N Knows Noses

At dinner tonight N posed a random stumper, as he is prone to do. "Why did God make us with two eyes and two ears?"

Not being able to contain my more nerdy impulses, I immediately launched into all the physiological reasons, helpfully using lots of terms like "binocular" versus "monocular" in the process. "God gave us two eyes to help us see distances and tell how far apart things are," I relayed to L and N's fervent nods of approval and general ascent. "And God gave us two ears so that we can tell what direction sounds were coming from." L immediately suggested that having two ears would be a tremendous advantage if a dinosaur were to roar beside you because then you would know where it is coming from. I agreed but chose not to go into the practical discussion of the likelihood of ever needing to distinguish the angle of incidence of a dinosaur roar.

Then N asked, "Why did God give us two nose holes?" And there my brilliance hit a bump. As I sat there and pondered, N offered his own suggestion. "So we can pick our nose better?"

He's probably got a point.

"Crazy Day" and Other Daily Insanities

L's school appears to go all out for the theme day thing. A month or so ago we had "Pajama Day." Last week they had "Crazy Day." Crazy day evidently teaches all the children the fine nuances of silliness and irony. (Like L doesn't get enough of that at home.) L celebrated the event with a reversed sweatshirt and trousers, mis-matched gloves, shoes and socks, and Mommy's coup de grâce, a forward-facing ponytail. Stacy thought it looked like a fountain head. I just thought she looked like a vintage 80's pop wanna-be.

Like totally.

Later, after L was at school, N was discovered in some less-than-fully-sane attire of his own. Evidently he managed to find L's Pretty, Pretty Princess game.



While Stacy insists that he is wearing a tiara, I am choosing to believe that he is wearing a Greek laurel, commemorating the virtues of wisdom, honor and sanity.

Our kitchen remodel is well underway, and it is scandalous. Our cupboards are bare and our walls are stripped; we have pipes that have no shame in showing a little copper. Our dryer took advantage of the chaos to die on us, so now we are joining in on the exhibitionism, flaunting our undies for anyone who wants to venture into our backyard to see. At least the lights are all in, so you have a bright, clear view of the brazen nakedness all about.

Stacy was feeling rather under the weather tonight, so rather than cook, we decided to take advantage of the love, kindness and cholesterol of the Good Colonel. Back home at the table with our plenitude of poultry, we dished out each plate and fell to eating. L, inspecting her plate asked what kind of chicken she got.

"You got two wings, because little girls are like angels and they'll help you fly," I said. She considered this skeptically for a moment, then asked about N's allocation.


"He got a drumstick, because boys like to beat on things and play the drums." Of course then she wanted to know about Stacy's piece.

"She got a breast,..." A withering look from Stacy ensured I could explain no further, but was not quite effective in preventing a somewhat naughty snicker. Our daughter's attention was then turned on my plate. "Daddy got a thigh," I said.

Her response was immediate and the epitome of innocence. "Is that like a big belly piece?"

Anything You Can Wear I Can Wear Better

Why is it that anything Daddy wears is so blooming fascinating?

Roses Are Red, and So Are a Lot of Other Things

Here's the second of the two paintings I finished last week. I painted this one for our friend and beloved church secretary, Pattie Mendez. She wanted something bright and colorful. I think this meets the criteria. I don't think impressionism is my strong suit, but it sure was fun to paint anyway.

It's a copy and I don't know who did the original. If anyone out there has seen it before and knows the original artist and can let me know, I'll add an attribution. (i.e. "S. Perkins, after John Doe.")

Why Buy the Farm When You Can Paint It?

Back in mid-September I started two new paintings in my painting class. This week, almost four months later, I finished them both in the same class.

This one is a painting of the boyhood home of a good friend of mine, Mr. Dennis Gnadt -- the farmhouse he grew up in in Minnesota. The painting was commissioned by his daughter-in-law, Dawn, as a gift for him. I had hoped to have it done by Christmas, but classes ended mid-November and I don't get much painting time when I'm at home -- so I was a little slower than I anticipated. I guess that makes it more of a Happy New Year's gift...


I'll post the other one as soon as I can.

Meol Call

L has taken to intercepting the day's mail and sorting it by addressee. I think she's either making a thinly veiled attempt to secure a position as a personal assistant, or is just plain nosey. In either case, she had this note waiting for me when I got home tonight.



(For the spelling unchallenged, it reads, "Dad, You have all of the mail, Daddy.")

Becoming Botanical

We are now a highly botanic family. Over the Christmas break we finally broke down and got the family membership. The South Coast Botanic Garden is just a couple of miles away on the up-slope of Palos Verdes, and the memberships are much cheaper than the more renown Huntington Library and Descanso Gardens, and the best thing is that it is usually almost empty. Stacy has been bringing the kids here for a couple of years, usually on their occasional free admission days, and they love it. I'd been there once before many years ago (in my pre-Stacy days) to attend a "Shakespeare in the Park" type production. I remembered being impressed with the size of the garden, considering its rather urban setting.



It's not particularly in-your-face dramatic (especially not last week, a few days from the drab winter solstice), but it is big and peaceful and has a lot of trails and huge trees and you can get momentarily lost and pretend for a few minutes that you are not in Los Angeles. There's a good sized duck pond, a children's garden with little fairy-tale figures and constructions scattered about; there's a large rose garden, and several wide open manicured lawns. While there are a few of these "maintained" areas, in general it isn't an English garden where everything is trimmed and tidy, but a botanic garden where dozens and dozens of species are preserved and pretty much allowed to grow as they see fit. It's pretty in its unkemptness. I'm looking forward to seeing it in the spring and summer to see what the gardens hold for color.

The kids are most excited about the duck pond. They make a point to hit the lake each time they visit and go "fishing." This basically amounts to getting a long stick and dipping the end into the pond and just standing there. Can't say it captured my sense of adventure, but hey! - L and N have unique tastes.

The garden is a particularly good place for N to indulge another of his hobbies: stick hauling. A visit to the garden with out dragging a large piece of wood hither and yon is a visit sans point. He acquired a couple of good ones that day and carried them proudly. It is especially fun, he found, to run ahead of the group and get to a narrow spot on the trail and to whip around and bar the way with his stick, yelling "Caution! Caution!" I'm not sure if he thinks he's a railroad crossing, or a knight guarding some remote access to a hidden castle. At any rate we are not permitted to cross until we identify our favorite vegetable. (And evidently we don't get much of a choice for favorite vegetables either, since the right answer was already decided upon for us by the valiant Sir N before the query was given.)

"Caution!"

At one point in our walk around last week, we rounded a bend in the trail and came upon a stunning evergreen of some type that was glistening silver. On getting closer I realized that the dew of the morning had totally bathed the tree and, for some reason, wasn't evaporating away. The picture does not do it justice: The tree looked positively bejeweled. Everyone else somehow managed to walk on by it without much ado, but it floored me.

There may not be a world class art gallery adjacent to a world-renown tea house at the SCBG, but it's quiet and laid back and the kids can run and holler and (don't tell) even pick a leaf or two without Mommy and Daddy being swooped up by security guys in dark suits, sun glasses and ear pieces. It's more our caliber.

End-of-visit Burnout

And despite what Sir N might think, my favorite vegetable is not broccoli.