Rose

Greetings From the North Pole, Part VI

/ J. Thorp / 5 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Over Christmas 2003, we became annual pen-pals with an elf named Siberius Quill, and he has again delivered this year! Transcriptions of the 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006 and 2007 letters from Quill can be seen here.

My dearest Children!

My, but the World is snowy where you live—White Christmas indeed! This is the weather Father Christmas likes: the sleigh runners slick with frost, and thick powder to soften and silence the landing. Kris Kringle should make good time tonight!

You are Good Children, one and all—obedient, respectful, joy-filled, and loving. Good Eggs, your Father might say; we say Good Apples, and you stand in sharp contrast to the Bad Apples, who “spoil the whole bunch,” as they say. Oh, you have your naughty moments, as all Young People do, but these moments of mischief and misbehavior are Lessons, one and all. Your Conscience speaks the Truth—it tells you Right from Wrong—and should you fail to hear It, your parents correct you, all as it Should Be. In that, you are Very Lucky.

Young Master Trevor, your laughter and shouts while opening your Christmas Eve gifts resound clear to the Auroras! Bless my soul, but you make a Joyous Noise! And as we are not bound by Time at the Pole (our nature being magical and the Earth’s rotation here being rather instantaneous), I am able to report that your happiness rang in the ears of Santa’s reindeer and was much-loved. It sparks them the fly high and pull hard! And your singing has caught the ear of our elfin Songmaster, Jovial Moralus, who ensures we elves have Proper Music to work by. Old Jove said your voice would raise the spirits of the most frostbit soul—some elves sing for centuries and never earn such high praise as that!

And Miss Emma—you grow lovelier each winter, and have become Quite The Help around the house. We could use such a hand as you in Santa’s Workshop—the tools get in such disarray during the busy days before Christmas Eve. The Tool-Mistress and Chief Shop-Keep, Methody Straitner, has been hard at work for years organizing the tools and benches and bins to ensure Peak Efficiency. She has seen your handiwork in the kitchen cupboard, and deems you a Natural!

Master Gabriel: I must compliment your question about the existence of frost dragons. Father Christmas and I are both honoured that you would entrust such a question—regarding the Very Existence of a Great Something you’ve never seen—to us, when we know your friends and neighbors have questioned our own Very Existence! I fear, however, that I cannot give you certainty. There is one among My People, a most adventuresome elf called Articus Chippenhammer, who left the Nail Corps when so many toys shifted from wood to plastic. His great-grandfather was a paleomythologist of some reknown, and Chippenhammer has since put his hammer to work exploring the Polar Wastes for signs of such Legends as Abominable Snowcreatures, Sasquatches, Frost Dragons, and the like. It is slow work, chipping away at millenia of rock and ice looking for Mere Fragments of white bone, hair or scales, and after decades of digging he’s found Nothing Conclusive yet.

And finally, B. You are strong, smart and responsible, and have done a remarkable job in your First Year helping your Family bring Christmas to fruition. Well done! A generous heart and a willingness to serve others will serve you well in life, Eldest Brother. Remember the Bishop of Myra, St. Nicholas, and Christ Himself, as your examples, and you will Have Love and Be Loved.

Happy Christmas to you and your family, and Safe Travels to your Busia and Dziadzi. God Bless You and your Family. I wish you All the Best in the New Year—and Always!

Yours truly,

Siberius Quill

First Day of School

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

The kids rolled out of bed around ten to six this morning. It wasn’t yet light, or else my eyes were still closed and I only thought they were open.

It’s good they were excited for school. Trevor starts preschool a couple days a week in another week or so. Campus is covered with students, too — and like clockwork, a cold front blows in, rustling the ivy outside my office window.

Good thing I love fall!

Summer Vacation, Day 89: Butterflies

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

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 87: Sicko!

/ J. Thorp / 5 Comments

I’m sticking my neck out a bit in hopes that Jodi and I aren’t alone in what happened to us today. Actually, today was all my fault. Allow me to explain …

We took the older boys to tai chi class, then all of us (the entire family, including Betsy), went to Como Zoo in St. Paul. It was hot, but we were drinking lots of water, and there was a nice breeze blowing. No worries, right?

Now, our kids are generally gung-ho for a visit to a park, a zoo, a mall, you name it – at least until we get there. The enthusiasm generally wanes after a little while of walking, and they start to complain they are tired, hungry, bored, etc.

So as we’re going through the butterfly garden (slow going in “bumper-to-bumper” pedestrian traffic), Gabe keeps crouching down in the path, sitting down, flopping around in front of people. And I’m getting after him about it, because I figure he’s getting lazy and grumpy and now is not the time.

Finally he basically sits on by foot, and I give him a light kick in the butt and say, “Gabe! Keep moving!”

Jodi puts her arm around him and asks if he’s feeling alright.

“He’s fine,” I growl.

We’re headed back to the car, but Jodi, Emma and Trevor need the rest room. Bren, Gabe and I decide to walk the little rainforest loop near the entrance. Halfway through, Gabe says, “Dad, I need to get out of here.” I look, and he’s pale as a milk jug – even his lips are white. We rush him out, sit him down, and give him sips of water. Jodi asks if he’s gonna be sick. He thinks a moment, then looks at me and says, “I need to get to the bathroom …”

We made it about halfway. I was trying to steer his through the crowd and keep my cupped hands in front of him. When he erupted, those big ol’ hands successfully made the mess twice as bad by keeping it close to us. Gabe’s shirt, shorts and shoes; my hands, forearms, and shoes. Once bystanders realized what was happening, the sea of people parted, and we made it to the bathroom … just in time to clean up.

There is no worse feeling in the world than to blame your child for something they didn’t do, except maybe to not recognize there’s something genuinely wrong until it’s too late. Combine the two, and it’s miserable. I apologized to Gabe. He thinks puking on me was pretty good revenge.

Summer Vacation, Day 83: Trevor’s Name

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

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 …