Melsville

Sunday Night Mysteries

When I was a child, I watched television.  Yeah, watched all the silly reruns with the six-kid blended family, and the one about seven eegits on a deserted island, but that was during the day.   I remember sneaking out of my room when I should have been in bed to watch M*A*S*H though the half open door of the room where my parents were watching it.  Once they figured out what I was doing, they just let me join them.  I was about seven, and I'm not sure I understood every funny bit, but I knew it was funny.  With my parents, I watched movies until I fell asleep,  nature documentaries, costume dramas, but I loved mysteries the most.    My mother did too, so we watched them all; the ones with the husband and wife detectives, the ones where the detective looked like he'd walked right off the Malbaro ads, but the ones with Peter Falk playing Lt. Columbo, with his cigars and raincoat, I remember  those.  I stayed up right through those no matter how tired I got.


The next day, I secretly felt like I big shot at school.  I figured that I was the only kid in the second grade who'd seen the show.  I didn't even have to beg my parents to let me watch it; they did and I could too.   My father explained some references to me.  I remember him telling me what “rosebud” meant in Citizen Kane because you wouldn't understand the mystery without knowing.  I was usually sitting with my mother, and she'd ask if I knew what was going on.   Living with people who still used Irish slang, Columbo's accent was very funny to me,  most of all when my father copied it. 

My favorite part was when Columbo would ask the killer about something his wife, Mrs. Columbo,  wanted to know. That made me laugh because he never used his wife's name, ( I liked it even better when he talked about his dog ).  That would happen every time. I watched those movies for years, and slowly, slowly,  I saw what he was doing.  I knew that when he wheeled around and asked just one more question, he would pull the entire mystery together.  It was practically choreographed, but it always worked seamlessly.

He was no Sherlock Holmes.  He wasn't remote and brilliant.  He wasn't working outside the system to bring about justice as he saw it.  He was a detective solving murders, this was his job.

Liam likes Sherlock Holmes, both the 19th century original and the 21st century  incarnation.  Last autumn, curling up on the couch and watching Sherlock was our Sunday-night date. I got a kick out of  watching him catch on.  I loved sharing guesses about what would happen  next. Mysteries take work, and they're always better with a buddy.  The story and the solving are the point.  

When I learned of Peter Falk's death last week, I thought about how much I'd loved the Columbo movies. Thirty-odd years later, I wonder if I loved the character and the crimes he solved,  because a mystery meant you needed to think.  Maybe that's it, but I think it had just as much to do with enjoying the story with my family. 

Interupting Cow

Okay Everyone,

 

This is a piece of fiction I wrote for a flash-fiction contest.  I missed the deadline by a day, and went WAY over the word-count.  I'm putting it here because I'm yearning for a little feedback.  Good, bad, or indifferent, please tell me what you think. Thank you.

Interupting Cow.

 

 

 

“Knock-knock.”
Knock-knocks jokes were new in Kindergarten. “Who’s there?”
“Interrupting sheep.”
I spoke slowly slower.  “Interrupting sheep who?
“BAAHHH!!”

Little round face, bangs  at his eyebrows; five-year-old boys have no comic  timing.  I didn’t have to work up the giggle for him, always loved Timmy.

My daughter, Sophie, planned to marry Timmy, and she never spared his feelings.  “You ‘BAAHH’ before she finishes ‘who.’ Else the sheep’s not interrupting!”

My son Caleb had taught her to tell that joke , and tell it right. 

Sophie bossed Caleb too, and her Daddy; only the men she loved.  Maybe she thought she was saving them from their own poor judgement, their blindness to the obvious , their flubbed punch lines. My son was eleven, so I knew what was coming. On the first day of 1st Grade, the world got all girls vs boys. I would miss young Timmy.

I still missed Marie, the girl down the street who once ran Calab’s life.  Marie used to love dirt and superheroes just as much as Calab had loved glittery facepaint and tea-parties.   I missed walking behind them  as they raced down to the park every Summer morning, them playing soccer together, them putting on shows.   After Kindergarten, Marie transfered into a private school in the next town and quit the soccer team, so we only rarely saw her.  On Halloween night this year,  she and her girlfriends came to our house; she was dressed like someone straight out of one of those animated movies from Japan.  Calab said that yeah, he’d seen her, he’d said hi. 

When I walked past her house,  I often thought of Marie, I hoped that she was doing alright.  Maybe Calab did too;  I never asked.

