Seanachai

Not yet. To everything, there is a season. I am smoking a cigar that is too good for me, and drinking a beer that serves me right. I will suffer, but, as always, it will be...later. I am going over this evening to the foul miscreant Dalem's house, to watch our 'Christmas Movies'. His is 'Scrooged', and mine is 'We're No Angels' (the original one, with Humphrey Bogart, Aldo Ray, and Peter Ustinov).

So, a small offering. It has been a time of many developments, in the saga of Small Friends. I have been greatly remiss, in not telling the story of their ever more amusing and inventive interactions. The 'Sister Strife' continues, in more (and sometimes less) subtle ways. I will present you, tonight, with a trio of tales. Never losing sight, of course, of the fact that they are sisters, given to each other, and they love each other fiercely, although, if you questioned them about it, there would be a whole lot of qualifiers... The other night, I was over to see them. I try and go over to their parent's house, with permission, at least once a week, if not more. As I grow older, and more bereft of hope of anything good happening to me, I take great comfort in seeing my Small Friends, who always make me feel better. And while Mom and Dad were downstairs getting dinner together, and catching up on the day, I went up to Emma's room. The two girls had been upstairs for a while, and, after a period of laughing, and squealing, and occasional sounds of strife, it had become ominously quiet. When I got to Small Emma's room, it turned out that they had, all on their own (and without parental approval), put on a DVD of 'Tom and Jerry' cartoons on the small TV/DVD player in Emma's room, and were perched on the end of Emma's bed like little birds, raptly watching the antics of a mouse and cat bent on destroying each other with a right good will. When I got there, one cartoon was ending, and another was about to begin. And, in the way of a slightly older child, slightly less hypnotized by the glowing box, and bored, Emma took the opportunity to poke, tease and prod her little sister, Nora, to fill up the time between episodes. As Nora began to make the ever rising squealing noise that indicated her unhappiness (without ever taking her eyes off the TV), I spoke to Emma sharply and said: "Emma, do not do that. I've told you before, when your sister makes that noise it's because she's not happy, and you're bothering her, and you need to learn to just stop it!" And Emma, slightly chastened, stopped poking and prodding her sister. Everything was quiet for a few seconds, and then Smaller Nora, moving like a weasel, spun and tried to grab her sister's throat in a 'pinch' hold, causing Emma to fall back on the bed squealing. And I spoke up, very sharply, saying: "Nora, NO! You do NOT do that! If your sister is bothering you, use your words! You tell her 'Emma, I do not like that, so stop it, please'. Smaller Nora is always willing to take instruction, and try things your way. So, she faced back to the TV where the next 'Tom and Jerry' cartoon was starting (is the irony lost on anyone here?), and said "Emma, I do not like that, please stop it, or I will do that again." Emphasis mine. Gods love the little bugger. She'll use her words, if you tell her to, but she's gotten to the age where she isn't willing to forego the use of violence if the words don't work. And she knows the words aren't going to work, much. Which leads us to the next story, when I was baby-sitting Small Friends. I am very proud, these days, because I have been found worthy of baby-sitting the Small Friends. Their Mom and Dad have increasingly entrusted me with the task of baby-sitting. I am proud, exhausted, and appalled. They do not listen to me, overly much, as if I were an adult. When they're on a tear, I have to shout a lot, which doesn't get anything like the reaction you'd expect. This all comes, of course, from being a loyal minion and aging family retainer, rather than a 'real' grown-up. When they get too out of control, I have to invoke their Mother, a figure of both love and terror (and not just for them), in order to get them to behave. That night, we ended up on the 'third story' (a well converted attic with dormer windows that Mom and Dad have turned into a game and movie room, with a huge, 52" TV and amazing sound system), and we watched the Disney cartoon version of 'Hercules', which Smaller Nora loves to distraction. She likes 'boy characters'. She likes combat. And, during the scene where Hercules fights the hydra, she got up, totally driven, and started to act out the fight scene in the middle of the room eyes all wild and crazy. And her sister, Emma, got up and was goofing around too. But Emma saw an opportunity to make 'game' stand in for 'being dominant', and gave her sister a good push. All in the name of good fun and playfulness, of course. And Smaller Nora staggered away, and then righted herself, and spun, focusing on her sister. And I'm here to tell you, folks, it was 'crazy little