Final Part
Armadillo opened up. He wasn’t in his silly little ball anymore. He looked to the leaf again and ladybug was still there. She was still glowing even though she was sad.
“Ladybug?,” said armadillo. He was afraid that she wouldn’t talk to him.
“Yes?”, said ladybug. She was afraid that he would hide.
“Please come down here with me,” he said.
“How do I know you aren’t going to roll up into your silly ball?,” she replied, with a skeptical look on her face.
“I don’t know. Maybe I will borrow some of your courage!” he said.
“I am afraid to fly down there, armadillo. You must know, I’m not very good at flying,” she confessed.
But armadillo still called her from her leaf and she flew down even though she was embarrassed. When armadillo spoke it made her wings strong.
She landed right in front of armadillo’s face. She noticed that even though armadillo’s skin was tough and looked old, his eyes were very handsome and young.
“I know that I hide from you, ladybug.” said armadillo, “You say nice things that make me scared. Is that because you are telling the truth?”
“Yes,” said ladybug, “SOMEONE has to believe that you can be a king.”
“Ladybug?” asked armadillo.
“Yes,” she responded.
“I know something about you that is true,” he said.
“What is it? That I am a terrible flyer?,” she said. She was waiting for armadillo to be grumpy but secretly she hoped he would say the words that would bring her a kingdom.
“Ladybug,” he said. “You are a queen! I saw it!”
Ladybug was so happy that she could not speak. I am a queen, she thought! Someone had finally seen what only one person could ever see. Armadillo had said the words that would bring her the kingdom that she had always hoped for!
“You know what that means, don’t you armadillo?” she asked with a tiny smile on her face.
“That I need to find you a castle?” he replied.
“No armadillo. I have my leaf, but I also have my king!” she declared.
Armadillo could not speak either. He was more happy than he had been in his whole life, even happier than when he’d chase bugs around the pond with his friends. He smiled and he was handsome.
“Ladybug, you think better of me than I think about myself,” he said.
“There is a word for that,” ladybug said.
“Yes, I know,” said armadillo, “It’s what makes you a queen and me a king.”
And with that they fell asleep next to each other under the warm afternoon sun.
24.8.08
20.8.08
ladybug and armadillo: a children's story
Part 4
For the next seven days ladybug said nice things about armadillo and armadillo rolled into his silly ball. When he rolled into his ball, ladybug “Hmf!”ed and “Hmf!ed” over and over again. She cried on her leaf and armadillo cried inside of his silly ball.
It can be hard for people to believe they are kings and queens. Sometimes other people have to believe it for you even if you don’t. They have to see things in you that you can’t see. Even if you crawl into a ball. Even if you get embarrassed because you say nice things. Even if you are tough and sad and scared or tiny and cheery and courageous. Two people can make a kingdom. There is a word for that. It is called love.
For a whole week ladybug “Hmf!”ed and armadillo rolled into his ball! A whole week! On the eighth day, ladybug had enough. Armadillo wasn’t being much of a king. She was tired of being a queen.
“I’m nearly done with you armadillo,” she said.
“I’m nearly done with YOU ladybug. Why are you so nice to me?” he said.
“I see things in you that you can’t see,” she said.
“How is that? My skin is old and tough and I hide from you,” he replied.
“There is a king in you and only I can see it,” she said.
Armadillo did what he always did. He curled up into his silly ball. He waited for ladybug to flutter her wings and “Hmf!”.
This time ladybug didn’t “Hmf!” She didn’t flutter her wings. She had been embarrassed so many times that her shell needed some rest and was not changing from orange to red. Ladybug was tired, just like armadillo.
Armadillo looked out of his little ball and could see the tiny outline of ladybug sitting on the edge of the leaf. She is very delicate, he thought. The way that the sun was shining against her small outline reminded him of a beautiful crown, a shining and sparkling crown.
“Ladybug IS a queen!” he shouted inside of his head. No one had ever seen such a beautiful sight, no animal or human on earth! And to think that it was his very own friend, Ladybug!
For the next seven days ladybug said nice things about armadillo and armadillo rolled into his silly ball. When he rolled into his ball, ladybug “Hmf!”ed and “Hmf!ed” over and over again. She cried on her leaf and armadillo cried inside of his silly ball.
It can be hard for people to believe they are kings and queens. Sometimes other people have to believe it for you even if you don’t. They have to see things in you that you can’t see. Even if you crawl into a ball. Even if you get embarrassed because you say nice things. Even if you are tough and sad and scared or tiny and cheery and courageous. Two people can make a kingdom. There is a word for that. It is called love.
