Wednesday, May 29, 2013

May Update


NNAOPP Update
May 2013

A few weeks ago I encountered a lady I hold in high regard.  A month earlier she asked me to participate in an event.  It was a request I was reluctant to grant for reasons of no interest to anyone, so I stalled and mumbled rather than give a definitive answer.  She greeted me warmly then said, "You were crawfishing on me about that program weren't you?"  Up to that moment I had not heard crawfishing used as a verb, and I complimented her on her wordsmithing.  Then we proceeded to tell each other our favorite crawfishing stories.  Here's mine:

In our younger days we regularly participated in our annual company canoe trip held on the North Fork of the White River south of Ava, MO, aka county seat of Booger County, just north of the Arkansas line.   It was a family event, and we would always include our little ones.   One year when Ben was about 7 and Lucy was 12, we were floating down the river and stopped at a gravel bar to wait for our group to re-form.  Ben was playing on the riverbank and trying to pick up crawdads.  He would get one, then it would wriggle out of his hands.  Lucy would have nothing to do with the little critters.  To allay her concerns I picked one up at its waist and held it up for the kids to investigate.  They looked on with curiosity.

The crawdad's pincers were frantically trying to find a target, and Lucy sagely commented, "That would really hurt if it pinched you."

Then in one of the top ten dumbest things I'd done up to that point in time, I assured her there was nothing to worry about.  I told her, "Don't worry, their little pincers are lined with velvet pads, just like the inside of a jewelry box."  I held my index finger close to demonstrate their limited range of attack.  Whereupon the creature clamped down on the proffered digit, and it was assuredly not a velvet padded pinch.  I yelped in an unmanly fashion and flicked my assailant as far as I could throw it.

Other than Ben's recurring nightmares about killer crabs, the incident was a small price to pay in exchange for a lasting family memory.  "Yes, Dad was indeed a moron."

Last week we helped Lucy get all the kids bathed and ready for bed after 4-year old granddaughter Waverly's first tee-ball practice.  Waverly was in her pj's, and I told her I would read her one book before bedtime.  Predictably, she selected a compendium just slightly shorter than Dr. Zhivago.    She snuggled beside me and halted me before I began.  Then she launched into the following soliloquy:  "Papa, I've got bad news to share with you.  Did you know that my great, great, great, great, great, great, (the little tyke is a gifted staller), great, great, great, great, great grandmother is dead?  She was even older than you."  Ouch!

I shared this little vignette with Lucy, and she lent some context.  Apparently Lucy had recently introduced Waverly to the concept of ancestors, including those who might have traveled west in covered wagons.

Last night I ran into a friend who is an independent movie producer.  He asked me how the book sales were going, and I told him they had slowed to a trickle.  He comforted me by noting, "The book racket is a bitch. Movies are a hard sell, but nothing compared to books."  I told him I was considering re-releasing the book with a new title eliminating the reference to Nude Nuns, about which I've received a bit of negative feedback.  He said, "No, that's a waste of time.  What you really need to do is change your name.  It's your extreme nobodyism that's killing you.  I believe John Updike is available.  He's dead and can't sue."

I'm thinking something a little more exotic might work.  That's the news from here.
Boris Pasternak

p.s.  In spite of my friend's advice, I am still contemplating re-releasing the book with a new title sans the reference to nude nuns.  I'd welcome any ideas you might have.  If I subsequently use your suggestion, it's good for your choice of a free lunch, a round of golf, or a pledge from me to leave you alone for a year