Today, Brian’s class did a presentation of life in Colonial times (I am referring to Colonial America, of course), and it was one of the most unique and creative presentations I have ever seen. It was called “Living Statues”: each child took on a role, whether a specific person (like in Brian’s case, he was Peter Minuit, who bought the island of Manhattan from the Indians for a mere $500, current value, and, yes, that is what they were called back then, when it was widely believed that the colonies were the “West Indies”) or a general type of person (for example, blacksmith, wigmaker, schoolgirl, teacher). The children researched their roles, and each came up with a monologue filled with facts and tidbits about their character, inevitably imbuing it with their own quirks and personality.
Today, the kids stood up in a semicircle in the auditorium, each holding one hand up (as if they were making a promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God). Then they stood stock-still, like statues. The audience was invited to move around the statues and push on the hands, as if they were levers, to make the statue talk. It was incredibly impressive.
After that, I went up to Westchester for the House inspection. I LOVE this house. Pond or no pond. Forty-five minute drive into the city and all. The inspection went as well as an inspection can go, and Lewis scared off every goose on the property. The mere sight of him sent the geese flying off to the far end of the front yard, which is far enough for me. Adding his trademark bay to the mix just further made me the proud doggie mama.
When the inspection was finished, the inspector left, the owner of the house left, and finally my broker left. I stayed for a few more minutes to enjoy the tranquil beauty, and then I untied Lewis and loaded him into the car. I dropped my key on the front seat (the doors were unlocked, I made sure of that!) and went back to retrieve the long leash that I had tied to a tree root to bring it back to the car.
When I got back to the car, it was locked.
Lewis must have locked the car with his paw, and locking one door locks all the doors in my annoyingly efficient Swedish vehicle. I guess. I mean, I will never really know what happened. All I know is that suddenly, I was alone on three acres, with no phone (it was in the car) and no wallet (it was in the car). At least Lewis wasn’t in any danger. I walked out to the front of the house but realized it could be miles before I reached a pay phone. I sat down on a tree stump and realized that I was going to have to suck it up and be the freak from the city who knocks on someone’s door in the country, citing “car troubles”.
The nearest house – the one belonging to the neighbor who shares the pond – actually fronts a different street, so I had to make my way through the marshy grass (lots of snow melting still) in order to get to the neighbor’s front door, only to find that she wasn’t home. That left only one possibility: standing on the street and flagging down a car. Since I was standing on a cul de sac with maybe five houses on it, I wasn’t hopeful.
Then lo and behold, Tom the Mailman appeared. Tom the Mailman let me use his cell phone to call the police, my kids’ school (I was going to be late for pickup as a result of this brain fart) and my husband, who had the phone number for Volvo Roadside Assistance, which it turns out, we didn’t need. The police sent Tom the Cop, who kept me company as we waited for the local mechanic to come and unlock my car. The mechanic arrived only a moment after the owner of the house arrived to see a police car in her driveway. I can imagine what she was thinking, but when all was explained, she was quite nice, bringing a giant bowl of water for Lewis who was panting like nobody’s business in the back seat.
And then I drove home. And now, as I watch House, I wait for the Husband to just friggin’ return the contract to the owner so that we can buy this house. But then, why would that happen? We’re talking about a man who told me a minute ago that he is annoyed at how my getting locked out of my car inconvenienced HIM since my having called him made him thirty seconds later for a meeting than he wanted to be. Whatever.
But back to CLASS acts, House rocks, in general, and not least of all because of the contributions of fellow Ashtangini and way cool girl, Lisa E.
Speaking of television shows, if ONE more person on television says “Seriously?” I am going to throw my t.v. out the window. By which I mean, I will not throw my t.v. out the window. But, look, just STOP IT already. It’s not original. And it’s not going to catch on outside of Grey’s Anatomy.
And speaking of Grey’s Anatomy, by which I mean, not speaking of Grey’s Anatomy at all, I must use this space now to register my distaste at the notion of copying photos from internet dating sights and using them on one’s blog. No one, but no one, on Match or Nerve or JDate or WhateverDate, expects that their photo will be used for anything but for the purpose of meeting potential dates. Certainly, no one on these dating sites would ever expect their photo to be used in a “rate this guy that I might date” series of posts, particularly when it is fairly obvious that the question is not really a serious inquiry at all, but an opportunity for mockery.
I know that a lot of readers think it’s funny. But I imagine one of my sons in ten or fifteen years being plastered on the blog of someone who really isn’t all that interested in dating them so much as she is interested in earning laughs and hits on SiteMeter. And it upsets me. I don’t like it.
I’m sorry if anyone is bothered by this. But it’s how I feel.