matching tracksuits

In Praise of Puns

Wednesday 08 January 2020

A journal entry I wrote during journalism class after a day of subjecting my students to an endless stream of cheese puns.

In many ways, puns are the king of humor. They are the intellectual side of jokes, the calculus or Shakespeare of humor for the simple reason that they always require thought. A good pun tickles the brain as the listener runs it through her head one more time to get it (if it’s a really good pun), and even a weak pun gives the listener a little boost in the thought, “I get it.”

Puns also create pleasure in the mind of the punster. It creates that little moment of uncertainty as the joke lingers in the air and the joker is just a little unsure that everyone will get it. And because there are always those who don’t get the pun immediately, there’s a little pregnant pause as understanding spreads: the little giggles (or better yet, the low groans) tell everyone else, “I get it, and it’s either good (the giggles) or great (the groans).”

This pause between the telling and the comprehension and laughter creates a space where the teller and the listener are in together on a little private joke. Puns, then, are sometimes the most intimate of jokes because they create a little humorous bond between the teller and whoever might get it immediately while excluding those who look around bewildered, often saying aloud, “I don’t get it.”

Beyblade

Tuesday 07 January 2020

The Boy has wanted a beyblade for quite some time now. I didn't even know what it was, and even after he explained it to me, I was still a little fuzzy on the details.

It is, in essence, a gyroscope. With pretend blades. That it uses to battle other gyroscopes.

We had a little trouble getting it working, though. Rather, getting "them" working, because he bought a pair so we could battle. I think it's some knock-off version because absolutely nothing in the packaging was in English. That and the price. The whole process resulted in a lot of frustration for E because I wasn't at first helping him figure it out.

At his age, the Boy doesn't have a lot of coping mechanisms when frustration looms. We try to talk him through situations, and we try to get him to take breaks from frustrating situations, ask for help, try to approach the problem from a different perspective, but that's all very cerebral and that frustration, I know, burns with an almost physical presence in the body.

Two Households

Monday 06 January 2020

We began Romeo and Juliet today, our first day back from winter break. All morning, as I saw the Honors English kids, I smiled enthusiastically and said, “Today’s the day. The day!” Their response was generally the same: “Hurray!”

Except for the faux enthusiasm, my thoughts are just that: Hurray! I love getting to introduce kids to the unadulterated bard. No simplifications; no abridged versions — just a couple thousand lines of blank verse.

“Why are we even doing this?” one student asked. “Why Shakespeare? Why is he important?”

The thing I love about teaching these kids is that they ask questions like that no to try to get out of it or to let me know they think it’s not important and can’t be convinced otherwise; they want to know.

“Only one thing has had a greater impact on the English language in terms of introducing new idioms and even new words, and that’s the King James Bible.” Just look at some of the things we say on a regular basis that came from Billy:

all that glitters isn’t gold.
barefaced.
be all and end all.
break the ice.
breathe one’s last.
brevity is the soul of wit.
catch a cold.
clothes make the man.
it’s Greek to me
lackluster
leapfrog
live long day
wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve

And that’s far from an exhaustive list.

I explained this, and then simply summarized: “Because most scholars, writers, and general readers consider him to be the most influential and perhaps best writer of the English language.”

They weren’t convinced, but it did soften their resolve a bit — perhaps it won’t be the worst thing in the world.

Rock Hill Tournament, Day 2

Sunday 05 January 2020

The girls had been putzing around. Sure, they'd won a couple of matches, and they'd lost one to a team that seemed to them, I'm sure, unbeatable. Still, even on the games they'd won, they'd made a bunch of silly mistakes. It just so happened that the other team made more. They played like beginners.

Not today.

This morning, they played their first game of the day, and it was business as usual. A few balls fell in the middle of two or three players because of a lack of communication and initiative. They flubbed a number of serves. They knocked some received serves off at angles that would have left Euclid scratching his head. They played like beginners. Still.

Then came time for their second match, and from the moment the other team began warming up, I began worrying. They were hitting very well, and digging those hits effectively. Their serves were sharp.

"Starting match 2," I texted K. "Gonna be a tough one."

They came out and transformed into a group of girls who knew what they were doing, who could dig hits like never before, hit like never before, block like never before -- in short, play like never before.

"They have never played this well," I texted.

They took the first game 25-21; they lost the second game 21-25. The third game (to 15 only) they were up 11-8 and then slipped up and let the other team tie it. The coach called a time out. Immediately afterward, the opponents scored two more. They only had two more points to score; our girls had to score double that. Coach called another timeout.

L went up to serve. One down. Two down. Three. Four -- they'd won!

I can't remember I've seen nine girls (one girl, unfortunately, went home sick earlier in the day) so very happy.

That win put them in the semifinals, where they faced a team of roughly the same strength as the one they'd just defeated. I thought, "We can do this -- we can make it to the finals." But unfortunately, the girls had just run out of gas by that time. They started making some of their old silly mistakes again. They were just worn out, and L, who's been battling a cold all week, confided in me on the way home, "I felt like I was going to throw up that whole last game."

