Scene: airplane flight

Dramatis Personae: engaging chatty four-year-old girl, center seat; her mother to her left; a kindly gentleman to her right.

The Conversation: piano playing, lessons, etc.

After learning that she had been studying piano for a year, that she looked forward to her lessons, and that she didn’t mind practicing, the gentleman asked, “And are you going to be a concert pianist when you grow up?” 

Chatty four-year-old, with much indignation and utter disdain: “NO! I am going to be a concert VAGINA!“

photo: courtesy of mytravelpledge.com

Martin and I grabbed a warm-ish winter day and set out on our neighborhood walk.  I’m always on the lookout for something new and potentially interesting to show Olivia and Leah when they visit.  We rounded a corner onto a snow-free sidewalk.  Whoo-hoo. No rectangular sections on this sidewalk.  NO!  There were pentagons. A few iscoceles triangles. And a few shapes that were polygons, irregularly sided but polygons  just the same.  I could challenge. Olivia to find them and introduce Leah to shape names beyond the ones she knows.

Martin and I started riffing on polygons of various numbers when came up with a uragon, the phrase he told me is used to break up. Thankfully this was all in the abstract which, in  art, may or may not include polygons.

And now a question for the linguistically, mathematically, and geometrically inclined. A triangle is a polygon but its name derives from the number of its interior angles (derivative, Latin). A triangle is never referred to as a trigon. A square is not a quadragon (exterior) but a quadrangle (interior). Pentagon and pentangle? (Outside and governmental vs. inside and witchy-mental.) Octagon and octangle.  We no longer say octangle, but octagon. Greek pretty much won out linguistically  When you invent or discover it you get to name it. Imagine all those Pythagoreans conversing in the town agora (square is so Latin.)

From sidewalks to math to linguistics to breakups.

Until next time,

Imagon

…a visual pun: Climbing the Rock Face.

During our recent trip to the heel and boot of Italy, I snapped this shot on a walk around the city of Matera. The image was  a mash-up of such ridiculously unrelated items, I just had to do something with it.

Enter our friend Richard who is a regular winner in the Detroit papers’ caption contests.  I knew he wouldn’t let me down. I sent him the photo and was rewarded a few moments later with the following gem: “Creative entrepreneurs have started advertising that their transportation services in Italy come with built-in restrooms at no extra charge!”

Martin shared this internet joke with me.  It was too funny to pass up. I have added a bit more color and drama.

Scene: Heaven

Dramatis Personae: a Golden Retriever, a German Shepherd, a cat, St. Peter

It was Animal Recption Day up above. St. Peter calls forth the Golden Retriever and asks, “What do you believe in capricious canine?”

The Retriever bounds up to St. Peter’s throne barking beyond containment, “I believe that I was a loyal Retriever my whole life. I loved my people deeply and no matter how many times they threw sticks and balls and what not for me to fetch, I did so joyfully.”

St. Peter nods in approval and turns to the German Sheperd. “Come closer Dear Sir and tell me, what do you believe in?”

With confident steps, the Shepherd approaches St. Peter’s throne.  Calmly and firmly he answers, “I believe with all my heart that I served my people well.  I guarded them constantly, on alert for any mishap or misfortune that might come their way. No harm ever befell them on my watch.”

St. Peter nods his approval once again and gestures for the cat to step forward. He poses his question a third time. “And you Fine Feline, what do you believe in?”

The tabby holds her ground proudly and replies, “I believe you are sitting in my seat.”

photo courtesy of Debra Darvick
gorgeous golden scarf courtesy of Martin Darvick.

When Olivia was a toddler we were checking out our reflections in the puddles after spring downpour. She pointed to a particularly large one and exclaimed, “Rain shadow!”

Never would I have come up with such a gorgeous phrase. I know the name of that overflow of water that reflects our images after a rain. My vocabulary is too vast, too specific. I could think for a year and never come up with something as original as a rain shadow.

With so few words at their disposal, young children are natural poets. Like diamond cutters, they see the gem where others only see a clump of dirt. And so a truck-passionate boy calls the clanging ambulance a bell-van. A dad, sweaty from his morning run, is crowned the wet guy. And to the toddler who had not yet learned the word pocket, snack hole did just fine.