Monday, 15 February 2010
Sunday, 14 February 2010
Hard at Work
Sunday, 7 February 2010
He Told Me He Was
O: [again, hysterical screams] He is dead! He is dead! I killed him with my gun.
A: Tavia, he can't be dead.
O: He can, he can, he's mine! And he is bad, a bad guy, a baddy.
A: This dog? This PUPPY?! [incredulous]
O: Yes, he is a baddy and I shot him with my weapon and he's dead.
A: But he can't be a baddy. He's sooooo cute.
O: HE IS! He is.
A: No.
O: Yes.... he.... is!! And, and.... And he is... [suddenly calm and poised] because he told me he was.
A: He told you he was?? This doggy?
O: Yes, he TOLD ME he was bad.
A: Nuh-Uh. Tavia, this dog is a TOY. He can't talk to you!
A: Tavia, he can't be dead.
O: He can, he can, he's mine! And he is bad, a bad guy, a baddy.
A: This dog? This PUPPY?! [incredulous]
O: Yes, he is a baddy and I shot him with my weapon and he's dead.
A: But he can't be a baddy. He's sooooo cute.
O: HE IS! He is.
A: No.
O: Yes.... he.... is!! And, and.... And he is... [suddenly calm and poised] because he told me he was.
A: He told you he was?? This doggy?
O: Yes, he TOLD ME he was bad.
A: Nuh-Uh. Tavia, this dog is a TOY. He can't talk to you!
Friday, 5 February 2010
Why I Don't Have Time to Blog



I asked her why, why, why had she put it in her mouth? "Because it would keep me alive," came the forlorn response.
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
I Forgive You For Thinking They Might Be Angels

It is the bike that is the give-away. They look peaches-and-cream, butter wouldn't melt, innocent as vanilla ice cream, etc. and so forth. But the bike tells the real story.
And the story of the bike is this: Octavia inherited it from a friend. It was beech with a red seat and blue wheels. She rode it until we finally had to hide it in the attic last year. For the re-gifting, we tricked it out as the Sparky Mobile. Flames up from the wheels, shiny blue. Sparky for a couple reasons. 1. The new rider is Aodh, born in front of the fire and named 'fiery one'. 2. The guy is obsessed with lamps and how they work with outlets. I am constantly peeling him off the frosted glass lamps at the bedside. Here in N.I., electricians are called 'sparks'. Is that the same in the good, old USA? I don't know since I didn't really hang out at building sites or have to have anything re-wired.
And the story of the bike is this: Octavia inherited it from a friend. It was beech with a red seat and blue wheels. She rode it until we finally had to hide it in the attic last year. For the re-gifting, we tricked it out as the Sparky Mobile. Flames up from the wheels, shiny blue. Sparky for a couple reasons. 1. The new rider is Aodh, born in front of the fire and named 'fiery one'. 2. The guy is obsessed with lamps and how they work with outlets. I am constantly peeling him off the frosted glass lamps at the bedside. Here in N.I., electricians are called 'sparks'. Is that the same in the good, old USA? I don't know since I didn't really hang out at building sites or have to have anything re-wired.
Monday, 14 December 2009
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