Halloween and Daylight Savings time are sneaking up on us. Disney on Ice featured Cars, the Little Mermaid, and Toy Story. Actual cars, or actual model cars, zooming around the ice and acting out their parts from the movie.
If that’s not dislocating enough, I’m reading The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell, and sneak-watching Orange is the New Black, pretending Jay is the one who wants to binge through the first season.
Both are about a certain out-of-time experience. Until I get further into Bone Clocks I can’t quite say what it’s about, though the writing’s compelling, beautiful passages about everyday life strong enough to pull me through some gothic passages that are either sci-fi, mental illness, or possibly something else. It’s so real, and yet somehow in another dimension.
Prison stories I think, and certainlyOrange is the New Black, are also about falling through a rabbit hole into another reality. Watching the white, privileged protagonist pulled out of Brooklyn Artisinal Soapmaking and into a holding tank for poor people who’ve made bad or tragic decisions is fascinating. Between dramatic bits, I love the quiet, out-of-her-element scenes. The actress Taylor Schilling is both realistically self-absorbed, but also watching prison life and figuring out her place in it. You can see her slowly deciding that she deserves to be there every bit as much as the other women. It’s powerful, and a bit out-of-time dreamy.
Two stories about the kids and time:
Jaden: his visit to the pediatrician went well, and he braved 2 shots. The Doc told him since he’s over 4 years and 40 pounds, he could upgrade from his “baby” carseat to a booster seat that uses the car’s seatbelt. This is a major promotion, and he was so excited that he demanded we go right home, not to school, to change out his seat. (Shayla graduated from a booster a few months ago, so fortunately we had the seats at the ready.)
In a rare bit of quick-witted negotiation, I explain that booster seats mean underpants, not pullup diapers.
This sounded perposterous to me as I said it and I didn’t expect he’d buy it, but he didn’t blink. Deal done. So not only do I no longer have to buckle him into the old carseat contraption, we’re (nearly) out of pullups.
Shayla: Out of the blue last week she asked how old Papa and Daddy’s moms were when they died. I have no idea what made her think about it, but we answered the question.
“71,” said Jay.
“Hm, old,” said Shayla.
“Well…” we said.
“And my mom was 54,” I said.
“54??” Shayla asks, incredulous. I had no idea where this was going. Would she start worrying about us, since we’re 50?
“Uh-huh.” I held her gaze and stayed calm.
“That,” replied Shayla after a very long reflection, “is super, super, super, super old for a cat.”
I couldn’t disagree.
I wondered if I’d hear more about this, and maybe someday I will, but so far there’s no evidence she’s given this matter any further thought.