About  one Saturday night a  month,  Timmy  ate  pancakes , hamburgers or pasta in our kitchen.  When his parents needed “Date Night”,  Paul and I kept Timmy with us.   That way, everybody gets dinner and a movie.    His folks did the same for us, we had a system.  On Saturdays, Paul made dinner, and his repture consisted of burgers, pasta and pancakes.  Timmy must have thought we ate that way every night.  That Saturday, we were eating blueberry pancakes and sausage patties; Sophie’s favorites

“It’s my turn to choose the movie ‘cause Caleb  picked last time.”  Sophie spoke in her reasonable voice.  “And I want Mary Poppins.”

Sophie and Timmy  loved big musicals, but they usually fell  asleep in a puppy-heap halfway through them.
“Well, you picked two weeks in a row.” Caleb reminded her.   “Doesn’t that mean I get another pick?  It should.”

I knew this couldn’t end well.

“I want to see Star Wars,”    Caleb told me.  “I bet Timmy would too.    And he’s our guest, so he should pick; don’t you think?”
Timmy sat  between  my kids looking like he desperately wanted to see Star  Wars. 
“Do you want to see  Star Wars  Timmy?”  Paul asked.  I knew what answer he wanted.  Paul loved his science fiction epics which I always called his “Space Operas”.
 
The kid had a mouthful of pancake and a forkful of sausage.  He nodded, fast.

“Would that be okay with your parents?”  I had to be the Responsible Mama.
“I think so. Yeah, it would.”
“Is that okay with you, Soph?” I doubted anything could stem the tide of guy-solidarity.
She folded her arms, shaking her head and glaring right at Paul.
“It’s a fun movie Honey.  You always liked it.”  Paul got a little whiny.

The tears were starting.  Arguing with Caleb was part of every day.   Timmy didn’t have to do what she wanted, but they usually wanted the same things.  Her father’s wilful opposition  was unforeseen and unforgivable.

Reminding her that she always wanted her very own trash can-shaped droid, felt unfair. 

“You don’t have to watch the movie Sophie.    You and I could do something else.”  I couldn’t think of what we’d do.

“I wanna see a movie!”  She started out loud and fast, ended quiet,  slow, “just not that one.”  The tears had stopped, and she gave a mucusy sniff.
“ We got outvoted tonight Honey.  If you want to see a movie tonight, it’s Star Wars.   Next time, you pick.”
“Does it have to be Mary Poppins?”
Actually, I was looking forward to Mary Poppins;  I liked it much better than The Little Mermaid, another oft-chosen fave.  “Anything you want.”

While I cleared the table and restored some order to the kitchen, the younger kids raced upstairs to put on fleecy pyjamas and Caleb microwaved popcorn.  By the time the little ones returned, Sophie was all smiley.  They settled on the couch under an unzipped sleeping-bag.  Sophie was hugging Mac, her favorite soft baby doll.  As she always did, Sophie loaned Timmy Blue Bunny to keep him from getting lonely.

I sat next to Sophie, and heard her whispering to Timmy, “Isn’t the little robot so cute?  It would be great to have a robot; don’t you think?”  I heard the two of them giggling and whispering, saw them pointing at the screen.  

“I think it would be fun to have a space-ship like that.  That way you could go all kinds of places.   Don’t you think so? I’d love to drive a space-ship like that one.”
Sophie loved Han Solo and the Milenium Falcon. 
“Why aren’t they floating?”  Timmy asked.  “They should be floating because there isn’t any gravity in space.”
“Well, this is.”  Calib sounded like a guy who didn’t want to bother with the little details. “This isn’t like that.”
“Kinda pretend outer-space.” Sophie said.
“Not like the astronoughts.”  Timmy agreed. 

Whenever I watched Star Wars,  I always felt scared when Obi Wan Kanobi steps forward to fight Darth Vader.  Not scared actually, because I already knew what was about to happen, but it did give me the chills.  Fresh dread every time.  That part slid right by the young ones, and I was releaved.

I was expecting them to sink against me as they fell asleep, but they didn’t.  Both of them stayed awake through the movie; both of them told the whole story to Timmy’s parents when they arrived.   Timmy mixed up some major plot-points, but Sophie didn’t correct him.    The kid couldn’t tell a joke properly, but Sophie gave him a break on this one.

In The Toy Stores.

