family

Five Things …

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

Blogger’s Note: I don’t do many of these, but Jacqui did it with kind of a blanket tag at the end, and I’m a big fat copycat. Actually, I liked these questions. I’m not going to tag anyone else, but if you’re game, drop your responses in the Comments box.

What were you doing five years ago?
Almost to the day – I was packing essentials in my Focus and driving to Minneapolis to take a new job with a hip corporate marketing firm. I would live for a month in the Residence Inn, walk to work, and fly to NYC and Memphis on business during my first week. Important lesson: Do not tell your wife about your five-star Manhattan cuisine when she is packing up your life in Michigan, chasing kids and dogs, trying to complete the sale of your house, and subsisting on hot dogs and macaroni.

What are five things on your to-do list for today?
For tomorrow: leave the day job at or before 5 p.m.; enjoy a Cold Spring Pale Ale; read 75 to 100 pages of Don Quixote; brainstorm guerilla marketing tactics for the church’s new faith formation program; hug my wife and kids – tightly.

What are five snacks you enjoy?
PB&J, graham crackers and frosting, bananas, dry cereal, and cheese.

What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?
Pay off my debts, my families’ debts, and our church’s; endow scholarships to Yale and the University of South Dakota; buy a little place in the middle of nowhere and build a wired-enough house that I wouldn’t have to leave to work; take Dad and the boys on that Trans-Siberian railroad trip to Mongolia; and yeah, try to blow the rest on pet projects and good causes.

What are five of your bad habits?
Obsessively checking emails and blogs; obsessively needing to be understood; setting unrealistic goals; leaning on my spouse for schedules and directions; and sausage.

Trevvy Logic

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

I could hide out under there
I just made you say underwear …
– Barenaked Ladies, “Pinch”

Our youngest, three-year-old Trevor, applies a certain, consistent logic to the new words he’s learning in order to figure out what they mean. For example, out of the blue he will proudly announce, “Mom, I know why we say toothbrush – because we clean our teeth with it, and because it’s a brush … toothbrush!”

He applies this equally to simple and compound words, so that the results are often unintentionally nonsensical and funny, e.g. “I know why they’re called suckers … because you suck on them, and because they’re ers!”

So last night we’re enjoying a small dish of ice cream, and he begins: “I know why we say ice cream … because it’s really cold, and because it’s cream – ice cream!”

“That’s right, Trevvy!” says Jodi, and I ask, “Trevor, why do they call it chewing gum?”

“Because you chew it, and because it’s gum!” he says proudly.

“And why,” I ask, “do we call it underwear?”

He stumbles a moment, working it through in his head.

“Because it goes under your pants,” he says, “and then it’s like it’s gone!”

* * * * *

Blogger’s Note: If you aren’t laughing, don’t worry – it took us a moment, too. Homophones are great fun, aren’t they?

Additional Note: On a mostly unrelated note, this morning, Trevor approached Emma, placed his palm on top of his head, and said, “Emma, this is how tall I am. I’m this tall!”

Fool for April

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Blogger’s Note: I wrote this April 1, 2004, while headed to work. Jodi was working for Cargill at that time, and pregnant with Trevor. That April, unlike this one, was sunny and warm. I’m listless in this grey haze today, and I sincerely want to spend the next several days with my family, doing nothing. No such luck, I’m afraid.

I’m on the bus this Thursday morning. We’re not yet underway — fellow commuters straggle in in twos and threes. Cars, I mean — everyone drives his or her own car to the Park and Ride; every one a good American. At least we’ve embraced the bus to get us from here downtown, right? Folks are smiling this morning, sleepy but not tired. I know the feeling.

I’m a fool for April. Growing up in Michigan, or Minnesota for that matter, you know March is bound to be a mess of slush and mud. Like November, it’s going to be blustery and cold, with a fair chance of snow or sleet.

But April! It’s like a whole new world this morning — not a cloud for miles, the sun’s high in the sky already, and I drove the old pickup in this morning in a sweater and sunglasses. April Fool’s or not, I can’t help but but have hope that spring may have sprung at last.

Mornings like this, it feels like the world’s great eye opens wide and bright and stares back at us in wonder — what strange creatures are these, queued up and bound downtown to sit in cubes and punch keys on a morning made for loving, sleeping long and late, stretching, smiling, and blinking in the sunshine? Is the weekend rain any wonder? The heavens weep at our investments, our invented urgencies, and our ignorance.

The ache has returned — that tight pit in my stomach that strains to contain my urges (selfish and otherwise) to escape this race and return home, buy flowers along the way, call Jodi home feigning sickness, lay out clean sheets and open all the windows, nap through lunch, eat late, pick up the kids early, and sit cross-legged on the floor with our sons and daughter, laughing as mommy soaks in the tub, the bubbles spoofing her round belly and popping in the attempt. Another day, another dollar, another baby on the way. The world should pay parents to stay together at home with their children. Leave the hard work to the young and ambitious, and the planning to elders, who have can see the big picture by virtue of being closer to heaven.

