I woke up happy. I stretched. I yawned. It was a beautiful morning, promising to be sunny and warm. A day made for the books. Daffodil and hyacinth bulbs were beginning to bloom. It reminded me of the peaceful beginning of Stonewall Jackson’s “The Lottery” one of Mom’s favorite short stories. I started humming “You Rock My World” by Michael, Stonewall’s son. (There were rocks and stones at the end of the story.)
And then I remembered Emily Dickens’ poem “The SUN just touched the morning, the morning happy thing…” I can identify with Emily – she didn’t get out much either. Her brother, Charles, I think, traveled all over the place reading from his books until he dropped like a fly reading a scary scene from Oliver’s Twist during one of his tours. (The movie starred Chubby Checker.) But she stayed home taking care of her father and lowering baskets full of home-made muffins from her bedroom window to the neighborhood kids below. We have a lot in common. I’m stuck here at home all the time, staring out windows and babysitting for Mommy’s Little Snookums, ZuZu.
I heard Dad opening up the cellar door. (cellar door – lovely, poetic words) I rushed to see if I could get past him and scoot down the stairs. He was carrying a big, purple bin. Curious, I followed him into the dining room and that’s when the horror began. THE HORROR! (that’s a quote from a movie. I believe it was “Achy Breaky Heart”. It had “Heart” in it, anyway and I’m pretty sure it starred Swoosie Kurtz and Marlowe Thomas.)
Mom began to unpack the bin and then… did I mention The Horror!? They must have been down in the cellar all winter, inside that purple box
screw pro-creating their little brains off, because there were thousands of them – On the chairs. On the floor. On the table. “Rabbits, by George! The Rabbits!” That’s from Of Mice and Gerbils by George Steinbrenner. It’s another of Mom’s favorites about these ranch hands named Lennie and Squeaky. Lennie loved to pet soft things, like rabbits. But sometimes he got a bit over-enthusiastic and squished them. I’d like to find out where he lives so I can introduce him to ZuZu. She’s really soft – in the head!
Enough is enough! I’ve decided – I can’t live like this! It’s just too declasse for my discriminating taste. Someone has to talk to this woman. I know there are bloggers out there with some semblance of style, who could instill a tiny bit of culture into her kitschy world. Please take pity on me. Send her a link or two or fifty! Do it before the next holiday because who knows what else she’s going to have Dad drag up from the cellar!
PS: I just noticed Mom reading this and overheard her comments to Dad. She said Shirley Jackson, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickinson, Joseph Conrad and John Steinbeck must be rolling over in their graves. Not sure what this has to do with my post, but I’m thinking it could be due to photokinesis. Gotta love the sun!
Your Friend, Roxie D.
PPS: Happy Easter!