"And yet you stuck it out, for the team."

"Yeah, I guess." A typical L reply.

So what did they learn this weekend? I think the coach put it best: "You girls learned how to win." That's easier said than done: it takes a lot of confidence to face a team you think will beat you and stare them down, then beat them down. And when things are falling apart, it takes a lot to keep pushing, even when the loss starts to look inevitable.

L, for her weekend of effort, got to sleep the whole way home, got freshly made rosół for dinner, and a 7:15 self-imposed bedtime.

In two weeks, we do it again...

Rock Hill Tournament

Saturday 04 January 2020

The Girl had her first tournament today in Rock Hill. They struggled in the certification tournament (which wasn't really a tournament but a chance for the girls to practice their officiating skills as they are line judges, scorekeepers, libero trackers, and down refs for other teams' games), but they showed they'd learned something in the meantime. They finished second in their age bracket and will pick up tomorrow from there.

The tournament's location was just across from the cemetery where Papa's parents and brothers are buried. The last time we went there, a little over seven years ago, I walked over to the fence and took some photos of the abandoned textile mills across the street. Most of that was torn down for the facility that hosted today's tournament, but a little remained.

https://matchingtracksuits.com/2012/08/03/downtown-rock-hill-part-2

Destruction

Friday 03 January 2020

On May 30 of last year, there was an enormous fire just about a mile from where we live. The home was completely destroyed, and only a few weeks later, its remains were razed.

Here are a couple of articles about the incident:

Just yesterday, there was another fire in the same area. In fact, the locations are less than a quarter of a mile away from each other.

As with the other fire, I was unaware of it until after it occurred. I would have thought we'd hear the sirens and realize how close they were coming, but perhaps not.

Crews: Mauldin home fire tears through attic

All of this, of course, got me thinking, got me remembering. When I was in high school, a home two doors down from us caught on fire when lightning struck an air conditioner and started a fire in the second story. Dad and I were home; Mom was somewhere. She panicked when she was stopped from entering the development and heard that the fire was on our street. The officers holding back traffic told her the address of the fire and she breathed an audible sigh of relief, I'm sure. Perhaps shed a tear of relief as well as tears of sorrow for our neighbors.

The Van

Thursday 02 January 2020

This is the backseat of our van. The backseat that held our children during trips here and there: to school, Nana’s and Papa’s, to Florida, to the beach, to the mountains, to soccer, to dance, to gymnastics, to basketball, to parties, to funerals, to church, to friends’ homes, to parks, to my school, to K’s office, to the airport, and always back home.

I’ll bet there was a time I would have been sentimental about the thought of selling this thing, but not now. Let it haul someone else’s kids somewhere else.

First Day 2020

Wednesday 01 January 2020

The house is, relatively speaking, a mess; everyone's tired; we went to Mass on a Tuesday evening -- it must be the end of the holidays.

2019

Tuesday 31 December 2019

"I for one will be glad to see 2019 behind us." That seems like a common sentiment, and it's one a number of people hold every year: I'm sure millions said a year ago, "I for one will be glad to see 2018 behind us."

I don't see the logic in that thinking. It's not as if a given year has some kind of sentience and will, bestowing wonderful gifts on those it loves and extracting horrific costs from those it doesn't. A year is a year -- a completely arbitrary thing.

Still, 2019 was a tough year for our family in a lot of ways.

It began with the passing of our loved Bida -- the old, ornery rescue cat that chose to stay with us for over a decade. She put up with two kids whose love, when they were little, was more like an assault than affection. She stood up to our silly dog and made Clover realize that among the pets, she was the boss. In the end, it was I, the one who said he hated her, to stayed with her to the end. It was late, and everyone else went to bed.

A couple of days later, a dear friend died from cancer. We were fortunate enough to be able to visit with him just about two or three days before he passed. "You've always been such a fighter," K assured him. "Well, this fight's over," he said, and I could tell that his wife took that hard, though she knew it well enough herself and had probably heard it multiple times. He seemed to realize that his time was very near: he'd been calling old friends for what turned out to be one last conversation, and we were very touched that he specifically wanted us to come by for a visit.

But these two events, tragic though they were, both occurred within the context of an even more personally brutal loss: the year began with Nana in rehab and ends with her out of our daily lives altogether. If someone asked me at the start of the year what I foresaw in 2019, I would have talked about the long process of rehabilitation that awaited Nana, about the stress all that would put on the family, about how it would undoubtedly bring us closer, about my hope for a return to some semblance of normalcy with perhaps Nana in a wheelchair or still largely confined to bed but still with us. I wouldn't have thought we would leave the decade without her.

Yet there were bright moments throughout the year. The renovation of our carport completed, Nana and Papa moved in, and Papa remains here still. It's good to know he's in a safe place, that he's near, that we can take care of him. Nana was here with us only a week: perhaps that assurance that Papa was safe was the last thing holding her back.