girl eyes look'. She was very focused. And I could see it. And so could Emma. So there was I, saying "Nora, Nora! Look at me, little girl!", while her sister was suddenly right by my side, all but trying to get behind me. And I said 'Nora' until Nora looked at me, and went off track. Because I am here to tell you, folks, she was not going to simply pinch her sister. She was not going to make a wild, angry swing of her hands to try and hit her. She was not going to pull hair. Smaller Nora was coldly, calculatingly, crazily appraising the possibility of giving a small samurai scream, and rushing across the room and burying her sister. Taking her off her feet and putting her down, sitting on her chest and deciding what to do next... They are at that age. Nora is only 3 and 1/2, but she's tall for her age, and good sized, and once she gets a bit more physical coordination, she is going to sort her sister out. Emma has been getting by on the fact that she's 6, and taller, and has gotten used to picking her sister up, and blocking her, and grabbing her, and stopping her. But the Time of Judgement is coming. KNEEL BEFORE NORA! I envision battles. Emma is the elder. Nora is the 'crazy one'. The Wild Card. She does NOT concede that 'violence never settles anything'. So, I promised a 'trio' of stories. Hmm, hmm. Ah, I have it. Several months ago, Small Emma, Smaller Nora, their Mom and I were going shopping. And I put Smaller Nora into her car seat, and buckled her in, and Jen, the Mother of the Small Friends, was trying to sort out something in the back end of the van, and Small Emma was 'helping' her, but mainly being goofy. And her mother lost her temper and shouted at her, and told her to get into the car. So Emma, who seriously does NOT like to be scolded, sulked her way into her booster seat. And as we were sitting there, waiting for Mom to get into the car, Nora said: "Emma was naughty." Which made Emma shout, "Be quiet, Nora!" And Nora informed me (or the world, in general). "Emma was naughty, but I was not. Mommy yelled at her!" Which made Emma yell 'Be quiet, Nora' at her again. Nora did not appear to be gloating. It seemed merely...informative. Which leads me to the last bit of silliness. The other night, I was driving with the two girls and their Dad. Emma was bored, in the car, and she alleviated her boredom by poking, prodding and annoying her sister, to get her to squeak. And I was once again in the position of saying to her: "Emma, do not do that. When she makes that noise, it means she's not happy, so stop it." And her Dad chimed in with "Emma, stop bothering your sister or you won't get any dessert when we get home. This was followed by Emma immediately doing something to annoy her sister. And her Dad told her "That's it, you don't get any dessert when we get home." After which, we were treated to a prolonged session of weeping, sniffling and sobbing. Grandma Steve has a tender heart. And he is a very great sinner, and all round awful person. He is, first and foremost, on the side of forgiving and mercy. Also, dessert. So, he wanted Small Emma to be forgiven her sins, and get her dessert. So, as we drove along, quietly, with just the sound of small girl sniffling and grief in the back seat, I told her: Emma, just be good, and quiet, and maybe Daddy will reconsider, and you will get dessert. And Smaller Nora said: "Emma was naughty. When we get home, I get her dessert." Which caused Small Emma to shout 'NO!', and Grandma Steve to damn near pee his pants trying not to laugh too loud. But Daddy told her: "Nora, just because Emma was bad doesn't mean you get anything extra." This is a message that should go out to every religion, nation and ethnic group on the planet. Emma got her dessert, because Daddy, while nowhere near as soft a touch as Grandma Steve, is a very forgiving and reasonable man. These stories do not indicate that my Small Friends do not love each other. To me, they clearly love each other very much. Smaller Nora regards her sister as the only thing in the entire Universe on a level with her parents. And Emma loves to play with her sister, and teach her things. But love, like anything else, is in need of constant adjustment. And there will be a reckoning, even for love. I like to think that my small, imperious friends, who often order me about, and ignore my 'grown-up' status, and pummel and push me around, still love me. Two days ago, when I showed up at their door for my 'visit', I was greeted with much excitement, and Small Emma gave me her newly crafted 'plaster and paint' turtle, which is actually quite handsome. It is a remarkable example of 'Small Child Folk Art'. I almost felt bad about accepting it, because it is the sort of marvelous child art project that parents traditionally treasure forever. But I am keeping it. It's mine. It occupies a place of honour on my desk hutch. You can have it when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers. And do you really want to be touching me after I'm dead? Or even before?

