Saturday, April 2, 2016
from a program insert
How do you know if a toddler is thirsty? They don’t know how to ask for things, they get distracted by spinning and highlighters and drumming on the refrigerator with paper towel rolls. How do you know if they need something? I am wondering because as an adult I never even know when I’m thirsty. I mean I know when I am and that I ignore it and that I have to have an app my phone remind me when it’s time to ingest a life fluid that I know I need to drink in order to be healthy. A toddler is waiting for the adult to give him water isn’t he? Isn’t the little one waiting until she sees her cup to know she could put it to her lips and feel better after she drinks? Do you have to ask every thirty seconds? I don’t want to be responsible for a child’s thirst. Do they just swallow their own saliva, manufactured every millisecond by the gallon? Is there some forum online for this? I don’t want to ask this question publicly if the world already has an answer. It’s not even my kid by the way. I guess that’s why I kind of need to know…
Saturday September 13, 2014
A Schiaffini bus ticket
Of course we felt bad for guessing the wrong costume. Who doesn’t feel bad about that? Who doesn’t always wish at a Halloween party when asked to guess in the first place about an obscure costume or concept or poorly designed idea, that they’d just said, “I’m drawing a blank!” “I Can’t seem to put my finger on it…!'” The whole, “I’m so bad at these things” thing. We wished we’d been smart enough to fake it-quick enough to shove a devilled egg in our mouths and feign complete ignorance about the magnitude of it all. When Ry guessed an elephant, she almost started crying. She looked to me as if to salvage her image–one desperate hope in her eye so effective I couldn’t help but suggest an alternate. I said “Rhinoceros?” And I truly meant it as a question because I had no idea either and I was already surprised I was even there in the first place. Her eyes welled up-her skin flushed-and she started to wail in a way that made me regret even pushing through my mother’s birth canal 40 years ago.
Saturday October 12, 2013 at Sambuca Grill
from the 2011 Toronto Star article ‘American Girl still walking tall’
Cher was waiting at the bus stop dressed like a boy because it was Thursday. She was waiting to see the driver she had grown accustomed to riding with on her usual morning route to school. Maybe she should have brought an umbrella today, she wondered to herself, even though the skies were quite clear and the forecast showed no signs of rain. Cher couldn’t have been bothered to regret things so she put the thought out of her mind and into the big bubble she was making with her gum. Today, she thought, she would ask the driver his name and maybe tell him hers. He was always very nice to her, letting her ride without paying, or just asking her about her day on the days she still dropped in the proper fare. She wondered if his name ended in an O, an R, or an L. She was usually right about things like that. She was usually right about birthdays and weight-guessing as well. Cher stood there waiting and ready when all of a sudden she felt a tiny raindrop bounce off her head.