For a whole week ladybug “Hmf!”ed and armadillo rolled into his ball! A whole week! On the eighth day, ladybug had enough. Armadillo wasn’t being much of a king. She was tired of being a queen.
“I’m nearly done with you armadillo,” she said.
“I’m nearly done with YOU ladybug. Why are you so nice to me?” he said.
“I see things in you that you can’t see,” she said.
“How is that? My skin is old and tough and I hide from you,” he replied.
“There is a king in you and only I can see it,” she said.
Armadillo did what he always did. He curled up into his silly ball. He waited for ladybug to flutter her wings and “Hmf!”.
This time ladybug didn’t “Hmf!” She didn’t flutter her wings. She had been embarrassed so many times that her shell needed some rest and was not changing from orange to red. Ladybug was tired, just like armadillo.
Armadillo looked out of his little ball and could see the tiny outline of ladybug sitting on the edge of the leaf. She is very delicate, he thought. The way that the sun was shining against her small outline reminded him of a beautiful crown, a shining and sparkling crown.
“Ladybug IS a queen!” he shouted inside of his head. No one had ever seen such a beautiful sight, no animal or human on earth! And to think that it was his very own friend, Ladybug!
18.8.08
ladybug and armadillo: a children's story
Part 3
That night ladybug crawled down from the leaf onto the branch and down the trunk of the bush. She walked right to the spot where armadillo took his naps. The patch of ground smelled like armadillo and it made ladybug sad and happy at the same time.
“What am I going to do with you, armadillo?” she said to the big black night sky.
“I can’t keep saying these nice things to you. It hurts me,” she continued. When ladybug talked it sounded like a violin.
“You are sad and you look old. Most people think I’m dumb for being so nice to you. After all, you aren’t very kind to me,” she said.
“You are grumpy. You are wrinkly. You are tough. You always go into your little ball,” she said.
When she thought of armadillo curled up into his little ball she laughed.
“But you know what? I still think you are handsome. You look like a king. I bet you are a king!”she declared.
The truth is, armadillo wasn’t a king yet, but one day he would be.
Ladybug walked away from the place where armadillo took his naps. She found a safe spot under a pile of cool leaves and went to sleep.
At almost the same time armadillo was thinking about ladybug. He dug his hole for the night and was ready to crawl in and sleep.
“Why are you so nice to me ladybug?” he said to the big black night sky.
“I am old and tough and I am not very kind to you,” he said. When armadillo talked, it sounded like rocks crumbling and rolling down the side of a mountain.
“I know that I curl up into a ball whenever you say nice things. But I don’t know what else to do!” armadillo confessed.
When he thought of ladybug “Hmf!”ing, he laughed.
“She is like the queen of a huge kingdom, and she talks to me like I am knight, or a king!” he thought.
The truth is, ladybug was a queen, but the kind of queen that didn’t have a kingdom because she didn’t have a king.
Armadillo sighed.
He crawled into his hole and closed his eyes.
That night ladybug crawled down from the leaf onto the branch and down the trunk of the bush. She walked right to the spot where armadillo took his naps. The patch of ground smelled like armadillo and it made ladybug sad and happy at the same time.
“What am I going to do with you, armadillo?” she said to the big black night sky.
“I can’t keep saying these nice things to you. It hurts me,” she continued. When ladybug talked it sounded like a violin.
“You are sad and you look old. Most people think I’m dumb for being so nice to you. After all, you aren’t very kind to me,” she said.
“You are grumpy. You are wrinkly. You are tough. You always go into your little ball,” she said.
When she thought of armadillo curled up into his little ball she laughed.
“But you know what? I still think you are handsome. You look like a king. I bet you are a king!”she declared.
The truth is, armadillo wasn’t a king yet, but one day he would be.
Ladybug walked away from the place where armadillo took his naps. She found a safe spot under a pile of cool leaves and went to sleep.
At almost the same time armadillo was thinking about ladybug. He dug his hole for the night and was ready to crawl in and sleep.
“Why are you so nice to me ladybug?” he said to the big black night sky.
“I am old and tough and I am not very kind to you,” he said. When armadillo talked, it sounded like rocks crumbling and rolling down the side of a mountain.
“I know that I curl up into a ball whenever you say nice things. But I don’t know what else to do!” armadillo confessed.
