I'VE NAMED IT
We gave things names when I was young.
There was an unfinished block of wood that the smallest kid was required to sit on at the dinner table. It was a butt-worn smooth chunk of wood and it had a name. When it was time for a haircut, mom told you to go fetch THE BLOCK. If the cousins came for lunch, it was quite the proper etiquette to give them first dibs on THE BLOCK. I thought everybody had one.
We had a drawer in the kitchen that collected all manner of things. If you needed a piece of string, that is where it was found. There were broken crayons, bobby pins, ice-cream sticks, glue, empty spools, and probably everything needed by MacGyver to stop a ticking time bomb. To mom it was probably just a catch-all. For us it was a treasure chest. If we were hunting for a misplaced item mom would say, “Go look in THE DRAWER." Dare we whine, “I’m boooooored,” mom dispatched us with a terse “Go play in THE DRAWER.” We never opened the wrong drawer. None of the other drawers had names.
A huge rock sat at the far end of Dad’s garden where he accumulated 27 years of his best crop: more rocks. It was a spectacular boulder surrounded by a gazillion smaller rocks and thus it was named, you guessed it, THE ROCK PILE. There were other piles of rocks around our small farm, but I don’t recall any others having an identity. THE ROCK PILE was a wonderful place to chase bugs, snakes, and an occasional lizard. There we could climb mountains, dig for gold, or build a fort. A sweet smelling mock orange formed a spring trellis, which transformed THE ROCK PILE into a wedding chapel. My best friend Beth was always the groom ‘cuz she was the tallest.
Then, there was THE FACE. It was something neither my seven siblings nor I ever wanted to see on our mom. We got in trouble, as kids always do, and received our punishment with resignation. (Usually a long sit in a chair or a quick willow switch on the backside.) However, terror entered our hearts should our misfortune bring forth THE FACE. It could freeze water! It could melt ice! It could marinate a Marine! Trust me; I know how Harry Potter felt when the dementor drew near. The same fear would strike my heart when I peaked out from a hidey-hole to encounter THE FACE.
I’ve been thinking recently about my propensity to name things as we have battled a dying tree, an erupting septic tank, a monsoon season, mud,wind, dust, rain, more mud, more dust, more rain,more wind, and everything torn apart in THE BACK YARD.
There was an unfinished block of wood that the smallest kid was required to sit on at the dinner table. It was a butt-worn smooth chunk of wood and it had a name. When it was time for a haircut, mom told you to go fetch THE BLOCK. If the cousins came for lunch, it was quite the proper etiquette to give them first dibs on THE BLOCK. I thought everybody had one.
We had a drawer in the kitchen that collected all manner of things. If you needed a piece of string, that is where it was found. There were broken crayons, bobby pins, ice-cream sticks, glue, empty spools, and probably everything needed by MacGyver to stop a ticking time bomb. To mom it was probably just a catch-all. For us it was a treasure chest. If we were hunting for a misplaced item mom would say, “Go look in THE DRAWER." Dare we whine, “I’m boooooored,” mom dispatched us with a terse “Go play in THE DRAWER.” We never opened the wrong drawer. None of the other drawers had names.
A huge rock sat at the far end of Dad’s garden where he accumulated 27 years of his best crop: more rocks. It was a spectacular boulder surrounded by a gazillion smaller rocks and thus it was named, you guessed it, THE ROCK PILE. There were other piles of rocks around our small farm, but I don’t recall any others having an identity. THE ROCK PILE was a wonderful place to chase bugs, snakes, and an occasional lizard. There we could climb mountains, dig for gold, or build a fort. A sweet smelling mock orange formed a spring trellis, which transformed THE ROCK PILE into a wedding chapel. My best friend Beth was always the groom ‘cuz she was the tallest.
Then, there was THE FACE. It was something neither my seven siblings nor I ever wanted to see on our mom. We got in trouble, as kids always do, and received our punishment with resignation. (Usually a long sit in a chair or a quick willow switch on the backside.) However, terror entered our hearts should our misfortune bring forth THE FACE. It could freeze water! It could melt ice! It could marinate a Marine! Trust me; I know how Harry Potter felt when the dementor drew near. The same fear would strike my heart when I peaked out from a hidey-hole to encounter THE FACE.
I’ve been thinking recently about my propensity to name things as we have battled a dying tree, an erupting septic tank, a monsoon season, mud,wind, dust, rain, more mud, more dust, more rain,more wind, and everything torn apart in THE BACK YARD.
Comments
I, too, loved the ROCKPILE and the lovely mock orange that grew there. I don't remember always having to be the groom but maybe that had an influence in my finally becoming a "McBride"!