ClapClapClap.
Hello.
I am not usually awake at 4:02 a.m. but I was this Monday when something quite remarkable happened. I need to set the scene because, well, it was “quite remarkable.” I was seated in a nice old leather chair in my living room, working, as always, for you, on a laptop. I was busy being intellectually brilliant, as usual. Twelve feet away from me, on a couch, was Lexi, the three-year-old hound dog, asleep, as she always is at four o’clock. She has a nice, comfy life — which I do not, but that is a story for another day.
Suddenly the world ended. The room lit up, entirely, with a light as bright as the surface of the planet Mercury, the half that is exposed to the sun. This roused even Lexi. Her one brain cell sensed something was … awry.
She opened one eye. What the eff was that? she inquired, in that silent, endearing dog way. She has no speech, but communicates well.
Then all hell broke loose, to abuse a cliche. The thunderclap hit. It was about four seconds late. It was as loud as a Nagasaki-like nuclear explosion. I would have come up with a better and less offensive simile, but I was a bit startled and rendered momentarily syllabically incompetent. The crack of the sound actually hurt, hitting the eardrums.
I crossed the room to comfort Lexi — I was being an adult, comforting a child, as we must do because it is our responsibility as the mature individuals whose jobs are to make the world seem safer than it actually is so our vulnerable progeny — in this case a dog — don’t grow up in abject terror. My kids are in their 40s and well aware of how horrifying life is — but I assured Lexi this was a minor atmospheric event, nothing that threatened her life or her food supply, and she closed her one open eye and went calmly back to sleep on the couch.
I did not. I was still vibrating.
The world is scary, despite the soppy crap we tell our kids.
—
Today’s Gene Pool Gene Poll:
This is Gene. We are entering the real-time portion of the Gene Pool where I answere real-time questions in real time, except I am not going to today because I am real-time feeling like crap. Still, here are some real time questions and answers, after which I will be back on Thursday.
Q: You asked about our oldest possessions. The oldest thing in my house is my engagement ring. It was purchased in 1917 by my great grandfather and presented to my great grandmother. He even had it engraved with their initials and the date he proposed which made resizing it to fit me tricky. I was adamant that they be sure not to ruin the engraving. The second oldest thing is my Nana's baby grand piano. It is a 1934 Cable Nelson and I have lovingly maintained her and continue to play her regularly. That last bit is something I hope I my husband still says about me when I'm 90.
A: This brought a tear to my eye, just FYI. I had a wedding ring from the mid-1800s. It, alas, disappeared, during a divorce. I once researched it — it was pretty elaborately engraved — and it turns out it had been owned by a Civil War veteran. Dated 1865. There is a magic to ancient things.
Q: I love the old clocks, they are so gorgeous! I had a fake/new Regulator clock only because the old ones I'd find out in the Virginia antique stores were so expensive. It worked wonderfully, traveled with me all over, and I donated it finally to the next lucky person when my partner couldn't stand the clicking, ticking sounds. The older ones just sound so much more decisive, strong, and sure, you are tempting me to go looking for an original. I don't, however, have such a very cool story next to which I could hang it! PS - Go Libby! Lynne Larkin
A: Libby Sheeran is one of my favorite people, even though I never met her.
Q: The oldest thing in my house is my grandfather's watch, a Hamilton, which he got for selling the first Buicks in the midwest for 25 years. It is very cool, and if it ever doesn't work, I'm calling you. There were no dealerships. Salesmen had to travel to sell cars in the 1920s, driving from town to town showing off their own car and taking orders. My dad used to go along so he could eat at the diners - homemade pie being his favorite. My dad ended up working at a Studebaker shop in Racine, WI, for a year, as an aside. Old things!
A: Indeed. I am an old thing. Back on Thursday.
Feel better, Dude. :)
The oldest things in my home are two stone hammers and a stone sphere with two carved depressions, thought to be a mortar. They were unearthed by my grandparents in the '30s on their farm in Langley Prairie, B.C. The mortar bears the marks of the plough. A museum anthropologist said they are about 2000 years old and the hammers were used to drive wedges along cedar trunks to make planks for West Coast Salish longhouses.