The Song of Sixpence
Wendy and I were going to pick up her parents from the airport, when I discovered that she didn't know what "bagging" meant. When I was in jr. high, bagging was ridiculing someone, as in "Stop bagging on me." She probably never heard of the game "butts up," either. That is a game that's played by bouncing a ball against a garage door. The idea is to catch it when it comes back and throw it again. If you bobble or drop it, though, you have to run and tag the garage door before someone can pick up the ball and hit the garage door with the ball before you get there. If the ball hits before you do, you go 'butts up,' which means you have to stand with both hands on the garage door and the other players each get a chance to bean you in the ass with the tennis ball from about twenty paces. Local variant rules make the game even more complex.
I talked to my mom today on the phone. Yesterday I called, and I had woken her up. Since her stroke, she's really foggy right when she wakes up. I asked her on the phone yesterday how she was doing and she said, "Well, we're getting ready to come up to where you are, but we might just stay here, too."
"Come up by me?"
"Yeah. Where is that place you are?"
"Bainbridge Island," I said.
"What? Angry Island? You better talk to Lynnea," she said, meaning one of my other sisters, Pam. It's frightening when she talks that way--it feels like she is having another stroke. Today, though, she was clear as a bell and rather pleased with herself that she was able to remember a nursery rhyme ("Sing a Song of Sixpence") that my sister-in-law was trying to remember and had called her for help. She sang the rhyme to me, even the second part which I didn't even know. It was so beautiful to hear her sing to me that way. I wanted to keep it forever.
I talked to my mom today on the phone. Yesterday I called, and I had woken her up. Since her stroke, she's really foggy right when she wakes up. I asked her on the phone yesterday how she was doing and she said, "Well, we're getting ready to come up to where you are, but we might just stay here, too."
"Come up by me?"
"Yeah. Where is that place you are?"
"Bainbridge Island," I said.
"What? Angry Island? You better talk to Lynnea," she said, meaning one of my other sisters, Pam. It's frightening when she talks that way--it feels like she is having another stroke. Today, though, she was clear as a bell and rather pleased with herself that she was able to remember a nursery rhyme ("Sing a Song of Sixpence") that my sister-in-law was trying to remember and had called her for help. She sang the rhyme to me, even the second part which I didn't even know. It was so beautiful to hear her sing to me that way. I wanted to keep it forever.
Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in his counting house counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey
The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!
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