Author: J. Thorp

Summer Vacation, Day 83: Trevor’s Name

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I had no topic in mind this evening, so I asked Trevor what I should blog about. He suggested I write about his name. So, here goes …

Our youngest is named Trevor Christian Thorp. Trevor was an Irish/Welsh name we both liked; in addition, it has good denotations: industrious and prudent. It apparently can also mean “great settlement.”

All of our kids have middle names of family significance – Brendan’s is “James,” after me; Gabriel’s is “Venjohn,” which is Jodi’s nearly unique maiden name; and Emma’s is “Rose,” after my dad’s beautiful mother who died when he was young. With Trevor, we struggled – the male family names to choose from were Kenneth, Daryl, Frank, Duane, Arnold and Firman. (I made a brief, half-serious, and ultimately unsuccessful bid for Bruno, which, along with Brownie, was my Polish great-grandfather’s nickname in America. His real name, Bronsilaw (BRO-nee-swaff), means “armor or weapon of glory; glorious protector” …) So we went with something that spoke to the values and faith of both our families – Christian.

And Thorp is, well, Thorp – meaning “small village or hamlet” in Middle English. Appropriate enough for small-town folk like us – and an interesting contrast to the alternative meaning of Trevor.

There you go, Trevvy! Brendan James, Gabriel Venjohn, Emma Rose and Trevor Christian – that’ll do, I guess …

Summer Vacation, Day 82: Closet

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We bought this house on my recommendation. Jodi was still in Michigan when I put the offer on it, in part because we needed a place to live and I’d been here a month already, living in the the Residence Inn in downtown Minneapolis.

I’d looked at a number of homes, and this was easily my favorite – some of what I wanted, some of what she wanted, three bedrooms, 1-3/4 baths, etc. Jodi saw photos of the place, but never walked around in it until we’d already agreed to buy it. At that point, she walked into the downstairs bedroom, and said, “Huh. There’s no closet.”

Sure enough, there wasn’t. I’d noticed many, many other things, but not that. “Oh, well,” I said. “We can put one in when the kids are older and need it.”

“But without a closet, I don’t think it counts as a bedroom,” she said.

“So? We’ll still use it as one, won’t we?”

In her infinite patience, Jodi neither hit me nor called me a moron. She simply said, “We’re paying for a three-bedroom house, not a two-bedroom house.”

D’oh! To this day, I always warn young men against house-hunting without their brides, and if they must, I warn them to especially note the closets.

Today – five years later – I put shelves and rods up for the boys closet. So tired, but Jode is so happy! Good night, all.

Summer Vacation, Day 81: Trevor’s Malt

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We picked Betsy up at the airport this morning, then took the older boys to tai chi, and finally, to lunch at Annie’s Parlor in Dinkytown. Had burgers and fries, of course, except Emma, who had chicken fingers, and Trevor, who ordered a corn-dog. Once we had eaten more than our daily allowance of calories, we ordered two ginormous malts for the table to share. Hot fudge and wild blueberry. So good.

Trevvy wound up with blueberry and insisted upon using his straw, not the spoon. As a result, as he put it, “This ice cream is going down reawwy slow!”

Brendan finished his hot fudge and asked if there was blueberry left. There wasn’t – but I suggested that he might help Trevor finish his. Trevor, however, was showing no signs of letting up – until he decided he needed to use the restroom. I went with him.

When we returned to the table, Trevor took one look at his malt cup and said, “Hey! Who drank some of my malt?”

No one thought he’d notice. Everyone laughed.

Now, Trevor considers Bren his best buddy, and Emma is closest to him in age, so he has made it known that Gabe is his “last favorite.” He scowled, turned his squinty gaze to Gabriel and asked, “Gabe! Why did you drink my malt?”

“I didn’t!” said Gabe, and Brendan roared with laughter. “No, Trevvy – I did it!” he said.

Trevor looked at Bren, then a smile broke across his face. “Is it okay that Brendan had some?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Trevvy.

Gabe decided to test him further. “Actually, Trevor, it was me!”

The look of anger was instant and unmistakable on Trevor’s face. His buddy Brendan was fine, but not Gabe. Never Gabe. We all laughed again, and Brendan reiterated that he had, in fact, been the culprit.

* * * * *

Trevor finished with what Bren had left him, and he used his straw the entire time. We warned him he wouldn’t be able to get the blueberries out of the bottom of the glass, but he proved us wrong.

We all watched as a great gob of blue traveled slowly up the straw to half-way and stop. “See, Trevvy?” I started to say, but he was focused, his cheek drawing deeply inward.

Suddenly the berry burst loose, upward into his mouth, exploding into a delicious grin.

Summer Vacation, Day 80: Like Breathing

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Extended Blogger’s Note: Our dear “elder daughter” and Trevor’s godmother Betsy, referenced here, is coming to visit for a week beginning tomorrow. Can’t wait to see her! I used to try to explain to her and her friends in our church youth group back in Michigan that they need not be self conscious when they prayer – you can’t really do it wrong, as long as use your heart and mean it sincerely. Too many people stress about praying “right” and let it keep them from praying. Anyway, a poem, of sorts …

like breathing
it doesn’t take real effort, like
deep thought or the flight
of birds. prayer is like
breathing — you can’t do it
wrong. think respiration:
the diaphragm draws
downward; air rushes
to fill the void, lungs
inflate, blood and alveoli
trade in gases. molecules
swirl and dance
bond and break
according to laws
of biology
chemistry
physics
STOP!

close your eyes.
breathe in
and out again.
it’s inspiration and
exhalation — it’s
simple.

j. thorp
20 July 2003

Summer Vacation, Day 78: On Writing

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Blogger’s Note: I’m cheating a bit on this one, because technically it’s taken almost entirely from a comment I left on a post in Jacqui’s Room entitled “A Room of One’s Own.”

I have no space of my own. To get in the mood, I tell the kids I need to write; set up a card table in the bedroom; get Trevor a drink and ask him why he never wants anything to do with me until I need to write; fire up my laptop; ask Jodi if she’ll remind the kids that when Puck barks, it means he wants to come in; pull up a chair; calmly remind the kids I need to write; answer a few emails; write a lame Facebook status update; visit Jacqui’s Room and Hubba’s House (see Friends and Good People, at right) for half an hour; bark at the kids that, although I’ve yet to write anything, I am write-ING, and they need to play downstairs or outside if they are going to be loud; complain to myself that it’s too quiet; build a custom playlist for the day’s fiction; open a beer; and press play. Later I counteract the beer with a cup of green tea or black coffee.

Music is critical. For the kung-fu screenplay, it was indie hip-hop (like current local fave Doomtree) and traditional Chinese music on shuffle. For the fantasy novel, country/folky/bluesy stuff seems to work – She & Him, Neko Case, Carla Bruni (yes, the supermodel first lady of France sings), etc. …