I found these several-years-old tales while looking for something else — you know how that goes! Meanwhile, I have a report, a PowerPoint, an assignment, a summary and remarks to complete in the next 48 hours, so once again there’s not much time for new stuff. However, I have found the background material to answer someone’s ADHD question and will post that in a couple of days.
(Previous Stories of Yesteryear.)
It is Saturday evening and we are having a family movie night. I have made buttered popcorn, and remembered to put the lid on the air popper this time! My son has made a pitcher of lemonade, and daughter is busy digging through the piles of VHS and DVDs. Our video cabinet has an almost surreal quality – like the wardrobe that leads to Narnia, it seems bigger on the inside than the outside, and more than once most of my daughter has disappeared within its depths as she digs through the movies.
After much vociferous discussion we decide to watch a Star Trek show, the Deep Space Nine episode “Trials and Tribblations”. We have all see this episode several times, and are delivering the especially funny lines of dialog along with the actors, as well as making accessory comments along the way.
In the show, Odo and Worf are at the bar, trying to not to stand out, but being aliens, failing to do so. “You know,” I remark during an action lull, “I always sympathized with Odo – he tries so hard to fit in, but never quite makes it.”
My son laughs, “Just like you, Mom.”
And I grin at him.
My daughter interrupts my bath, where I’m soaking and reading another insect book.
“We only have ten pages of Recycle Paper left!” she exclaims in horror. The recycle paper is the once-thick stack of stuff I printed the rough draft of my book on. It’s used for doodling, paper airplanes and such. “You need to write another book!” she commands.
“Well, I think so too,” I replied, and settled back into my bubbles.
We have a new household resident. My daughter and I were getting into the car to pick up a friend of hers. “There’s a House Centipede in the garage,” I remarked idly.
“Yes! It’s always sitting next to the garage door opener. It’s scary looking.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a beneficial; it eats cockroaches and other insects. So long’s it stays in the garage, I don’t care.”
“I named it Fluffy,” she adds.
” ‘Fluffy’ …” I repeat, dubiously.
“Well, it lives here, so I had to name it…”
She named it Fluffy. Granted, the freckled many-legged thing looks like a random hairball, but “Fluffy”?