seems to be a sentence missing from his story: the one that tells us why they thought there was nothing for it but to set that stuffing on fire.

Ok, I can’t take the “music” Jesse’s making (voice, piano, and guitar by this point), so I’m going to let him back at his computer.

Doing Absolutely Nothing

Me and My Life

I’m at my parents’ house spending some much-needed time doing as much of Absolutely Nothing as possible. We started the week off with two days of camping, which sounds like doing Something, I know, but it wasn’t. No, camping removes all possibility of working, so it’s the best way to start out a vacation because it snaps you out of work mode and forces you to sit back and relax whether you like it or not. And I liked it.

At one point on our second day of camping, we were sitting around the fire, talking when we had something to say, reading when we weren’t staring at the fire, and staring at the fire the rest of the time. Part way through this we had to decide if we wanted to eat lunch. Not a momentous decision, I know, but the question came up.

“Shall we eat lunch?” asked Mom.

Without removing our gazes from the fire, except to see if the caterpillar had made it across Jesse’s shoe yet, we thought about this question.

Dad made a rustling sound, indicating that he would be happy to move if that’s what we were doing, but not committing himself to moving if it became apparent that nobody else felt the need.

Jesse poked at the fire with a stick.

Toby scratched his ear.

“I don’t think we’re done sitting yet,” Heidi offered.

So we sat some more, staring at the fire, watching the caterpillar inch its way across the dusty ground, listening to the breeze rustle the forest top, and wondering what all those cicadas had to say to each other all day.

Yoga-rific

Me and My Life

I’ve always avoided yoga. I think it has something to do with my contrary nature. I never saw “Titanic,” I’ve never watched “American Idol,” and I never read The Nanny Diaries. Why? Simply because everybody else was doing it. Now, this hasn’t stopped me from getting contacts, watching other reality talent shows, or doing a whole host of other popular things. But I never claimed to be consistent.

Anyway, yoga has been one of those “popular” thing that I’ve avoided. It seemed more like something a contortionist or a soccar mom would do than something I would do. Pilates, fine. Ballet, fine. But somehow yoga – not so much.

Well, a bunch of people in a couple of departments at work have arranged to have the local yoga studio host a class for us over the lunch hour every Wednesday. Fighting all my urges to beg out of the group, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and forced myself to say, “Sure, I’d love to join you. Count me in.”

Yesterday was my first class, and I gotta say, it was pretty nice. Today I’m feeling muscles that I haven’t felt in years. I had no idea that an hour of yoga could work so many different muscles so completely without once forcing them to “feel the burn” during the workout.

I’m sold. Maybe this means that “Titanic” and The Nanny Diaries were pretty good too.