There are certain problems with having a mini-fridge for a night stand. For instance, when Ramona and I ran upstairs last night, in response to thumping, swearing and what sounded like a mad scramble to escape, we found Mr. Halfstory flopping like a netted tuna, fighting with something behind the fridge. Turned out to be cords for all the appliances he needs to keep his heart beating: iPhone, work Blackberry, sound machine, alarm, amplifier for when his guitar muse visits. They were all inter-mingling and a gang fight must have broken out. The result? Mini-fridge gets accidentally unplugged and I step into a mini-flood in the morning created by the mini-ice cubes and whatever else seeps out of fridges. Halfstory was more upset by this than he should have been but I suspect he was pre-irritated by other issues, the least of which was the college testing meeting from which we’d returned an hour before. It was designed to alleviate concerns and answer questions about our child’s testing experience, but as soon as we saw the math word problem pop up onto the overhead projector, we were back in high school, failing, the voice of a parent whispering “you’re capable of so much more.” Upon returning we discovered our offspring had ordered $30 worth of pizza, despite the dinner I’d left for them. “You owe me $30,” Yvette announced from the couch. “Why?” I asked. “Dad said we could,” came the answer, the one response that makes my head blow up. I gave $25 to Ramona later and told her to bring it to Yvette in her room, which was already dark, silent and housing a crabby 13-year-old. I wasn’t going in there; she’s scary when she tired. Also, she’s the one who throws fastballs at your chin and then laughs. Ramona met me in the hallway. “She said you owe her 5 bucks.”
We plan to take her to the College Financial Aid meeting next month.
And if you really want to return to the intensity of high school, read Why We Broke Up, by Daniel Handler, a book for both adults and teens. From the opening sentence, Handler is completely convincing as a 16-year-old girl. It’s a true emotional roller coaster, as it should be, intelligently written, insightful and heart-breaking. It’s like looking back at yourself with a clear head and decades of experience, then having to watch in horror and delight as you feel it all over again. That’s a terrible and awkward sentence but I think my brain is still in the book, and therefore, has yet to take AP English. The point is, Handler is a superb writer and if you only read it for pages 334-338 and Maira Kalman’s illustrations, it is time well spent.
On another note, I was trying out some gluten-free recipes the other night, mulling over the difference between millet and amaranth flours. Of course, I was also thinking about the Giants signing Tim Lincecum to a $40 million dollar deal. That’s a lot of millet! With pitchers and catchers reporting very soon, and the cleats in my house starting to look small – again – I can almost smell the crackerjack. Once Matt Cain is signed, that last football heartbreak might start to fade. The memory of walking into the living room and seeing the lone Mr. Halfstory, face down on the coffee table, still wearing his red and gold knittie, and Niner tears on the tube, was very, very sad. A little dust on the basepaths sounds pretty nice right now.