Summer Vacation, Day 89: Butterflies

You might think this post is about Emma’s first full day of school, with lunch and recess and everything. It’s not. It’s about the butterfly garden at the Como Zoo — our visit to which was appropriately overshadowed by Gabe’s illness and sudden eruption in the zoo lobby. Jodi wasn’t convinced she wanted to go through the butterfly house, which looks like a giant monarch caterpillar made of yellow, white and black striped mesh. I thought the kids would like it, though, so we got in line. Turns out I may have liked it best.

I should mention that, as we walked from the car to the zoo, we followed a monarch flip-fluttering on the breeze, brilliant orange against the green of the trees along the walk. It sparked something in me — just for a second, I wanted to follow it.

So — we entered the butterfly garden, and we’re surrounded. Broad-winged blue butterflies. Little reds and yellows. So many you can hear their wing beats — so delicate we were instructed not to touch them or brush them off, so strong they dogfight the breezes and come out on top. We saw young butterflies courting, and an old giant with wings like frayed denim flap his death-dance in the shady dirt beneath the flowers. Each one seemed as lovely and surprising and unique as summer day — soaring or topsy-turvy, feasting or resting, brilliant or melancholy …

Quite a collection — of Lepidotera and long summer days. Hope yours was good, too.

Summer Vacation, Day 83: Trevor’s Name

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 78: On Writing

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. …

Summer Vacation, Day 77: Quite a Coincidence!

This evening we’re getting our first family photo in ages taken for the church directory (and possible purchase and dissemination). We were talking about how long it had been over supper last night, and it came up that, the last time, four-year-old Trevor was not in the photo. (In fact, he was not yet an agreed-upon eventuality at that moment.)

“Was I still inside Mommy?” asked Trevor.

“Sort of, yeah,” I said.

“When did I get out of Mommy?” he asked.

“June 21, 2004,” said Jodi.

His face broke into a surprised smile. “So when I popped out, it was my birthday?!” he asked.

We all laughed long and loud over this, and Brendan attempted to explain that that’s what a birthday is. It was lost on Trevvy, who could not believe his good fortune, having “popped out” on his birthday.

Jodi laughed loudest, I think – I suspect at the notion that, at 12 pounds, 2 ounces, Trevor “popped” at all!

Summer Vacation, Day 72: Gang’s All Here (Belated)

Been sleeping on the houseboat with the full moon for a night light. Jill and her kids (plus her boxer) came up to the lake, too, and the boys (minus Trevvy) went fishing. Lots of too-small walleye.

Then Brendan finally hooked something. The pole bent double. The drag whined as line was pulled out against the reel’s wishes Dziadzi was ready with the net, and Gabe and Kyle were cheering him on … and it spit the hook. Oof. We all felt terrible, and Dziadzi shouted something it’s best I don’t repeat here.

Brendan took it in stride. He imagines a massive fish and tells a good story. Dziadzi tells him his great-grandpa caught few fish, but always caught the biggest. He sees himself in that light.

Gabe suspects the fish was “Old Mocker” – the fish who’s been jumping on all sides of the houseboat this entire trip. Gabe imagines a wise and clever fish who, like Moby Dick, can show up in one place and then somewhere else entirely nearly simultaneously.

He called the fish “Old Mocker,” of course, because it continued to mock us each time we set out …