It’s both selfish and selfless, this urge to wrap my arms around these dear friends and hold them close. We are all brothers and sisters, though positioned at times as adversaries. A sister of mine recalls a verse: Owe no man anything except respect. We are all worth less than we let on and more than we’ll ever know — less because those things we often emphasize in ourselves matter least to those around us, and more because we’ve no perspective. The mirror distorts, the camera frames — only through contact and interaction are we manifest truly. Only in love, or lack thereof.

Greetings from the North Pole, Part II

/ J. Thorp / 5 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Over Christmas 2003, we became annual pen-pals with an elf named Siberius Quill. Transcriptions of our first correspondence from him can be seen in the Archives (the week of 11/25). Here is the letter from 2004.

* * * * *

24 December 2004
The Night Before Christmas

My dearest Children!

At last! the Blessed Day has arrived to find all Four of you on the Good List (despite your mother’s teasing). Well done! I trust you will be pleased with your Many Gifts. Although it is not everything you asked for, young Masters, the Old Man (Santa, of course) made doubly sure to bring you that One Special Gift you wanted most. Use your duel disks well and wisely, and take care of them — they are quick to break if mistreated!

Master Brendan: So much of what you wish for is meant for Older Children. The games, especially, are not for you — not yet! Be patient, Young One, and don’t try to grow up too fast! Enjoy being a child while you are still young. The same for you, Master Gabriel. Soon you’ll be in school. Enjoy your time at home with your Mother, Sister and Baby Brother — for once you’ve grown up, you will miss it!

Emma — you’ve got a mischievous streak in you, but not nearly enough to be labeled “Naughty.” (It takes quite a bit to actually get on the Naughty list…) You’d make quite the Elf were your ears pointed. Unfortunately they aren’t — and you’re already the size of full-grown Elf. Keep growing, and next Christmas you’ll be bigger than me!

Now to your questions. All of the things you are wondering about are quite common questions from kids as they get older. The Truth, of course, is that Magic is terribly hard to explain to you who are not surrounded by it daily — to us, Magic is commonplace. Before Santa was Santa, he was St. Nicholas — the Bishop of Myra, whose faith in God brought forth miracles through him. Brendan, you asked how Kris Kringle can circle the globe in a single night. Put simply, he believes he can and he does what he must. Certainly the reindeer are fleet of foot, and of course not everyone believes in Santa Claus, so he need not stop everywhere. But where he goes, he goes quickly, like the Winter Wind — slipping down chimneys, through keyholes and beneath doors; everywhere and nowhere at once. How did he get this job? By being Himself! He is Santa as Santa is him. No other Saint, no man or Elf, can do what he does — he is the One, the Only, Father Christmas; the Spirit of the Season dressed all in fur. He takes on many appearances and has many helpers, both here at the Pole and living among all of you — but there is only one Santa, and Santa is he!

And you, Gabriel, asked how Santa gets down smallish chimneys and how we Elves can build toys so fast. St. Nick, you may know, comes in all shapes and sizes — tall as a Lord and slender, or short and plump; tiny as an Elf or big and strong as an ox. He takes whatever form suits him best in his work, and would appear to you as you picture him in your head. As for chimneys — they are of little concern, as he can change shapes, and whisks down them like a draught of winter wind, rising lazily out again as smoke!

As for the toys, you may have guessed that, with So Many children and so many toys, we no longer make everything by hand. We specialize in the Art of Toy-making — wood-work and painting and sewing and the like — and our Elvish toys go mainly to the youngest and neediest children. All are blessed by the Old Man himself, and sealed with Spells of Finding and Mending, so they are never lost for long and are easy fixed if broken. Let’s see — you also asked how we Elves get our jobs. The short answer is by being Elves! Like Santa, we do what Elves do, and that’s work Christmas magic. Of course, we are born into the Family Business, as they say — so that I am a Elfin Correspondent — a writer — like my forefathers.

As for other Elves, Brendan — your Father has kept last year’s letter safe — it contains the names of many of my family. My own Dear Wife is Grace Quill, formerly Goodcheer, whose family has long been Keepers of Christmas Spirit. I will share two more with you, as they seem Particularly Important given the weather in Minnesota this week. Kelter Skiff, my Good Friend, engineers the runners for Santa’s sleigh, such that they glide over even the slightest hint of snow, or even a frosty shingle! And of course, Flurious Windwatcher, our head meteorologist, has his eyes on the skies like your Father, watching for snow. Old Windy is never short of opinions or grumblings, but he’s the best in the business!