When he thought of ladybug “Hmf!”ing, he laughed.
“She is like the queen of a huge kingdom, and she talks to me like I am knight, or a king!” he thought.
The truth is, ladybug was a queen, but the kind of queen that didn’t have a kingdom because she didn’t have a king.
Armadillo sighed.
He crawled into his hole and closed his eyes.
15.8.08
armadillo and ladybug: a children's story
Part 2
Even though armadillo acted old and sad, he was not really old. He was sad, but he was not old. There was a time when he was very happy. He was a pretty good singer. He was a very fast runner. He had lots of friends. He was a great bug catcher. They would go on trips together to the pond by his house and catch insects that were sneaking around by the water. His favorite bugs were ants. They tasted good and they were everywhere! He missed all of these things. He didn’t have them anymore. He felt like a king without a kingdom.
He missed his friends so much that he would dream about them almost every day. In his dreams he would see his friends again and they would talk and stay out very late. Not too late, of course, because the neighbor boys would sneak out with sticks and bb guns and try and hurt armadillo and his friends. The memories made armadillo so happy he would smile.
Today he was dreaming of his friends. They were racing around the pond again and armadillo was winning! He started to smile because the memory made him feel strong. One time around. Two times! Three times! Armadillo was the winner! He kept smiling in his sleep, that is, until he heard the sound.
“ARM-A-DILL-OOOOOOOOOOOO,” cried the ladybug!
“ARM-A-DILL-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” she cried again!
“What?,” he grumbled. He was very annoyed.
“I saw you SMILE,” shrieked the ladybug.
“No you didn’t,” he replied.
“YES, YES I DID! You were laying right there like a tired old man and you started to smile again and again. I hardly recognized you!” The ladybug was very happy.
“I’ve been waiting for you to smile,” she said, “It makes you look handsome.”
She was blushing, but armadillo couldn’t see because she so far away. Her orange shell was turning red.
Armadillo did what all armadillos do when they are scared. He rolled up into a tight little ball!
“Hey! Wait a second. What are you doing?” said ladybug.
“Mrgmhngftrgm,” mumbled armadillo. He was inside his shell so it was hard to tell what he was saying.
Ladybug was sad. She was very cheery but that didn’t mean that her feelings couldn’t be hurt. For a tiny bug she was very courageous. Sometimes she would say things that even the big animals were scared to say.
When you like someone, it is not always easy to say nice things to them. What if the other person laughs at you? What if they say something mean? Even worse, what if they roll up into a ball?!
“Just because I say nice things doesn’t mean I can’t get my feelings hurt, armadillo,” said ladybug.
She stopped blushing. Now she was very sad, the kind of sad that makes little droplets of water come of out your eyes.
“Grmftrpst,” mumbled Armadillo. Ladybug could not see it, but armadillo was also crying.
Even though armadillo acted old and sad, he was not really old. He was sad, but he was not old. There was a time when he was very happy. He was a pretty good singer. He was a very fast runner. He had lots of friends. He was a great bug catcher. They would go on trips together to the pond by his house and catch insects that were sneaking around by the water. His favorite bugs were ants. They tasted good and they were everywhere! He missed all of these things. He didn’t have them anymore. He felt like a king without a kingdom.
He missed his friends so much that he would dream about them almost every day. In his dreams he would see his friends again and they would talk and stay out very late. Not too late, of course, because the neighbor boys would sneak out with sticks and bb guns and try and hurt armadillo and his friends. The memories made armadillo so happy he would smile.
Today he was dreaming of his friends. They were racing around the pond again and armadillo was winning! He started to smile because the memory made him feel strong. One time around. Two times! Three times! Armadillo was the winner! He kept smiling in his sleep, that is, until he heard the sound.
“ARM-A-DILL-OOOOOOOOOOOO,” cried the ladybug!
“ARM-A-DILL-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” she cried again!
“What?,” he grumbled. He was very annoyed.
“I saw you SMILE,” shrieked the ladybug.
“No you didn’t,” he replied.
“YES, YES I DID! You were laying right there like a tired old man and you started to smile again and again. I hardly recognized you!” The ladybug was very happy.
“I’ve been waiting for you to smile,” she said, “It makes you look handsome.”
She was blushing, but armadillo couldn’t see because she so far away. Her orange shell was turning red.
Armadillo did what all armadillos do when they are scared. He rolled up into a tight little ball!
“Hey! Wait a second. What are you doing?” said ladybug.
