A very special picture for little Mr Miggs....

... this is me with my brother's grand niece (and consequently mine, I assume) in the place way to our south. The Old One took it especially for Miggs.

That's me pretending I am Santa Clause's younger and thinner brother with little Angela. Several suggestions were made, totally unprompted, that she would be the perfect girl for Miggs. Really. And with no threat of mayhem, battleaxes, evil laughs, or plans for world domination.





Angela figures that if she has all her male relatives wrapped around her little finger that will do.

NB: not a fountain pen in my pocket.

Another hot prospective girlfriend for Mr Miggs...

... this one is cute, young, loves toy car wrecks, and has a "take-over-the-world" laugh that is perfect.

No no. Don't thank me.

somehow I think I am going to get the same response as the last one.

The females in my life are getting a little bossy ...

... The other day Carmen brought home a children's book called Little Goblins Ten. As soon as I walked in she shoved it into my hands and demanded that I read it to her. Being a sorta New Age kinda guy I immediately said "Of course,dear." And I read the first verse.

Over in the forest
Where the trees hide the sun
Lived a big mommy monster
And her little monster one.
"Scare!" said the mommy;
"I scare," said the one.
So he scared and he scampered
Where the trees hide the sun.

I thought I'd done a great job, capturing the true pathos of being a monster AND a single mom off where the trees hide the sun. But no. That wasn't good enough. "No, you have to make your voice sound like ..." followed by very specific instructions on how to read it. She wasn't much impressed by my next effort either.

A few day earlier we had had Maire with Maeraed and Miggs (or Katara and Aang as they were for the evening) down for their trick or treating. After we had gone around the neighborhood holding everyone up for treats we came back and Maeraed helped me give out candy to the children coming to our house.

I was giving out some candy to a cute little witch, fumbled a bit, and when I turned back inside Maeraed said "Well, you blew that one." I suggested she do it herself. So she did. She gave out the candy to the next group of kids and turned back to me "That's how it's done! No mess, no bother."

Oh.

Sine qua non ....

... for you Latins.

This morning Carmen thought of a funny punchline for my last post on that other blog without really even thinking about it.

Awestruck I blurted "Thank god I married a woman with a sense of humor."

Then I began to think about it ....

If they can do it...




... why can't we?

This picture came from the NY Times web page.

I just posted it here because I like it.

Helen Latour, was Carmen's mentor in teaching ...

... as I pointed out in this post in January. Here is a little story about her legacy.

I ride the bus up to Boone once a week, more if I can. One of the people I talk to while we wait for the bus is Mario, a young Hispanic trying to get a pre-med degree at Appstate despite enormous odds.

He told me that when he first came to America and was in elementary school he had already scored very high on the tests for math and science. Yet for some reason his teachers remanded him to summer school. Helen was one of the summer teachers. She gave the class an assignment to do in class which Mario did in about five minutes and than sat quietly. She immediately charged over and asked why he had stopped working (I can just see her - she could be very intimidating).

Mario said he had finished. She said "You've only been working on it for five minutes!" She looked at his paper and said "Young man come out into the hall so I can talk to you." So Mario went. Helen asked why he was even in summer school. Mario more or less shrugged - he was just doing what the school had told him he had to do. Then she informed him of what he really had to do.

For the rest of the summer she had him come over once a day to her house where she drilled him relentlessly in English. That was his real problem. The school had not even tried to help. But for Helen it was her duty to teach him every day if necessary because she recognized how smart he was.

And today his English is as good as a native speaker. It was the start of the road to pre-med.

That was Helen.

Young Mr Miggs tells me a story ...

... As on every Tuesday I was at the Mellow Mushroom with Maire and Murty and their kids, the Vietnamese trio, and assorted collegues. By the end of the evening little Mr Miggs was wired with overstimulation. I got him to set on my lap hoping to calm him down. Maire said keep him quiet because he is about to lose it ... or fall asleep.

So I whispered in his ear, "Tell me a story Miggs."

And without a seconds hesitation he says:

"One upon a time there was a brave knight.
His name was Sir Michael.
Then he died.
THE END!"

You have to admit, whatever it lacks in character development or subtlety, it's got a hell of a narrative arc.