God Bless You, Children, and your Family. Travel safely!

Yours truly,

Quill

P.S. Happy Christmas, and a joyous New Year to you all!

Greetings from the North Pole, Part I

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Back in 2003, our children mailed their letters to Santa Claus very late and were quite concerned that he might not realize we would be traveling on Christmas. Prior to that winter, Santa had always left a short handwritten letter near the cookie plate, but with more kids and more questions, he found himself in need of assistance. (After all, he is a busy man this time of year.) Several days before Christmas, we found a card on our mantle, and Christmas morning, a letter marked with a script S, but not for Santa! I’ve transcribed them to share, in hopes of spreading holiday cheer and bolstering belief.

* * * * *

16 December 2003

My dear Thorp children,

Of course we can deliver your presents on Christmas Eve Day — why, your mother used to receive her presents every year on Christmas Eve! We try to accommodate all Holiday travel plans (within reason), for there is nothing more important than Family at Christmas!

So rest easy these next few nights! Know that your letter was very well received — Santa loves to hear from his children, and especially appreciates your Honesty about those times you’ve been less than perfect. We will compare your Wish List against what we’ve prepared for you, but remember! Santa knows best what you need, and often has his own ideas. You may not get everything you’ve asked for, but I am certain you will be Very Happy on the morning of December 24!

Merry Christmas Brendan, Gabriel and Emma!

Siberius Quill
Elf Correspondent

* * * * *

23 December 2003
The Eve of Christmas Eve

Dearest Children!

Happy Christmas to you all! How fortunate that I should be assigned to your family, for I am the Very Elf who wrote you just a week ago to tell you your Santa Letter was not in vain. (Of course, no such letter ever is!) Ah! I am reminded that you are all so Very Young — I must think more slowly and write more simply. And as you are a New Family, and this is your first letter from a Correspondent, I should introduce myself…

So I shall! I am Siberius Quill III, a Correspondent in Santa’s Letter Corps and fifth-generation Elfin Scribe. I am to be your Personal Contact and Pen-Pal here at the North Pole for as long as you will have me. You see, when human children reach the age at which they begin writing letters, lists and questions for Santa — when he can no longer hand-write a note to you over cookies and milk — we Correspondents take over. Like your Father, my talent lies in language. Let the other Elves make toys; I’ve no knack for tools!

Unlike your Father, however, I am descended from a long and proud line of Writers. My great-grandfather, Siberius the Old, personally penned Mr. Kringle’s first List of Names. (That was long centuries ago, however — several Great Uncles, Uncles and Cousins now compile the names, but The Old Man still has a nose for telling naughty from nice!) My grandfather, Siberius II, is Santa’s Chief Calligrapher, and my father, Scribner Quill, teaches Foreign Penmanship — Japanese, Arabic and the like. My mother’s kin are Writers, too — her father, Brevity Parchment, heads the Tags and Greetings division.

We Correspondents are good for more than just lists and letters, Children — as you get older and wiser, you will likely have fewer questions about What Santa does, and more and more questions about Why and How he does it. Consider me your Primary Resource regarding All Things Christmas — I will do my level best to tell you everything I can! Of course, not even the Elves know everything Pere Noel is about — but what I know I will share, because sharing is one of the simplest Good Deeds you can do. Remember that!

Now then — you’ve asked me no questions, boys, but you did ask your Father one, didn’t you, Master Brendan? Let me see — I believe you wanted to know what happens should children like Yourselves awaken when Santa is about! Your Father told you what he thought, and it’s exactly so — old Santa smiles at them, his eyes a-twinkle; places his pointing finger to his lips, and shhh! Out they go, like an Advent Candle, to sleep deeply and dream pleasant dreams — remembering nothing, or almost nothing, of what they think they’ve seen. Ah, but your Dad remembers — buried in his head are the unconscious thoughts and waking dreams of the Little Boy he used to be. He remembers!

Master Gabriel, I must mention that Santa was most Impressed and Flattered that you wanted a red fur suit for Christmas, to match your Christmas hat, no doubt. Though you’d make quite a strapping elf, you are not quite tall enough for the robes of St. Nicholas, nor round enough to fill Santa’s trousers. Keep growing, young Master, and you’ll make a fine Father Christmas yet.

All our Love to Emma and your Mother and — Can this be? — a new Baby on the way? Bless my soul, but you’ll keep me busy. A fine, Big Family indeed! Happy Christmas, Young Ones — may God bless you and your family as He blessed us all those many years ago, in a Bethlehem stable, in the hay. And a Happy New Year, too!

Your Most Sincerely,

Siberius Quill

P.S. If you like, you may call me Quill!

* * * * *

As Christmas draws nearer, perhaps I’ll transcribe the others we’ve received over the years.