Before Saturday, I get to take a fun little trip.  I'm taking the subway ( and yes, I look forward to subway trips ) into Porter Square to wander around two toy stores to buy a birthday present for one of Emma's boy-buds ( and it's not Crazy Ollie).  I love independent toy store.  I like looking into the dressed-with-care windows and walking around the interesting displays. Going into these places is fun for me because I get a chance to examine what I'm buying;  maybe even pick up a floor sample.  I can compare “Star Wars” Lego kits and see what each Playmobil set contains.  A trip to a good toy store takes time.  

Stocked with craft kits and building toys, these stores  are all revved up to foster creativity.   They've got truck, cars, and wooden trains, but those are good good for everybody ( right?).  In the name of  “pretend play” they have puppets, stuffed toys, costumes, play food, you name it.   All these things are great; not too girly or anything.

“Star Wars” has burst onto the scene for the Blue Group and the Kindergarten.  Emma hasn't seen the movie yet; but she might this weekend.   Still, she makes light sabers and draws droids.   I know the girls I know, and something tells me that they won't be asking for “Star Wars” Lego or Bionicals, no many how many cool guns and swords they have.

When they were five years old, Liam and his friends loved Playmobil, and that's good stuff. Knights in armor, pirates, vikings, there are lots of sets replete with all kinds of theme-related weapons.  Do you know how many woman these sets included?; not many.  Sets including princess and fairies are few and small.  The company has stated making school, hospital, farm and animal clinic sets;  girls like those, don't they?  Well, they do, and Emma does love her neat-o vet set.  It has lots of gear and animals.   I probably would have loved it because ( like many of my friends ) I did want to be a vet.

 Here's what I've noticed about independent toy stores, the older the  children get, the more “boy” the toys are.   There are plenty of toys with weapons and “good-guy/ bad-guy” themes, but there are few non-baby dolls.  When I was Emma's age, it was the same in my own house.  My brother had a small battalion of G.I. Joes (the tall ones with beards and buzzed-down hair), and they had a jeep, a helicopter, and a space-capsule. 

I had one very pretty fashion-type doll with a few accessories,  and I really loved her.  Honestly, I never was all that bothered. It was a young friend searching through the old toys twenty years later who pointed out a certain inequality.  I had no Barbies, and my brother had his own squad tricked out in top-notch gear.  Why were war-toys okay and busty blonds in high-heels not?  Mama confessed that she'd never thought of that, and the two of us had a good laugh.  When I tell this to my Mom friends who grew up in the 1970s, I have a laugh with them too.

I've cased Porter Square toy stores looking for dolls, and I've seen what they have and where they put them.  Funky-girl rag dolls, those are well displayed.   One of the stores in Cambridge has little fashion dolls with tiny snap-on clothes and adorable little cars.  At Christmas time, these dolls were almost hidden behind the counter and got pointed out if you  asked to see them. Now they have a better spot, ( on the back-facing side of a display table),  and there are always girls looking at them.  Those same girls might start taking their business to Target, a place with a  better selection.

What problem do these toy stores have with the idea that some girls like Barbie-type dolls? They do, you know, and they excel at Math and Science, go to college, and become anything they put their minds to.  Here's a challenge for toy companies; make a fashion doll that independent toy stores will want to sell and little girls will want to buy.  Make them with different skin tones and hair textures.  Get crazy, give them arms and legs that bend.  You can make the wardrobe plenty fabulous, but we can all do without the tiny waists and torpedo breasts.  Is this asking too much? 

Chain toy superstores have figured out something that seems to have escaped the buyers for the two stores in Porter Square.  They realized that some parents are spending in excess of $100 at a time on dolls meant to look like ( funny-looking )  latency-age girls.  That's another way small toy stores could lose a lot of business.    Some doll companies are making attractive girl-doll, and I'm sure that some parents in this area  would line up to buy one that costs   MUCH less than the expensive, “status” ones.   

Okay, now I'm back from my visit to Henry Bear's Park with finger-puppets and toy pandas.  That's what Emma wanted for her friend, and she wanted one of each for herself too.  Puppets, toy animals, love them both, and the store did have a good selection.  Emma may not want to do all her shopping there, but we will be returning.


Jamie and I have told Emma that she needs to get rid of some of the long-neglected baby-toys.  She has been pretty good about saying she didn't want to keep something when I asked  her about it.  Yesterday evening, she told me she thought it was time to give away the two bins of wooden trains and tracks.  It's a very cool collection, all inherited from Liam.  Emma and I agreed that some other kid would love them.  We made a “new toys for old” agreement, and I wonder what she'll consider a fair trade.