Onions Have Layers
I'm turning into an ogre. I can tell. One of these days I'm going to wake up to find myself green and giant and slimy, with a wicked craving for warm bread baked from ground human children's bones.
This morning I woke up to shouting. The two boys and a girl (all around ten years old, each in very recognizable snow gear) that normally play on the pile of snow plowed up from the parking lot of the church across the street -- the pile is literally as big as a house this year -- had migrated to my yard for some reason, and were playing on the long hedge of snow between the street and the yard, which is plowed four feet high. I peeked through the blinds and saw them, wondered how to get them to shut up or leave, wondered why they're not in school.
Groggy and irritated, I wandered away from the window only to turn back again in frustration as a new wave of shouting began, and just as I reached it, I heard a clink right outside. I pried the blinds open a few inches again and was startled to find a face staring back at me not two feet away. I suppose he was going for the bank of four-foot icicles dripping down from the gutter over the window. He was as surprised as I was when I roared, "Beat it!" He took off scrambling through the snow, and the other two -- snowballs still in each hand -- beat a hasty retreat behind him, past the snow hedge, across the street, over the pile of snow in the church lot, and up the sidewalk behind it.
Oh. My. Gosh. I'm the crazy cat lady. I'm the wicked witch of Morse Lee. I'm sure they'll come back sometime when they see my car gone and demolish the icicles, which I love watching glitter through the blinds at night in the light from the church door, and there will be nothing I can do about it but miss their shadows on the window. And I think it's time I repair away somewhere, maybe an adobe hut way away in the middle of the desert where nobody can affect me, where no one's thoughtless children can wake me at any time of the day or night.
Otherwise, I might eat someone.
UPDATE: Earlier, as I was shoveling the 4 to 6 inches of new snow -- which had drifted up to 24 inches in certain parts of my driveway and sidewalk during the night -- I noticed two of the little twerps standing at the edge of the parking lot of the church directly across the street, watching me. I stood up and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You woke me up, and then you scared me." "Oh," was all they replied, the gray boy and the pink girl, not "gosh, we're sorry." They walked away towards the snow pile, where the yellow boy joined them. I heard the pink girl, Emily, say to Yellow Boy, "We woke her up, and then you scared her." "Oh," said Yellow Boy. They proceeded to play on the pile until they got bored, hungry, or cold, and must have left after I went inside.
I went to Morgan's to tend the dogs (M was in Salt Lake and Kelly and Charlie went pheasant hunting in Kansas) and had a ball figuring out how to run the snow blower, then shoveling what I couldn't get with the machine. I went to the golf course to cross country ski for over an hour, then came home. Just now I got out of the tub and heard voices in the yard. Curious and a little suspicious, I peeked through the blinds into the darkness, and there they were, Emily, Gray Boy and Yellow Boy, each with a lantern or flashlight trained on the ground. Emily and Gray Boy were standing, watching Yellow Boy on his knees, feeling around in the snow, apparently looking for something. I couldn't stand it; I raised the blinds with a yank and slammed the weighted window open just to see them run. I did not cackle.
I feel a little guilty now and do hope they get brave enough to come back for whatever they lost, but it was totally worth it.
This morning I woke up to shouting. The two boys and a girl (all around ten years old, each in very recognizable snow gear) that normally play on the pile of snow plowed up from the parking lot of the church across the street -- the pile is literally as big as a house this year -- had migrated to my yard for some reason, and were playing on the long hedge of snow between the street and the yard, which is plowed four feet high. I peeked through the blinds and saw them, wondered how to get them to shut up or leave, wondered why they're not in school.
Groggy and irritated, I wandered away from the window only to turn back again in frustration as a new wave of shouting began, and just as I reached it, I heard a clink right outside. I pried the blinds open a few inches again and was startled to find a face staring back at me not two feet away. I suppose he was going for the bank of four-foot icicles dripping down from the gutter over the window. He was as surprised as I was when I roared, "Beat it!" He took off scrambling through the snow, and the other two -- snowballs still in each hand -- beat a hasty retreat behind him, past the snow hedge, across the street, over the pile of snow in the church lot, and up the sidewalk behind it.
Oh. My. Gosh. I'm the crazy cat lady. I'm the wicked witch of Morse Lee. I'm sure they'll come back sometime when they see my car gone and demolish the icicles, which I love watching glitter through the blinds at night in the light from the church door, and there will be nothing I can do about it but miss their shadows on the window. And I think it's time I repair away somewhere, maybe an adobe hut way away in the middle of the desert where nobody can affect me, where no one's thoughtless children can wake me at any time of the day or night.
Otherwise, I might eat someone.
UPDATE: Earlier, as I was shoveling the 4 to 6 inches of new snow -- which had drifted up to 24 inches in certain parts of my driveway and sidewalk during the night -- I noticed two of the little twerps standing at the edge of the parking lot of the church directly across the street, watching me. I stood up and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You woke me up, and then you scared me." "Oh," was all they replied, the gray boy and the pink girl, not "gosh, we're sorry." They walked away towards the snow pile, where the yellow boy joined them. I heard the pink girl, Emily, say to Yellow Boy, "We woke her up, and then you scared her." "Oh," said Yellow Boy. They proceeded to play on the pile until they got bored, hungry, or cold, and must have left after I went inside.
I went to Morgan's to tend the dogs (M was in Salt Lake and Kelly and Charlie went pheasant hunting in Kansas) and had a ball figuring out how to run the snow blower, then shoveling what I couldn't get with the machine. I went to the golf course to cross country ski for over an hour, then came home. Just now I got out of the tub and heard voices in the yard. Curious and a little suspicious, I peeked through the blinds into the darkness, and there they were, Emily, Gray Boy and Yellow Boy, each with a lantern or flashlight trained on the ground. Emily and Gray Boy were standing, watching Yellow Boy on his knees, feeling around in the snow, apparently looking for something. I couldn't stand it; I raised the blinds with a yank and slammed the weighted window open just to see them run. I did not cackle.
I feel a little guilty now and do hope they get brave enough to come back for whatever they lost, but it was totally worth it.
posted by A at
10:27 AM
4 Comments:
I think it's OK to scare the little buggers from time-to-time, but best stop short of eating them.
This is good advice. I can't imagine they'd taste very good, either.
Just use lots of garlic...
I recommend the crock pot cooking method using barbecue sauce.
I always wonder where the responsible adults are in these situations. Every kid I've ever taken care of understands that if you're not invited into the yard or haven't been granted permission, you can't go in.
But then, I'm big on teaching appropriate boundaries and common courtesy, and I know some people simply don't care about that sort of thing.
Perhaps these children are being raised by wolves.
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