Because the thought occurred now and it might be gone tomorrow
Now that christmas is over and all your presents are open, you get that sad feeling.
It hasent snowed yet but I still have hopes (very little) We usally don’t get much snow here because we live in Texas. When we do get snow it’s a half inch and it melts before noon! I really dont know what to write so by.
–Simon
One of the parental killjoys that has stuck with me over the years has been my father’s aversion to sparklers. Liz, however, had a very different childhood experience, so fireworks are less of a novelty to her. Admittedly, I still giggle whenever I set off a bottle rocket. I guess the bar’s been set pretty low.
I will attempt to quote my father’s response to a childhood inquiry regarding purchasing sparklers: “Those things are made of magnesium, which burns at 3000 degrees centigrade! They use magnesium flares to weld underwater! No you can’t have one!”. That may not be a direct quote, but it includes all his points.
So when Liz picked some up for the kid, I thought about this past conversation. A quick Google search reveals that, depending on the composition, they burn upwards of 1600 degrees Celsius–not quite as hot as my father claimed, but I still wouldn’t want to touch the flame.
But, like getting salmonella from raw cookie dough, some experiences are worth the danger risk. Personally, I think it was just an excuse to avoid spending money on something superfluous–a reason that makes far more sense to me now as a father myself. I wonder what goofy thing I say that my own kid will remember forever.
Ah well. For now–fire!
–Simon
Leigh recived a diry yesterday and she immeditly started writing in it. So now, today, this morning, I read it. It had a lock latch on it. Unfortunatally for her, she left the keys on it. When she found out she said she was going to hide it. If I ever find it it will be easy to break into because its a simple key. Like this – [Illustration]…It is 7:42 A.M. Central time (our time) I don’t think I wrote to much in Nov. is we had lots of guests over. O my calendar today (Wed.) is “school and bring any canned food,” I don’t have much to say but I’m now starting a new book The Never Ending Tran. Well I gota go. Bye!
———-
Hi! I’m back from school and I had just finnished my home work and I was verry frustrenated about it
J.t. (my friend) called and asked about what page the assinment was on. It was pg. 533 in our math book. Our teacher, Mrs Hines, told me I could do it at break ’cause I have make up work. I was going to watch Full House but it was cancled for an after school special. I will now read from my book, The Return of the Plant That ate dirty Socks. Bye!
–Simon
This is another Wisconsin post.
I’m happy that my daughter, despite her girly-girl side, still enjoys getting her nature on. We’ve fished before, and she’s caught her own, but this is the first time that she’s actively fished for an extended period without regular intervention. And she was quite successful at it, too.
After the first day, the bluegills started swarming the dock, which made the fishing instantly gratifying–something which might have influenced her prolonged interest.
However, I was more interested in trying to catch a bass. So after I de-hooked her 100th bluegill, I noticed a smallmouth bass near the shoreline. I pointed it out, and told her what it was. In a jokingly dad moment, I asked if she wanted me to catch it for her, and she agreed, so I took her pole and gently completed a perfect cast just in front of the fish. The bass swam over and immediately took the bait, and I pulled it in. It was a perfect setup that momentarily restored her belief in the magical powers of dad. Here it is:
Ultimately, I had to concede ownership of the fish though, as I was advised since I used her pole, it was her fish.
But the fishing was not without its casualties. I noticed her reel wasn’t working so well anymore, so I took it apart:
I wonder if Zebco has some military background. I disassembled the reel in the field with just a knife.
Even so, I would say this was a successful fishing trip.
–Simon
When I see an animal, the primitive part of my brain immediately classifies it into one of two categories: threat and not a threat. Once my survival instinct determines I am not in immediate mortal danger, the classifications become a little more diverse, being based on how to interact with the animal instead: avoid, eat, examine, or ignore. After this second classification, the more evolved portion of my brain then begins its own analysis: interesting, gross, scary, indifferent, cute, etc..
And it is in the cute category that I classify these baby toads (encountered during the Wisconsin trip), as they are neither a threat, nor worth eating.
It looks like a standard American toad (Anaxyrus americanus). But I think my cute classification will go unopposed.
–Simon