The Girl blossomed as a volleyball player. She was a starter on her school team, which went undefeated for the season and won the final championship tournament as well. It's a passion that's lasted several years now, longer than dance or gymnastics ever did.

A mixed year overall.

Slow Day

Monday 30 December 2019

The Boy had to go to the dentist to get some kind of protective covering over his molars. I don't remember ever doing that for the Girl, and I certainly didn't have it done to me. Then again, how would I know? That would have been almost 40 years ago.

K got some zurek going. Such a strangely wonderful soup -- only Eastern Europeans could think of something like that. Let rye flour ferment and then use that as a basis for soup. Genius.

The Boy did a little work on IXL. It's one of my favorite tools as a teacher -- one of the few things the district provides that I think is genuinely useful.

And then K and I made another baklava for tomorrow's New Year's Eve party. I think she and I have pretty much mastered it. The trick is not to follow the recipe: the syrup is only supposed to simmer as long as the pastry part bakes, but I found quite by accident that letting it cook twice as long makes it wonderfully gooey on the bottom. Then again, one has to thin it a bit before pouring it on the pastry. I used a little brandy this time. Again -- like life, don't follow that recipe too closely.

Carols

Sunday 29 December 2019

I haven't been to many purely American Christmas parties where friends and family gather, but I don't recall people continually singing carols during the evening.

That's a Polish thing. Perhaps other cultures do it as well, but it's a Polish thing for sure. Especially among expats.

I sit and smile during such sessions: I don't know the words in their entirety (snatches here and there, perhaps a chorus), but I know the melody and am content just observing.

Post-Christmas Saturday

Saturday 28 December 2019

The Dog and the Game

Friday 27 December 2019

The kids played with the dog a bit this afternoon -- a good thing, because the pup, when neglected, pouts. And a pouting pup does things like dig massive holes in the backyard, run uncontrollably once inside, bark incessantly inside or out.

Afterward, another evening over the board. This time, possibly the most luck I've ever experienced in the silly game. Everything with buildings on it -- I owned. I made my own son cry when he landed on New York Avenue with a hotel and had to pay $1,000. He literally fell into the floor and began sobbing.

"Buddy, calm down. It's just a game. I'm lucky this time." No help. Then I had an idea: "If you can pull yourself together, I'll give you a surprise." I was planning on giving everything I had to him and letting him finish L off, but her turn was right after mine and she landed on Tennessee Avenue (See that? It also had a hotel.) and had to pay $950 one turn after she'd paid me something like $600. She had nothing left: she gave me her little bit of cash and all her remaining property with a pout and said, "You win."

Boxing Day 2019

Thursday 26 December 2019

I’ve never really been a fan of Monopoly. After about the age of ten or eleven, I determine that there was too much chance involved, and I just found it frustrating. I never played it after that.

As an adult, though, I’ve come to recognize that there is a fair amount of chance in life that just sucks money from one’s bank account. Medical emergencies, car repairs, accidents, home issues, and the like — all unplanned, all expenses.

When the Girl got Monopoly for Christmas this year, I knew I’d end up playing it with the kids. I didn’t realize how much fun it could be as an adult who can simply look at it as a game that is a fairly accurate reflection of the frustrations of adulthood and, more importantly, as a game that can provide lessons to kids and time together as a family.

We played twice today. The first time, it was just the kids and I. It only took a moment for me to realize the value for a seven-year-old. He had to read, to count money, and occasionally make change.

L dominated us, and the Boy was hemorrhaging cash to a degree that he declared he was going to quit. We talked him down, but then K returned home and we set about to preparing and eating dinner.

Afterward, the kids wanted to play again, so we sat down as a family and began. I had a little strategy in mind that I wanted to test: quality, not quantity. I bought a bunch of properties quickly, then traded at exorbitant cost to myself three or four properties for the final street to make the orange set:

New York Avenue
Tennessee Avenue
St. James Place

I then set about to building them up to two houses each as quickly as possible. The result: I was getting a couple of hundred bucks every few cycles of the board.

The Boy took a similar route: he ended up with all the railroads and soon was rolling in money.

Poor K was getting hit left and right: bad luck with Community Chest/Chance cards, bad luck with the dice (she must have landed on the luxury tax four or five times), and soon she was down to little cash and few unmortgaged properties.

Then I bought one more house for each of my properties and drawing $550-$600 from every poor player who landed on one of them. K finally landed on one, and it just about wiped her out.

Her reaction: she laughed. Our reaction: we laughed with her.

On our walk this evening, then, we were able to help E see that the most important thing in a game like that is just to have fun. “It’s just a game!”

Christmas 2019

Wednesday 25 December 2019

A few shots from our Christmas walk with friends.

Few pictures from the party with the same friends because we were to busy having a Christmas party: eating, drinking, singing, talking, laughing, repeating.