Day One Hundred Twenty Six

I'm sitting here with a mouth FULL of Big League Chew bubble gum.  It is unparalleled in all the world for blowing colossal, pop-all-over-your-face bubbles.  So I'm reading and chomping and blowing and popping and listening to Sacrifice by Dead Can Dance.  Odd combination.  Makes the bubble blowing feel sacred.


Here's a great new word coined by my son; we were having a serious discussion and I had one of those moments of complete and utter verbal collapse where a sentence came out of my mouth with the words scrambled out of order rendering it absolutely nonsensical.  I stopped, trying to reconstruct it properly in my brain to try again and he just blinked a couple of times and said, "That was quite a bit of flumperdumpery, Mom."  That is a winning word, isn't it?  Here's to the acceptance of the occasional bout of flumperdumpery.  


We've called each other flumperdumps around here for years but my favorite family nickname comes from a trip we took to Ensenada at the turn of the century (love how that sounds).   We decided to drive all four kids from Reno to Ensenada in the mini van.  To further prove we were lacking in common sense of any kind we also gifted each kid with a Furbie for Christmas.  In case you don't remember them, they were all the rage that year.  They looked like the little guys from the movie Gremlins and they were interactive.  When they sensed motion they would blink and move their heads and talk either to you or to another Furbie.  On Christmas Eve, once I was sure everyone was asleep, I put fresh batteries into four Furbies and sneaked upstairs.  We used to hang the stockings from the edge of the pony wall that was open to the family room below and stretched between the girls' room and the boys'.  So I'm quiet as a mouse and I take the first guy and put it in the stocking and then as I am placing the second one the first one senses the movement and starts talking.  This sets off the one still in my bag who immediately causes a reply from Furbie Four.  I was in an absolute panic trying to shut them all up without waking anyone up.  Anyway,  all four kids and their talking friends piled into the minivan for a nice little 13 hour drive.  


I remember three thrings about Ensenada.  They were flying a Mexican flag down near the docks that was the biggest flag I have ever seen in my life.  They were also selling the best fish tacos I've ever eaten for 50 cents apiece.  And I remember going to see El Bufadoro - the blow hole.  It is a spot where the waves are forced through a hole in the rocks that causes the spray to shoot up 20' into the air.  The kids liked the word bufadoro and said it a lot.   The afternoon following our trip to witness the wondrous water show we were walking along a street downtown and Isak, who had grown five inches in a year and still had little concept of his height, hit his head on a sign hanging outside a shop....just walking along and dork runs right into it.  His father said, "Careful there el dufadoro".  And it stuck.  We use dufadoro to this day.  And now we have flumperdumpery.  Life is rich.

Furbie

Here are the five things for today:


1.  The Udderly EZ Goat Milker (no, I'm not kidding - turns out I'm a milking flumperdump even with a gadget to help me)
2.  Farmstead Magazine's Guide to Animal Husbandry by the editors of Farmstead Magazine
3.  Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper
4.  The Glory Field by Walter Dean Myers
5.  The Red Tent by Anita Diamant


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