Crazy Crap#271: The part concerning art

A couple of weeks ago, I came home to discover James Casey (just turning 7 years old) on my front boulevard struggling with some boards and a length of string he had tied to my tree. I asked him what was going on, and he told me, “I was going to climb this tree, but then I decided to do something impressive instead.”

I looked at what he was compiling, and asked if it was art, or did it do something. He replied, “Both. It’s art, but art makes people happy, so that’s the thing it does.”

I noted that his construction would be greatly aided by some rubber bands, and would he like some rubber bands? His face took on a glow of unexpected joy, so I took that as a yes and went to find my tin of rubber bands.

I showed him how to wrap the bands several times, and use the power of basic geometry and physics to keep the thing standing. He was quite pleased with our work. Our neighbor Kevin offered to commemorate the new structure, which James dubbed “The Norwood Thingy” with a photo.

James designed not only the structure, but also came up with his pose in the photo. He’s quite the artist and public figure.

Crazy Crap #268: The part where Google proves its worth

Yesterday, neighbor James (age 6, for those of you keeping track) asked his mother Ann if Google is smart enough to know his favorite foods. They did a search on "James Casey Favorite Foods" and, of course, got some other James Casey and his irrelevant preferences.

Another neighbor, Kevin, caught wind of this and decided to make it so:

http://web.me.com/kevinwatts/Site/James_Casey,_Norwood_Street,_Chicago.html

Google knows all! You heard it hear first!

Crazy Crap Item #233: The part where I go dumpster diving

This morning, I was enjoying my habitual repast of cinnamon toast and strawberries and reading about an obscure 17th-century poetess, when the phone rang. It was my lovely neighbor Ruth.

"I thought you should know that there's a full-size stuffed lion in the alley behind the Walters' house. They're throwing out a bunch of stuff."

"I'm on it."

Mere minutes later, and I am in possession of said lion -- a glorious, free-standing example of toy-making at its finest. As I stroll through my backyard with this lion -- I think I'll call him Frazier -- hoisted up on my shoulder, I hear Kevin and Sam call to me from their backyard, some four or so houses down. They wave a small toy monkey that they have rescued from the selfsame pile. I suggest our next block party should be jungle-themed.

Now, with Frazier safely stowed in my basement for whatever future adventures may await him on Norwood, I realize that I could easily go to bed now at 10:30 in the morning, as my day has already been as fulfilling as it could possibly be.

Crazy Crap Item #231: The part where the Caseys have a very bad day

[NOTE: No children were harmed in the posting of this story. Though the story itself was the source of some harm.]

Yesterday was full of drama and trauma on Norwood. Around 5pm, I was putzing around the entryway, after investing some considerable time in a new entryway-beautification project. What to my wondering ears should appear but my neighbor Ann calling to me.

I opened the door to find her out on the lawn holding James. She's a very laidback lady, so it took me a few seconds to realize that she was in full-on panic mode. It's not initially very far off from regular Ann mode, except that in panic mode, she doesn't finish sentences.

It also took me a few seconds to notice a lot of blood on her shirt, at which point, it very slowly dawned on me that something was terribly wrong. I cut her off in mid-sputter. "What happened?" She started to say something about how she had called Ruth because James had a cut on his head, and could Jack come over, and Sam too, since Ruth was going with her to the ER. I said of course, and called to Jack to come in.

The poor kid was extremely freaked out. He was just crying and asking, "Is my brother going to be OK?" I told him I knew it was scary, and did he want to talk about it? He said no, that would make it worse, so I suggested chocolate milk and cartoons. He thought that seemed ok.

As we sat on the couch looking for a good kid-type show, he broached a few comments about how worried he was about his brother. He seemed very concerned that it was just going to take too long for the ER folk to help James. As Jack is a logical, detail-oriented kid, I told him about triage, and how they screen patients to determine who needs immediate care. I recounted my last trip to the ER. In response to his worries about James feeling pain, I described the medicines they have to make pain go away.

Finally, we got to the big question.

"Is he going to die?"

I answered, "No. No, he's not. He is not going to die from this. He's going to be fine."

I've never seen such a visible sign of relief.

Then Sam came over, and they snacked on cheese, and played with some army men I just bought from the dollar bin at Target. Then we went outside and made swords out of styrofoam. Later, Sam's dad Kevin arrived home from work his son, who was miffed that Jack got to stay at the Dalys (the tenor of his complaint seemed to be something about how Jack gets all the fun).

By about 7:30, Jack, who had been waving off snacks for the past 2 1/2 hours, suddenly announced he was "starving." I hustled up some grub, and Jack, Eamon and I had a nice supper of chicken, corn and Scooby Doo cartoons.

Ann and Jim finally got James home by about 8:30. He ended up having 11 stitches, including 3 stitches deep in the wound, as the cut went all the way to the skull. But Ann said James didn't cry at all; everyone in the ER was amazed. And when they came to get Jack, James insisted on coming in, then leapt all over my livingroom, banged on my electric piano keyboard, climbed on the back of my couch, and, like his brother, was very reluctant to go home.

Ahh, the resilience of youth.