Fancy Terms, Field Trip, Funny Toasts

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Or, you don't have to know much more than other people to be able to fool them.

In my last post I wanted to concoct a literary-sounding term so after a bit of thought I came up with "inconsistent thematic juxtapositions" which I "knew" was so over the top that everyone would know I had made it up.

Wrong.

People took me seriously, and asked if that's something I keep in mind when I'm writing. Even Paul said he figured it was actually something valid. When writers get together they throw around lots of terms he's not familiar with, he said, and he figured this was one of them.

That's kind of scary. Don't take me too seriously, people.

* * * *

The perennial question that writers get asked is "Where do you get your ideas?" For me the answer is, "From desperate scratching and snatching when I'm up against a deadline." Last month I was nearing the end of the month and that Dreadful Deadline, but I knew I was going to be driving a vanload of kids on a field trip and figured if I took notes it would be plenty of fodder for an article.

Well.

We drove down to the airplane museum beside the Eugene airport, with the little girls in the back seat being wild and the juniors and seniors toward the front.

Overheard:
"Is Roy kind of in a slump?"
(pause. Something about graduation invitations)
"Your mom did your invitations??"
"Yeah."
"I had to do all mine!"
"I'm sure it was a growing experience."
Little girls: Can we sing?
Big kids: NO!
"MOM! Kaitlyn needs a kleenex!"
"What are the girls talking about?"
"They're trying to understand how we can be mad at each other and then 15 minutes later not be mad any more."

Then we got to the museum where two elderly men welcomed us. We split into two groups, Paul in charge of one and me with the other, and set off on the tour.

I soon saw this was not going to make a workable column. Our tour guide meant well and obviously knew more about planes than he could share in a whole week, having flown planes and repaired engines in WWII, but he didn't have the slightest idea how to communicate effectively with a pack of squirrelly ten-year-olds whose group cohesion unravelled further and further as the endless minutes ticked on.

He soon saw that I was the only polite listener, and he just loved me for that, judging by his beaming smiles in my direction when I acted impressed. He also apparently thought I was a nun, because he kept calling me Sister, which progressed into Dear Sister and then Oh Dear Sister.

I took notes anyway.

"May I introduce to you the B29, the airplane that dropped the atomic bomb?"
"The Zeke and the Zero are the same plane."
"Sister, you're not gonna believe this."
"This is a Pratten Whitney R4360 engine! Believe it or not, 2500 horsepower and 133 spark plugs! This kind was used in the Spruce Goose."
"Believe it or not I have over 400 hours in this aircraft!"
"The structure of this is the same as the Beechcraft Bonanza."
"Down there, that's the last B17 they built."
"This is a Rolls Royce Merlin engine."

After the other group was finished with their tour and patiently waiting, Paul came to look for us and I hissed in his ear that we needed rescuing. So he cleared his throat and said firmly that we need to leave in five minutes, but it was more like 10 or 15 til we were finally done, and then the tour guide wondered if anyone wants to pose for pictures with him, and the little girls did, and that made him very happy.

So it was interesting, but not exactly material for a local newspaper column. So I pulled out my notes from a recent talk to moms and reworked it, and judging from all the feedback it struck a nerve, so I guess the field trip column really wasn't meant to be.

Quote of the Day:
To Jenny for doing well on all her tests.
Clunk.
To Ben for graduating so well.
Clunk.
To Mom for putting up with our shenanigans.
Clunk.
To Emily even though she can't be here.
Clunk.
To Hansie for getting hair all over my pants.
Clunk.
To the black elephant for holding the clock up.
Clunk.
To this bottle for not breaking when I bump it against yours.
Clunk.
This one too.
Clunk.
To Jenny's white shirt which is now very dirty.
Clunk.
To Twizzlers.
Clunk.
To this bottle cap for bending in half.
Clunk.
To this one for staying whole.
Clunk.
To that dried up pancake. May Hansie enjoy it.
Clunk.
To the bad weather.
Clunk.
Not to Mom who's copying down everything we say.
Clunk.
To our hatred for being copied against our consent.
Clunk.
To that rooster plate for staying unbroken so long.
Clunk.
To whoever can finish ours the fastest.
gulp gulp swig
--Jenny and Ben, who came home with a bottle each of Henry Weinhard's gourmet soda to celebrate the last day of school