“Mrgmhngftrgm,” mumbled armadillo. He was inside his shell so it was hard to tell what he was saying.
Ladybug was sad. She was very cheery but that didn’t mean that her feelings couldn’t be hurt. For a tiny bug she was very courageous. Sometimes she would say things that even the big animals were scared to say.
When you like someone, it is not always easy to say nice things to them. What if the other person laughs at you? What if they say something mean? Even worse, what if they roll up into a ball?!
“Just because I say nice things doesn’t mean I can’t get my feelings hurt, armadillo,” said ladybug.
She stopped blushing. Now she was very sad, the kind of sad that makes little droplets of water come of out your eyes.
“Grmftrpst,” mumbled Armadillo. Ladybug could not see it, but armadillo was also crying.
12.8.08
armadillo and ladybug: a children's story
Part 1:
“Armadillo,” the ladybug said, “Why is your skin so tough and dry and ugly?”
“Because,” said the armadillo, “I am tough and dry and ugly.”
“That’s not true,” she said.
The ladybug was standing on the tip of a big green leaf attached to a skinny branch. The skinny branch was attached to a big bush. Under the bush, the armadillo was trying to take a nap. It was his favorite place to sleep. The ladybug was keeping him awake, though. He did not like that.
She had a very cheery voice. Whenever she said something, she would yell because even though her voice was happy and pretty, it was tiny! She would stand on the very edge of one of the green leaves, stand on her very tippy toes, and yell as loud as she could. He thought it was annoying. He was tired. He just wanted to rest.
Every day the armadillo would wander around as soon as the sun rose up from the other side of the earth. By the middle of the day he was very tired and would rest in the shade of the big green bush. It was his habit.
At noon he crawled under the bush and flopped down into the dirt with the same tired flop. He rested his head on the ground. When he was sleeping he would breathe out through his nose the dust on the ground by his face would fly up in tiny cloud like a small tornado. The armadillo looked like a sad old man.
“You know,” yelled the ladybug, “you shouldn’t act so lonely.”
“Why not,” muttered the armadillo, “I AM lonely.”
“Well,” said the ladybug, “You don’t have to be.”
“I like it just fine,” he retorted.
The armadillo was not very good at conversation, especially when he was trying to sleep.
“I’m not going to ignore you, Armadillo,” she said cheerfully. “I don’t care if your skin is old and tough. In fact, I don’t care if YOU are old and tough.”
“I’m not old,” the armadillo said, “I’m tired. Good night.”
“But…”, said the ladybug. “Hmf!”
The armadillo was like this all the time. Ladybug would be nice and he would be grumpy. Their conversations always ended with the ladybug saying, “Hmf!” Whenever she said it she would raise her little wings up and flutter them. Armadillo liked it, but he would never admit it.
“Armadillo,” the ladybug said, “Why is your skin so tough and dry and ugly?”
“Because,” said the armadillo, “I am tough and dry and ugly.”
“That’s not true,” she said.
The ladybug was standing on the tip of a big green leaf attached to a skinny branch. The skinny branch was attached to a big bush. Under the bush, the armadillo was trying to take a nap. It was his favorite place to sleep. The ladybug was keeping him awake, though. He did not like that.
She had a very cheery voice. Whenever she said something, she would yell because even though her voice was happy and pretty, it was tiny! She would stand on the very edge of one of the green leaves, stand on her very tippy toes, and yell as loud as she could. He thought it was annoying. He was tired. He just wanted to rest.
Every day the armadillo would wander around as soon as the sun rose up from the other side of the earth. By the middle of the day he was very tired and would rest in the shade of the big green bush. It was his habit.
At noon he crawled under the bush and flopped down into the dirt with the same tired flop. He rested his head on the ground. When he was sleeping he would breathe out through his nose the dust on the ground by his face would fly up in tiny cloud like a small tornado. The armadillo looked like a sad old man.
“You know,” yelled the ladybug, “you shouldn’t act so lonely.”
“Why not,” muttered the armadillo, “I AM lonely.”
“Well,” said the ladybug, “You don’t have to be.”
“I like it just fine,” he retorted.
The armadillo was not very good at conversation, especially when he was trying to sleep.
“I’m not going to ignore you, Armadillo,” she said cheerfully. “I don’t care if your skin is old and tough. In fact, I don’t care if YOU are old and tough.”
“I’m not old,” the armadillo said, “I’m tired. Good night.”
