Buy books.
If you think toys, painted or natural wood and fiber, take you to different worlds, consider how books do the same. Consider the safety of books; almost unequalled. The only safer place is at a Republican Party “One World” Planning Meeting where you will be alone and unthreatened by lethal objects and innelecks.
One of many terrific benefits of books is that because they are so un-physical, they provide a natural pathway, segway if you like, to physical activity. After a few hours with a good book, the body craves action: perhaps a walk, throwing a football with a friend, raking the yard. . . . . darn near anything which is the opposite of repose. Reading a book is not lke a board game of faux-physicality: pushing checkers overe squares and mistaking the effects of nominal movement and maximum concentration for physical activity. Without hot mustard sauce, would sweet and sour sauce be so enjoyaber? Without reading, would jogging in the park be so rewarding? I think not.
Don’t imagine that toys take you to another world. Pushing a car along the living room floor, having a tea party with favorite dollies, even pushing levers with a video game transport a person only to what he or she knows or imagines of another world. A book almost always expands the knowledge of the lucky person reading it. Readers are seldom “done” with their worlds when the put down a book after a few chapters, or even after completing it. Most books inspire readers to return to the world left on the coffee table or to find new worlds between covers and engage them soon in a new story or non-fiction tableau. Toys engage the players with a finite world which is complete when it’s time for dinner or to go to bed, or to walk the dog. One returns to a toy often not to engage a saga, but to engage a moment; not for a “meal,” but for a snack.
So for the future of your children’s future, for the sake of your own.future, don’t risk your life and the lives of those you love by purchasing toys for Christmas. Buy books.
As long as I’m here, a transiting lament. When I answer the phone, I always say “Hello,” count two seconds, and if there is no response, I say “Hello” again. If no response comes, I hang up. This is how I avoid the bill collectors. Most of these people (at least they’re employed) have phones that light up when a connection to a dodger’s phone is complete, but it’s often a few seconds from the time the answerer picks up the phone and the haranguer picks it up to talk with the delinquent person. On the rare times when they DO respond while I have the phone close to my ear, they invariably say,”Hyess, may I spik to Job (as in rob) Gongerpliz? And I respond by saying “There is no Job (as in rob) Gonger heregoodbye.”
The phone rang today, and I believe I was too fast wtih the curt cut-off. The other person, a woman, waited until my second “Hello” before speaking (as though she had been distracted during my first greeting (Maybe pouring some milk into her second cup of coffee, starting a load of laundry, talking to a friend in the living room; who knows?) and rushed to say, “Hello, is this Job (as in rob)?” She sounded midwestern and friendly in demeanor, but I’m something of a sourpuss this morning, though I have no reason to be. Like the idiot I am too often these days, I reacted prematurely, said “There is no Job (as in rob) here.” and hung up. By the time I realized her intentions were probably GOOD, it was too late, and I didn’t want to try to call her back because I was too busy wallowing in the gravy of my stupidity.
That said, I still intend to terminate with extreme prejudice, any call that engages a machine to tell me to hold for an important message.
My GUESS is that she probably read my FOLK Salad advert and wanted to engage me musically. A strong feeling of this likelihood swept over me the second I returned my receiver to its cradle, and with that sweep came profound regret. I MUST get used to the fact that good people will mis-prounce my first name (and invariably last as well with a soft “g.”). I should be okay with that. When I misprounce a student’s name when I substitute teach at school, he or she usually grimaces and laughs, but students don’t spit into my ear over it as I did figuratively to the innocent caller today. I am totally bummed that I did that, and have hereby resolved not to rush ANY future phone conversation. Anyone calling me deserves the dignity of my respect and patience. After all, who should be more patient than a fellow named Job (as in probe)?
If you come across a woman with a story to tell about a rude folksinger, please tell her you know me, and that I want to personally apologize for my barn yard demeanor if she will call me back.
Live long . . . . . . and proper (rhymes with pauper).
