Strep, with camels and steam

My trip to the clinic was informative, beyond my diagnosis of strep. The clinic nurse, named Nancy, so obviously of a certain age and wisdom, said several times that kids "don't know how to be sick any more". She said most of the stuff going around right now should have kids recuperating at home three to five days. Kids don't know how to lounge around in bed, sip ginger ale, look at picture books, and take lots of naps to get their strength back. They only know a high level of activity and stimulation. Because the child is bopping around demanding entertainment, parents think the child is ready to be back at school before he's really well. And, of course, it's more convenient for the parents to believe this.



Being sick was memorable in its length and dullness in the Sixties. No entertainment was provided. We stayed in our pajamas for the trip to the pediatrician and back home again. If we were well enough to sit up, we wore a bathrobe over our PJs. We stayed in our bed, breathing the warm steam from the humidifier all day and all night. We traced the embroidery on the pillowcase with our fingers and created stories about the flowers. We were happy to drink lots of liquids because a walk down the hall to the bathroom was a major change of scene.



The fourth day home from school Mom might make a blanket roll for us on the sofa so we could look out the window while she Mop & Glowed the kitchen floor. She might even let us watch an episode of "I Love Lucy" or a Bing Crosby movie on the tiny black and white tv. By then we might be well enough to eat a perfectly baked potato with salt and butter to go with the poached egg.



There were places where the bedroom's blue wall paint met the white ceiling paint in less than a straight line. I used to pretend those tiny, lumpy overlaps of blue were actually distant camels walking along a very flat desert in a spread-out caravan. They moved ever so slowly.



© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Primitive societies

I have a bunch of teen guys in the living room eating broiled chicken legs and watching poker on cable tv. I am glad they are hanging out instead of driving around or riding a camel to the nearest village in the Gobi desert.

Went to see "The Story of the Weeping Camel" at the Angelika Theater. The comfortable seats alone were worth the price of admission. The movie, though, the movie was fabulous! I love being transported to other places and lifestyles without special effects. I'm not actually an animal person, so don't let that keep you from enjoying this film. I didn't even notice that there were subtitles, because I was so charmed by the Mongolian family in their yurt. I loved the elderly couple playing cards and relying on each other for support and companionship.

Now I have teen girls with silver shoes and miniscule skirts in the living room with the guys. Our primitive subsistence agrarian society has been transformed into something else indeed!

Ozone Alert

Poor air quality is predicted for the next few days. In fact, we are at level purple in the DFW area; dangerous for all people and poodles. When I go out to get the newspaper at 5:45 a.m., I expect to see a purple haze hovering over the parking lot. Purple haze. All in my brain. Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters! My lyrics are starting to braid. It's quite a double helix.

Today we did fabric mache on top of the papier mache camel. We're trying to get the camel texture with frayed and thread-bare terry towels and offensive double knits from the Bridge Club Ladies' Polyester Amnesty Program. If it turns out weird when we paint the camel, we'll give it a splendid saddle blanket. Fabric mache makes the project stronger, but I have never used it as the final layer before. This is the most inspiring papier mache book I've ever found:

The Simple Screamer: A Guide to the Art of Papier and Cloth Mache, by Dan Reeder.

We've had fun reading these stories about camels:

What's the Matter, Habibi?, by Betsy Lewin.

The Camel Who Took a Walk, by Jack Tworkov.

How the Camel Got His Hump, by Rudyard Kipling.

Then, of course, there's the seven hump Wump in One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, by my hero, Dr. Seuss.

Voodoo-zoodoo! I'm getting an inspiration for an art project with camels brushing their teeth, [and it's about time!], like the kitchen kangaroo project.

Building a better camel

Ah, but it feels good to be in the final camp of the summer. The theme? "Magic Carpet Ride". Not the Steppenwolf song, but the Arabian Nights with poofy pants, magic lamps, and strong-willed floor-coverings. Okay, I admit I would jump on a Harley chopper with Peter Fonda if it wasn't too hot outside, but this is a different fantasy. Imagine a hooded cobra saying, "Charmed, I'm sure," in Alec Guiness' voice during polite introductions. "Swish and slither," according to the girls. "Suck-all-your-blood reptile convention", add the boys.

The preschoolers think the camel armature is a "Campbell", so we may have to name our desert creation, "Soup". Henry, age four, says the camel is not real because, "it is made of materials". Recycled materials, I might add. My favorites are the plastic jugs that held the sourdough pretzels from Office Depot. It is always good to know you are contributing to an artistic masterpiece and an environmental nirvana when you are compulsively chomping on pretzels. Oscars for Best Supporting Junk in a Documentary go to poster mailing tubes, wire coat hangers, egg cartons, plastic Easter eggs, Sara Lee foil pie pans, and sponge packing materials (from Raytheon, our corporate recycling genie). Held together with several rolls of clear packing tape, the camel/Campbell is now ready to papier mache. Of course, the empty rolls from the packing tape will be transformed into the golden bracelets of Wali Dad:

The Gifts of Wali Dad: A Tale of India and Pakistanby Aaron Shepard, Daniel San Souci (Illustrator)
Reading level: Ages 4-8
Edition: School & Library Binding

It is good to rub the lamp and free some magic on a day when it is 108 degrees. It is good to imagine being Wali Dad, the grass-cutter in his small hut. Help us all find moments of self-sufficiency, simplicity, clarity, and contentment.