“But…”, said the ladybug. “Hmf!”
The armadillo was like this all the time. Ladybug would be nice and he would be grumpy. Their conversations always ended with the ladybug saying, “Hmf!” Whenever she said it she would raise her little wings up and flutter them. Armadillo liked it, but he would never admit it.
5.8.08
two thousand and seven
From the chapter entitled:
"Matrimony"
A book isn’t really a book without a story about love: a man’s love for his country or his religion or his lover or himself. I have an affinity for the Ernest Hemingway kind of love, the kind that never works out in the end because someone dies suddenly and simply. Of course, you can’t really love someone if something inside you doesn’t die. Hemingway was almost right; love demands death, but I believe that death happens somewhere in the heart.
"Matrimony"
A book isn’t really a book without a story about love: a man’s love for his country or his religion or his lover or himself. I have an affinity for the Ernest Hemingway kind of love, the kind that never works out in the end because someone dies suddenly and simply. Of course, you can’t really love someone if something inside you doesn’t die. Hemingway was almost right; love demands death, but I believe that death happens somewhere in the heart.
two thousand and seven
From the chapter entitled:
"Lunch"
Our lunches came at the perfect time. If I was any younger, I would be too afraid to grow with him while we sit and eat. Now that I am older I can savor knowing my father with truer affection. Though there are times when I wish the process would move faster, I believe that fathers are best understood by the months and years that you spend with them and not just the moments. The zenith of intimacy is the sweetness of passing time.
"Lunch"
Our lunches came at the perfect time. If I was any younger, I would be too afraid to grow with him while we sit and eat. Now that I am older I can savor knowing my father with truer affection. Though there are times when I wish the process would move faster, I believe that fathers are best understood by the months and years that you spend with them and not just the moments. The zenith of intimacy is the sweetness of passing time.
two thousand and seven
From the chapter entitled:
"Surgery"
It was hard to know what to say. Part of me wanted to joke and part of me wanted to say something very loving and sensitive. Either way, I spent most of my time listening to what others said and watching my mother as she endured the waking sufferings of a tedious recovery. When I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t say anything. When everyone kissed her on the forehead as they left, I did too. It was the first time that I remember kissing her. When I wanted to do something to show my support, I brought my guitar into her room and played for her.
Many times Mom was so tired that she couldn’t speak. I think that people’s nearness was more important to her than their words. Me being near her with my guitar was medicine. Music is a good thing for people that are hurting. It is a good thing for binding the wounds of surgery
"Surgery"
It was hard to know what to say. Part of me wanted to joke and part of me wanted to say something very loving and sensitive. Either way, I spent most of my time listening to what others said and watching my mother as she endured the waking sufferings of a tedious recovery. When I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t say anything. When everyone kissed her on the forehead as they left, I did too. It was the first time that I remember kissing her. When I wanted to do something to show my support, I brought my guitar into her room and played for her.
Many times Mom was so tired that she couldn’t speak. I think that people’s nearness was more important to her than their words. Me being near her with my guitar was medicine. Music is a good thing for people that are hurting. It is a good thing for binding the wounds of surgery
29.7.08
two thousand and seven
From the chapter entitled:
"Coffee"
"Coffee"
And then there were the opening shifts.
I am hard-pressed to write anything about them no matter how caustic. I’d hate to think that those ungodly 4:15 am clock ins would ever get any kind of recognition. Yet, I am strangely drawn to write about them as if I had the burden of retelling a villainous injustice. Bodies were not made to wake up at 3:30 am for work, and with this in mind I offer my eternal applause to those who make a habit of rising early for their occupation.
I’d wake at 3:30. By 3:35 I was out of bed. By 3:40 I wanted to curse at my roommate, who met the sound of my alarm with a lazy sigh and a cozy roll-over away from the pre-dawn melody. By 3:45, I was finished with a three-minute shower that should have been a fifteen minute shower. By 3:55 I was dressed and dry. By 4:00 I was halfway through a bowl of cereal and headlong into bitterness. By 4:05 I was walking down my apartment stairs into the ugly night/morning. By 4:10 I was three minutes from work and nearly thawed out from my sedan’s heater. At 4:13 I pulled up to my store hoping that it was burned to the ground. By 4:14, I was nodding off to sleep amidst the rude sparkle of the 7-11 across the street. By 4:15 the barista I was working with would be there. I’d get out of the car, croak out a mildly pleasant greeting and unlock Pandora’s café.
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