Lemon-Scented Bivouac  

Fatherly and, eventually, teacherly blather. Also: graphic design, baseball, synthetic fabrics, jug band music and, lord help us, the occasional politics.

Friday, June 13, 2003  

I listen to most Mariners games on the radio -- no cable TV -- so most nights I get to listen to at least one inning of Ron Fairly painting a word-picture. The effect, for me, is something like having a gamey old glob of prime rib jammed in my ear canal. The man is awful.

However, there are some benefits. A while ago, when Jamie Moyer was the starting pitcher, Fairly said: "Moyer pitched on Wednesday, and he was a dandy." I wish I'd had cable on the day Jamie Moyer pitched as a dandy. I imagine him balancing on satiny slippered feet, his lightly powdered face floating on a swan-like neck rising from an elaborate ruff. Perhaps the unseemly scent of peanuts wafts onto the field, and he lifts a perfumed kerchief to his nostrils. Sometimes he sneaks a nibble of a forbidden madeleine he keeps in his coin-purse. Between innings the camera captures him playing with a tiny songbird. Then he goes out to the mound and, using his arsenal of off-speed junk, just hogties the opposing offense.

  posted by Andy @ 8:43 PM §

Tuesday, June 10, 2003  

We were over at the home of some friends of ours when Mr. Baby for the FIRST TIME EVER plopped a plastic toy DIRECTLY INTO HIS MOUTH and WAS VERY EXCITED and we were VERY EXCITED and our friends simply waited for us to get on with setting up the board game we were trying to play. It reminded me of how vaguely I have regarded the babies of friends in the past -- just checked to see if they were able to smile; if not, I left them alone, if so, I smiled at them. But I certainly did not have their parents' detailed Development Schedule in mind.

So, a study guide on Mr. Baby:
-- He can stick a plastic ring into his mouth, provided it is suspended right in front of his face, and can gain noisy satisfaction from drooling on it.
-- He will seek out our faces even when we're not looking directly at him. It's hard to concentrate on eating a boiled artichoke while you know that your son is looking at you with infinite wonder. Think of it: He prefers me to some mechanical entertainment, but I, in order to eat, must prefer a boiled artichoke to him. Of such mundane tragedies is my life now built.
-- He continues to withhold his bowel functions for up to four days at a time. By the fourth day he is so poo-obsessed that he barely recognizes the world going on around him. When he is working hard on the problem he makes the rookie mistake of squeezing everything, which puts him in lockdown. The complex balance of squeezing and relaxing is far, far beyond him at the moment. I'll leave it to you to infer how this problem gets resolved (hint: the irresistable force wins).

  posted by Andy @ 9:15 PM §

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