Dance with Lance snow the plants
Autumn has arrived in Zürich.
“Autumn?” Nazy asked.
“Yes, it happens every year, my dear. Right after summer.”
“The weather report indicates weekend snow.”
“Ehh”, I thought while composing a new beginning: Winter has arrived in Zürich.
“That is a better opening sentence, Dan.” Nazy proclaimed.
“Perhaps just more accurate,” I replied. “The weather was so beautiful last Sunday. Remember the walk along the lakeside in Seegraben?” I asked.
“Things change, Dan. What are you going to do about the plants?”
“Water them?” I replied.
“The outdoor plants.”
“Fertilize? Trim? Prune?” I was desperate.
“Maybe you’re going to bring the winter-intolerant plants indoors.”
“Hrumphh,” I thought. “Of course,” I replied - wondering which ones were winter-intolerant.
“Do you know which ones to bring inside?” Nazy (astutely) asked.
“”Of course,” I replied. “The heavy ones.”
“And leave the terrace door open so that the plants can acclimate slowly.”
“Won’t that mean that we will shiver quickly?”
Nazy’s glare accelerated the process by freezing me in place. “Right again,” I thought.
Some readers expressed concerns about our forthcoming plans to visit Lebanon. Others questioned parental sanity:
“Do not go to Lebanon, Dad.” Melika commanded. “And let me talk to Mom.”
“Hi Mel...” Nazy began.
“Do you know that Dad wants to go to Lebanon?”
“Well, it was my idea..”
“Are you both crazy? Let me talk to Dad.”
“Hi Mel...” I began.
“Have you been watching the news?”
“Yep, they just reported on Beirut weather: Partly sunny with scattered afternoon gunfire.”
“Dad..”
“I’m interviewing for a professorship in Beirut, Melika. It’s..”
“... crazy. Do you really want to be a professor? Again?”
“Sure, it’s a nice, easy job.”
“That’s not what Darius says.”
“Well, Darius cares about tenure. Darius cares about publishing. Darius cares about his students. And, because he is unable to teach things he doesn’t understand, Darius spends far too much time on lesson preparation. I, on the other hand, am undaunted by lack of knowledge.”
“Can you send Mom to America while you’re in Lebanon?”
“Do you think she’d listen to me?”
“Dad..”
“Suppose Tom told you to stay in California while he went job hunting in, say, Croatia. Would you agree?”
“Tom would never make that mistake.”
“My point exactly.”
This week marked an annual seasonal celebration - the pumpkin festival in Seegraben. This year’s theme was The Olympics. Following tradition, they constructed giant sculptures from pumpkins. And: “The organizers have been reading my blog. They used my photos as a model for the swimming event,” I exclaimed.
Seegraben pumpkin sculpture
“That’s Lance Armstrong..
“Wrong sport,” I replied. “On the other hand,” I thought, “maybe it is Lance Armstrong trying to crawl his way out of deep yoghurt.”
“Mitt Phelps?”
“If it’s Mitt,” I replied, “we need to be ready to move - you never know which direction he will choose.”
“Dan..”
“It’s from one of his own brochures: Past performance is no guarantee of future..”
“Dan!”
“Finally! candidate agreement: for the economy, Obama also says that past performance is no guarantee of...”
While we were debating the election, eh, Olympics, Darius called about his laptop.
“It’s dead.”
“The infamous blue screen of death?” I asked while thinking of my own frightful experience with Microsoft Windows.”
“Dead, Dad! It does nothing. It doesn’t respond. It’s..”
“Toast.”
“Burned toast, Dad.”
“It’s a good thing Mitra taught you to Tango while you were in California. Your computer is dead, so go out and dance.”
“I live in Lebanon.”
“Tango, Dar, carefully and non-partisanly.”