Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Good Weirdness on a Sunday afternoon...The Rock Star...

I was sitting watching T.V. when Izzy came in and made a face at me.
Isobel: "What the heck is that smell?"
Daddy: "What?"
Isobel: "Oh god, seriously what is that smell? Did you fart or was that the cats?"
Daddy: "Umm...I'm not sure at this point. Could've been either one of us."
Isobel: "Oh my god! (cough, cough, hack gag)
Daddy: "I'm pretty sure that one was me."
Isobel: "Oh god Daddy. I'm getting the Febreeze."
Daddy: "What for?"
Isobel: "Because there is something dark and rotten around your bottom and I think the cats are beginning to smell like you."

Sundays are pretty ritualistic around here. No we don't preform rituals on Sundays (at least not until my back is better) rather they are virtually the same every week. We all generally sleep in, get up and eat ...something resembling breakfast. Occasionally we have The Big Sunday Breakfast but only if Mrs. narrator is feeling motivated to cook said feast and if she isn't, so what? She earns her rest as much as the rest of us and Sundays around here are about as laid back as you can imagine. Even more so after Mrs. Narrator leaves for her Sunday roller derby ritual.
After she leaves, we all assume our respective Sunday positions. The Boy on his couch, ipod in hand. Me on my couch, remote in hand and libation at the ready. And Izzy is usually off doing her absolute best to ensure her rule over her minions is absolute.
Now as I have mentioned, lately Isobel's life has gone from the world of make believe to the real McCoy. Flesh and blood friends and everything and she has been spending a good deal of time at her friends house. I was reminded indeed that it was our turn to be the friend host. And it was. I don't mind when Izzy has friends over, really I don't. But as I said, Sunday has a ritual feel to it, a routine if you will.

Anyway, so it was our turn and around 1:30 Candace showed up for a play date. I love this kid. Peter Boyle in make up...you remember her. Off they thundered, upstairs to play dress up. Now I should mention at this point, that during the course of my Sunday routine, I will often doze off while watching television. Nothing wrong with that, that's what Sundays are for right?
Have you ever dozed off and woken up because you felt you were being watched? It's odd to wake up hand have Peter Boyle as a little girl staring back at you.
"Hi Candace," I said a little confused.
She stood there for what seemed like too long before she actually spoke. "Hi." she said and then remained silent and still.
"Candace, come back upstairs." Isobel shouted from her room...none too soon.
There was thumping and giggling and more thumping and
then there was quiet. I am assuming it was quiet because I dozed off again.
I opened one eye and noticed that Candace was standing in front of me again. Staring at me again.
"I am supposed to wash my hands every time I go to the bathroom." she said.
"That's really important to do." I said. What could I say?
I need to say that despite what you are thinking, Candace is not a creepy kid. I think I was the creepy kid...nobody would tell me if I was or not so I just assumed I was. Candace is not creepy. The reason for the silent wonderment was about to become clear.
I overheard Izzy and Candace murmuring and suddenly Izzy shouted down at me.
"Daddy, Candace doesn't know what to call you."
"How about Lloyd? I've always liked that name." I said.
"Daddy!" Izzy whined. "Seriously she wants to know what to call you."

"Why doesn't she just call me Sid?" I asked.
"She didn't know your name. I told her to call you Daddy."


"But I'm not her Daddy." I said. "Sid would be fine."
About an hour later I had dozed off again ( these are not long sessions of unconsciousness mind, just little cat naps here and there) and awoke to find Candace and Isobel staring at me. Isobel was wearing her black angel wings and halo and Candace was wearing a black party dress of Isobel's and carrying a pitch fork. They were both glaring at me and menacing me with devilish sneers. Both actually looked as though they might be constipated but nevertheless devilish!
And for a kid who hasn't said more than a handful of words to me in the entire time she has known Isobel, Candace was about to utter the moist poignant thing I had heard all day.
"Hello Sid." she menaced at me.
"Stop, stop," Interjected Isobel. "That is not how we say things as Dark Angels!"
Candace let out a heavy sigh. "Well, you would know." she sighed.


I have recently begun playing music again. Non-bagpipe music that is. This has come as a gigantic delight to Isobel. Not only does she get to sing whenever she wants, now she has an accompanist whenever the mood strikes her.
I have taken to playing as often as I am inspired to do so and she always wanders down to see what I am up to.
"Daddy?" she yelled down the basement stairs "Daddy, are you down here?"
"Yep Pick I'm down here."
"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Playing my guitar." I said.
"Wait!" she hollered. "I'm coming down there with you."
I guess she figured I would stop before she had a chance to compose and so the drive was on to get to me.
Thump, thump, thump across the kitchen floor, followed by thump, thump, thump down the basement stairs and in record time she was sitting beside me.

"So, you're playing your guitar, huh?"
"Yup." I said.
"Can we work on my song?" she asked.
"Sure," I said and started strumming. "Whenever you're ready."
"Baby it don't matter what kinda clothes you wear. It don't matter how you have your hair." (I am paraphrasing. There were distinct lines about clothes and hair and there was some sort of rhyme including them both. Truth be told she was reciting boy band lyrics to one of my tunes)

"I am really getting good at this." she said.
"You sure are." I replied.
"Can we play it again ?" she asked. "Only this time make it more rock and roll."
"Sure thing Pick."
Anybody looking for an opening act this summer?

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