The Martin Family

Toe-Tapping finger-painted Angels

switzerland

December 25, 2011

Dear Reader

    Best wishes for health, wealth and joy in 2012 and during the 2011 holiday season. Here in Zürich, the snow finally arrived. (Missing the Christmas point it melted quickly.)

    Because of the coming holiday, Nazy decided to go to go shopping...

Reader interrupt: Do you honestly expect us to believe that Nazy needed an excuse to go shopping?

        ... at the local outlet. Just before we left I stubbed my smallest toe on the largest coffee table leg.  My toe hurt, but I am the epitome of courage and bravery:

    “I laugh at pain,” I told Nazy as I limped around looking for my shoes. “Arggh! Ouch!, Drat!,” I thought. After examining my swollen right toe, I choose my roomiest footwear - well aware that what I really needed was clown feet.

    “I laugh at pain,” I told Nazy as I limped around looking for my shoes. “Arggh! Ouch!, Drat!,” I thought. After examining my swollen right toe, I choose my roomiest footwear - well aware that what I really needed was clown feet.

    By the time we got to the mall, I was in real pain. I explained my situation to Nazy, expecting sympathy and strong medication.

    “So? That’s simply a typical shopping excursion. Right Dan?”

    I grimaced before hobbling to the coke (zero) machine. Nazy came back to get me after a successful shopping expedition. I had tied my shoes together and hung them around my neck. My right little toe was now larger than my left foot. There were tears sliding down my cheek. Nazy, ever alert, saw my discomfort.

    “The clerk at the Aigner outlet told me that there is a spectacular sale at the Bally outlet. Let’s go try on some shoes!”

    Nazy reconsidered: a large watermelon appeared to be attached to my right foot and my “accelerator pedal appendage” wouldn’t fit under the dashboard. Nazy agreed to drive home. Because neither of us heard the ominous background music accompanying the decision, we weren’t aware of the implications of  our blunder.

    We got home with little problem. Poised at the steering wheel, Nazy appropriately selected reverse to install the car in the garage. Helpful, I guided her into position:

    “Perfectly centered!” I said in a celebratory mood after a somewhat lengthy delay. “Now just back in straight.” I turned my back and began looking for the house key. Hearing a crash, I turned and saw that the car was diagonal and the driver-side mirror was shattered.

    “That wasn’t straight my dear,” I calmly noted.

    “You didn’t tell me if my tires were straight.”

    “Let’s line up straight and then come straight back. Straight. I think that it would be a good idea to keep the car perpendicular to the garage door. Good! It is lined up perfectly. Now just back in straight. Do not turn the steering wheel.”

    While Nazy was not turning the steering wheel, I turned my back to unlock the garage door. Hearing a crash, I reversed again. I saw the left taillight impaled on the garage sink.

    “Oh gosh.” I said. “Was there any particular reason that you decided to, ah, ignore the park distance sensor?”

    “You didn’t tell me when to stop.”

    “I’m not a park distance sensor, my dearest little pumpkin.”

    “That sensor always beeps when the car is in the garage. It’s the little boy crying wolf.”

    “If I am not mistaken, my cutest turnip, that sink has always been there. That’s why the sensor not only beeps, it screams.”

    “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

    “But, my fluttery butterfly, I was not watching you. I was unlocking the door to the house.”

    “I will never drive this car again.”

Reader Interrupt: Have you ever had problems placing the car in the garage?

Answer: I fail to see the point of that question.

    Enough about cars! Let’s switch to the holiday.

    Mitra was the first to arrive - on a (bankrupt) American Airlines itinerary that featured a 13 hour layover in New York. The routing was extremely attractive based on a cost/mile flown. Moreover, the schedule gave Mitra the opportunity to zip into NYC and visit some friends.

    As noted earlier, I arranged a pretty snowfall to coincide with Mitra’s arrival. After she took a short nap, we walked through the city to see the lights and the shops. It was an unusual excursion. Mitra stopped in shops - interesting shops - that I hadn’t noticed in the 11 years we’ve lived in Zurich. Back at the house, she started a construction project.

    “Why are you taping a black towel to the TV?” I asked.

    “You said that you couldn’t turn off the blue glow when you’re using the TV to play music..”

    “Right. So?”

   

    That glow is distracting. It changes the feeling of the room. It makes me tense and stressed. Don’t you feel it?”

    “No.” I replied. “At least not until now,” I thought.

    “I think we should block the blue.”

    “If you block the vents on the top of the TV, it will overheat and break.”

    “Do you have something else to play music?”

    Note: Readers are asked to sent their thoughts about background blue.

‘

   In 2010 (and 2009) Nazy wanted to make a family excursion to the Hergiswil glass factory so that:

    “We will all make angels,” she explained. I had visions of us blowing glass while standing in an astonishingly hot furnace. Melika and Darius demurred. This year, Nazy proposed the trip to Mitra  and she was excited. We discovered that the angels were all pre-blown: our task was simply decoration. To assist, the factory provided a selection of appropriate materials. Surrounded by pre-schoolers, we sat at our work table.

    “They never let me do this in kindergarden,” I exalted as I grabbed a bottle of green finger paint. Collectively, we poured our artistic talent into the project. Each approached our work in a manner that was personality reflective:

    To be different, I chose to decorate a Christmas Tree. I quickly dabbed finger paint, sprinkled some glitter and arranged a few red reindeer. Naturally, I finished first. Nazy created an elegant white and pearl angel. As expected, not one piece of glitter was out of place. “How does she do that?” I thought as I tried to wipe the (not quite dry) finger paint off of one my reindeer - and out of my beard. Mitra spend the first hour surveying, cataloging, selecting and preparing her materials. When a six year old dropped a piece of crinkly red paper, Mitra pounced. She folded, she cut, she chopped, she considered, she reviewed, she

    “... that is clear example of what happens when you send a child to Montessori School,” I thought.

    More about our holiday in the next edition of The Weekly Letter.

    Cheers,

Dan’s Tree, Nazy’s Angel and some glue

Mitra’s Angel