You speak too lightly, oh Boo. We will never give up the U.P. Sometimes, I lay in bed and dream about 'Northlandia', the country that should be. Minnesota, Wisconsin, and the Upper Peninsula. Northern Ontario, Manitoba and both the Dakotas. Maybe Iowa. I could go either way on Iowa. It's a silly place. Neither fish, nor fowl, nor good red meat. Gotta have the Dakotas, of course. Have to have someplace to put the buffalo.

Regrets, sir. I am a judgement on America, even as it is a judgement on me. We cleave each to each, for our sins. Our love affair is as deep and wild and as broad as the seas. And a bit weird. Sometimes, to continue the analogy, there is seafood...

And America is a better place for our being here. Well, not so much OGSF, who's just a daft foreigner who adds a bit of colour and amusement to his immediate environment, but certainly we must all agree that the United States of America without Seanachai is like chocolate chip cookies without baking powder. Like cheese without rennet. Like beer without hops. In other words, like something significant without a specific ingredient which everyone is a bit vague about, but which everyone knows has to be quite essential because you can't have the one without the other, even though no one can quite tell you what the hell that ingredient is all about, nor why it should be considered important, nor what would happen if you went without it. That, gentlemen and Ladies, is what I am like. And that is what I am to the ever glorious and increasingly awful Peng Challenge Thread. Peng, on the other hand, is like the chocolate chips. Everyone likes the chocolate chips. They're not really sweet, but they keep you coming back for more. Berli...well, salt of the earth, and all that. The essence of Berli does not lie lightly upon the palate. Although it does burn a bit, passing through. Imagine cookies made with a dollop of cayenne...

And what is one of the RULES, Stuka? You all try my patience. I am awaiting the results of my EMG. It's amazing how after you pay some $550, you can still wait 3 weeks, and, after you call someone to ask what's going on, they tell you to call back in a couple of days while they try and determine why they don't know why they don't have the results. Of course, what I'm anticipating is that I'll be told: 'Well, your tests indicate that there's some sort of nerve anomaly there. We don't know what it is, or why, nor would we recommend that you should do anything about it. But we very much appreciate your money, especially as we understand that you have no insurance. It's Americans like you, stalwart, advocate-less, without any hope of wringing any sort of answer out of us, that makes this the greatest Medical System in the World. Thanks for the payment we made you make at the desk before we even agreed to run the tests, and know that you are the salt of the earth. Here's to you, Proud American! Oh, and we've added another $45 to your bill for the materials and disinfectants needed to wash away your tears of anger and defeat...'

I could do that. Did I post the story about 'First Halloween' yet?

WHY WON'T THEY EAT THE POISON?! WHY WON'T THEY STEP INTO THE SNAP-TRAPS?!! WHY ARE THE MICE DEFYING ME?!!!! It really creeps me out that they sit in the door of the kitchen and watch me while I'm on the computer in the other room. What the hell is that all about?

running footsteps....pant...pant...pant... IT'S: BERLI'S BIRTHDAY! Jeez, got that out just in time. Damn near midnight Happy Birthday, you vicious swine!

Yes, mate, but like the Phoenix, I always rise again from the wreckage. Smile for the wife, fella, and do the same. C'mon! Give her a wink and a nudge, and think about when you were young!

As the gods are my witness, Lars, could you have been more drunk when you posted/spelled this? Or were you talking about Ireland?

