I recently heard a news clip about a lady who while at work felt the need to check her web camera at home. She was shocked to find that robbers were in her house eating her food, stealing her valuables and playing with her video games. Ofcourse she called the police and the robbers were immediately caught. Because of her web camera she lost nothing. A few days later she was interviewed on the morning news. The interviewer asked her about her three dogs--Where were they during the robbery? Were they hurt in any way? The lady replied that her dogs were fine because they hid the minute the robbers entered the house. As I was listening to this news, I thought of my own dog. We have long known that she is not a watch dog. She does not bark when someone enters the house unless there is another person already in the house with her to protect her. As I was thinking of this, she proved my point by jumping up to the window to survey her territory. Woe unto her---there was a strange dog in the yard--in HER yard---she felt compelled to bark---but softly and politely. See the video to hear how politely Miss Scarlett barks. She would be terrified if the trespassing dog heard her even with the glass window there for protection. Polite barking is her forte.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Mr. Plumbean's Nightmare
When my children were small, we had a story we read often about Mr. Plumbean. We read it so often that I memorized parts of it. In the story Mr. Plumbean moved into a neighborhood where all the houses were exactly alike---a very neat street. Mr. Plumbean individualized his house which angered his neighbors until one by one they adopted Mr Plumbean's philosophy which was "My house is me and I am it. It looks like all my dreams." We all applauded Mr. Plumbean as one by one the houses in his neighborhood moved from uniformity to creativity. It was no longer a neat street, but a street where each house looked like its owner's dream.
In the story this was laudable because all the neighbor's dreams were pleasant to the other neighbors. However, what happens when one man's dream is another man's nightmare? This morning I rode through the neighborhood where I grew up. It is a neighborhood of not too big and not too small houses---each looking different yet all related by a certain commonality. A neighborhood of sidewalks made for roller skates, tricycles, two wheelers and skinned knees. A neighborhood of trees made for climbing, of backyards perfect for digging holes, hopefully to China, and of front steps comfortable for sitting on while licking popsicles that drip onto the concrete on hot summer days. Since my last trip through the neighborhood, one of the houses with a lovely backyard view of the Missouri River had been torn down. That is no crime; time marches on and new often replaces old. But in the place of the charming torn-down house has arisen a modernistic nightmare built of gray concrete with angled and curved walls that rise like a skyscraper above the charming brick houses surrounding it. It looks like a fat gray whale in a goldfish bowl. I am sure the view of the river is delightful, but the house ------- what can I say? Fortunately, I live far from the house and will not be forced to look at it when I ride my bike, eat my popsicle or attempt to dig a hole to China, but my heart aches for the people who have to live with the gray whale on their neat street. I think even Mr. Plumbean would find it unacceptable.
In the story this was laudable because all the neighbor's dreams were pleasant to the other neighbors. However, what happens when one man's dream is another man's nightmare? This morning I rode through the neighborhood where I grew up. It is a neighborhood of not too big and not too small houses---each looking different yet all related by a certain commonality. A neighborhood of sidewalks made for roller skates, tricycles, two wheelers and skinned knees. A neighborhood of trees made for climbing, of backyards perfect for digging holes, hopefully to China, and of front steps comfortable for sitting on while licking popsicles that drip onto the concrete on hot summer days. Since my last trip through the neighborhood, one of the houses with a lovely backyard view of the Missouri River had been torn down. That is no crime; time marches on and new often replaces old. But in the place of the charming torn-down house has arisen a modernistic nightmare built of gray concrete with angled and curved walls that rise like a skyscraper above the charming brick houses surrounding it. It looks like a fat gray whale in a goldfish bowl. I am sure the view of the river is delightful, but the house ------- what can I say? Fortunately, I live far from the house and will not be forced to look at it when I ride my bike, eat my popsicle or attempt to dig a hole to China, but my heart aches for the people who have to live with the gray whale on their neat street. I think even Mr. Plumbean would find it unacceptable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)