The chant circling around here this morning goes something like: “Neels (that would be nails)! Dirt! Neels! Dirt! Ammer!” Much manic running around the steamer trunk in the front room with a digger in hand. We still haven’t figured out why “orsh” means backhoe, though a friend suggested the onomatopoetic connection. “Orsh” approximates the whir of hydraulics in a gentler universe, which is where, I hope, most two-year-olds live.
[Terribly interesting language development tangent here: G’s word for pacifier is “boo,” which John informed me is a variation on the French root for “mouth,” bouche. One of Jonah’s first recognizable words was “twaw,” which described the act of throwing or hurtling (a classic past time of the J-man), which happens to be the Proto-Germanic root for “throw.” The root is actually thræ, pronounced “traw,” but he couldn’t say his r’s.]
Gabriel is now rifling through the LP’s for any cover with a “duh-boo” (guitar). The Beatles Let It Be isn’t cutting it. He’s more the acoustic type. We’ve moved on to Emmylou Harris’ Blue Kentucky Girl, though I’m pretty sure he’ll be demanding Paul Simon’s Greatest Hits, Etc. in a moment. It’s our go-to album. Just the right mix of guitar, drums and smooth danceability. Not sure I ever imagined myself rating tunes on their smooth danceability, the epitome of which might be Simon’s “Have a Good Time.” “Stranded In a Limousine” really gets G going. The end of “Kodachrome” is manic in a marvelous run-circles-around-the-steamer-trunk sort of way, and “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” has always been a personal favorite.
I am trying to simultaneously sort through Christmas gifts for wrapping, do the dishes, start some laundry, and make granola. I know, it’s way too much, and it’s making me cranky. Which is probably why I’ve abandoned it all for the moment. Could be self-preservation. Probably it’s just avoidance.
A short progression documenting G’s search for dirt follows.