And the Hocking Hills. They're totally amazing. I've been there several times, on many different chemicals and even quite sober. A fantastic place. Doesn't seem like Ohio at all. Even totally straight, it was a trip. Anyone who lives in Ohio, or even nearby, who hasn't been to the Hocking Hills is a pissed-on bathroom rug who isn't in there pitching. I mean, I've seen a lot of Ohio. Most of it looks like Indiana. And Indiana looks like Ohio. And both of them look duller than Iowa. Duller than Iowa. Except that both Indiana and Ohio are filled with Indianans and Ohioans, which makes Iowa look like New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Ohio alone is like the poster child for 'American Obesity'. Not Boo, of course. He's my large, thuggish henchman. But large in a 'good way'. Muscular. Maybe a little slack. Just gone off his wrestling weight. But hey, I'm 40 pounds overweight myself. And short. I could do tourism commercials for Ohio. "Come to Ohio, the land of the short, fat Ubergnome!". We could drink some Iron City beers, or Rolling Rocks. Maybe head down to the Hocking Hills. I'd like to live long enough to go hiking the Hocking Hills with Boo. Maybe paddle Lake Erie. I understand the fish-kill is so under control, that Spring on Lake Erie is like...Spring.

Ah, that one, very special day of the year, when I stop everything else I'm doing to contemplate the birth of MrPeng. I spend 6 hours, minimum, sitting in meditation upon the Miracle that is Peng, and that led to all this. Then, generally speaking, I get completely sh*t-faced. I'm talking totally legless, here. The kind of drunkenness that either results in death, or a moment of perfect clarity so intense that it is almost impossible to retain the depth, the poignancy and the beauty. I walked today through a beautiful marsh and woodland park, contemplating Peng. And now, after several hours of 'carpet drinking', which makes the bombing of Dresden look like the home improvement equivalent of 'changing out the hardware on the cabinets', I've suddenly realized the point of it all. I can see the pattern, as perfect and unique as a snowflake, of the Peng Challenge Thread. I understand why...why... EVERYTHING. Who came to post, what it all meant, I now, totally understand. It's all so simple, listen, the point is —

I have been re-reading 'Heimskringla' and 'Orkneyinga Saga' lately. Perhaps I should do a review of them. Anyone interested?

Lars is one of Ours. He knows about the Northland. Most of you lot are too weak to live here. And you have our pity.

It's true, I haven't been around that much this summer, at least. There is, of course, always the Kayak Season. But I haven't been paddling that much this late summer. Sometime in late July something went...funny. I don't know how else to put it. I woke up and there was a 'krick' in my back/shoulder area. It didn't affect paddling, nor stop me from lifting, carrying, doing anything I'd normally do. It was just awkward, mildly painful, but made my whole left arm go...all funny. I think it might have been the result of playing 'Big Jump' with Small Friends, where I helped them leap up into the air; or perhaps simply catching, picking up Small Friends. But in late July, my left arm went all strange. I couldn't lie flat on my back, or even propped up, because that made my left arm go 'all strange'. It went numb, and got that 'pins and needles' feel like you just hit your funny bone, or like the arm was coming back from 'falling asleep'. I could still paddle, and did. Didn't seem to affect anything. Then, in mid-August, it got a bit weirder. My arm was going 'pins and needles' all the time. And my index finger in that hand went largely numb, and always felt strange. I quit paddling, just because I didn't want to make anything worse. But I didn't go to the doctor, because I'm living on sufferance and didn't have any insurance. It got very annoying. Typing was hard to do. The index finger on my left hand (my dominant hand, worse the luck) was either 'partially functional', or so sensitive that touching anything made it go all awkward and feel unpleasant. I lost almost six weeks of prime paddling weather, trying to let things get better. I also suffered from weird, 'phantom' pain in that fore-arm, and even doing something as simple as opening a bottle became awkward. I lost the best part of the Kayaking season. Now, that arm has come back quite a bit. The index finger on that hand is doing a lot better, but it still is partially numb, and feels really odd when touched. I figure it for a pinched nerve, but I don't know. I'm just glad I can type again, however awkwardly. And so, I am once again amongst you. Ain't Life grand?

And, indeed, I have, on certain occasions, been mistaken for an Australian. It's the drinking, you see. Wine is a mocker, strong drink is ragin', as they say...

Why, Boo, you are, and remain, my large, thuggish henchman. And, dare I say it, a good man, and a good friend. I particularly liked the 'ambrosial vintage' remark. But the long, drawn out 'bastard' reference was...bad accent. It was like you were trying to roll your 'r's. Bad form.

And when the Abyss looks back, it had better be buying the next fecking round, or God help it...

Eh? The Three Old Ones of the Peng Challenge Thread are all Americans. Send us your tired, your poor, your yearning masses longing to post free. My grandmother's family weren't welcome to land in New York, because they were Irish. They came in from Canada. Anyone tells you you aren't welcome to post here, lad, you refer them to me. You're as welcome to abuse as anyone. We have our own way here, but it's our way, lad, and everyone is welcome. You get up and tell those buggers here to sod off, same as our folk did. And we will give you the Ultimate Answer to that question: Get in there and fight like a bastard. What's on your mind, eh? Got something to say? Say it. Don't just piss off. Go all Existential on their arses! Bah! I wave my hand at you! Apologize only to your betters. All the best, Well, I'm drinking crap beer right now, but it don't mean nothing.

You know, many might doubt my words, but I had EXACTLY this same situation once, but the outcome was marvelous. There should be some term, encompassing the concept of 'synchronicity', that involves an antithetical outcome to the consanguineous experience. But perhaps I wax too — well, everything for this crowd. The truth is, I am not a particularly intellectual man. I am a short, fat, vulgar man of questionable tastes in everything except literature, poetry, song, liquor, women, politics... Well, my taste in most everything worth a goddamn is good. However, I remain a short, fat vulgar man. Shaw belittles me. And that, combined with the fact that my tastes are superlative, and the fact that I am, in fact, a short, fat, vulgar man, are enough. I have been vastly blessed by life. I cannot even begin to entail it all, nor would anyone here be much improved by knowing how much a short, fat, vulgar man from Minnesota has been raised above them in terms of 'quality of life' experiences. Suffice to say that I have drunk truly awful wine from a huge jug underneath a bridge by a river in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, within sight of a reproduction of Michelangelo's 'David', that the City Fathers dumped into an unvisited corner of the city because the citizens decided it was 'almost pornographic', and I have eaten 'haute cuisine' in Las Vegas casinos because my father was a guest of the General Management because he was considered 'a high roller, likely to dump money' into a town built on the concept that PT Barnum vastly over-rated the intellect of America. As I sit here, I contemplate the story that a good friend told me about how his best friend from the seminary was judged to be of such exceptional merit that he was sent to the Vatican for his religious doctorate, and induction into the Church. And, as he entered into one of those churches for which the Vatican is so justly famed, replete with gold leaf, statuary, and priceless works of art, all of it priceless beyond estimation, he proclaimed to his companion: "If this be poverty, then bring on the celibacy!" My friends, and I call you my friends, because, truth be told, you're like a gang of apes that would be adrift, completely adrift, without even my shallow attempts at intellect, I say to you: If this be mockery, and abuse, then bring on Hell. It will, finally, be an experience worth the pain. And, to lend that special moment that are part of all my posts, let me send this your way, in terms of 'synchronicity': While I was writing this, I was listening to iTunes, specifically Alasdair Fraser's 'Return to Kintail', which, for reasons too weird to explore, suddenly led into the MP3 of Joe Shaw's 'First Podcast to the Peng Challenge Thread'. He's got a lovely speaking voice, our Shaw. Have you ever listened to his Podcasts? Lovely voice. Of course, it raises the question. Would Shaw have honoured his oath and fought for the Union, or would he have fought for the Confederacy?

Who isn't, dear Lady? And who would not be?

No. Of course, you could always just bugger off. You're not actually ready for the position you so clearly desire, and I'm not all that comfortable with being adored by halfwits, even when they cover their discomfort at wanting to prostrate themselves before me with brag and abuse...

Time to move along, me merry little lads and lasses. If you can't find the new Thread, you need a bit of a lie-down before you post...

The very first thing is, as all must know, The Rules. I, the Old One, am not bound by the Rules. Next comes the warning and shunning of fools. Fools have been shunned and warned since the beginning, and yet post. Women are made welcome, the mead-pourer recognizes them. Let all honour the pourer of mead, and the women. Shaw, smiter of those found vulgar, and vile in the sight of the Old Ones Dances the Dance, and wields the two-headed axe of Justice. And sometimes, if the light catches him just right He looks like Deborah Kerr in 'From Here to Eternity'...