A Prisoner of (Un)Conscious

Dear Friends,

I write to you from the darkness of my prison cell. I have smuggled this letter to you, written in crayola washable marker, on a scrap of a fabric that I quietly tore from the single sheet I am given. I scribbled furtively by nightlight. It has been carried on the backs of camels and secreted in the jackets of Bedouins over rocky and unforgiving terrain. I hope you may be of help.

My situation here is a desperate one. After 514 days of freedom, it has all come to an end. Ten days ago there was a coup d'état. The government of my youth was replaced by another, surely unconstitutional, dictator. This brazen move was foretold the week before by a pamphlet distributed throughout the land and called, prophetically, Linnea’s Sleep Book. Charmed by the pictures, I ignored its message. I now see my folly.

I have been imprisoned here for ten days. On the night of my arrest, I cried. I screamed. I howled at the guards. I finally fell asleep, exhausted by my efforts. The guards were unmoved. The second night I knelt in supplication, bouncing and making a repeated squeaking noise with my bed springs. Again, the guards watched impassively. On the third night I attempted to engage them by patting them through the bars of my cell and rubbing their shoulders. Nothing.

Mine is but a single cell, only a few feet long and two feet wide. I sleep on a single mattress, with no pillow and no blanket. A single sheet protects me from the plastic mattress. A single light bulb burns through the night. I sometimes hear the cries of the other prisoners, although the guards attempt to block out their pleas through the constant use of a “humidifier.”

Twice a day I am released from my cell. I am allowed regular exercise, although rarely outdoors. The recreation facilities are ample, and some entertainment exists—mostly in the form of propagandist “ABC” videos. I am allowed to speak with the other prisoners. We are sometimes transported to other facilities, but never allowed to wander on our own.

The food here is vile, as you would expect, with much emphasis on oatmeal and vegetables. We are allowed to bathe once a day, but then must return to our prison garb, which looks and fits like pajamas. Before bed I am securely wrapped in a fleece contraption. Unable to work the zipper, I must succumb to the straightjacket. It is most dispiriting.

I pray that you can do something to help my desperate situation. Perhaps Amnesty International or the Red Cross could be persuaded to provide assistance?

While I await your reply, I have begun a hunger strike. I have eaten nothing today but a single crayon.

Yours in Hope,
Linnea

You May Now Leave Your Comments

I think I have the "comment" button fixed. If I did it right, you may now leave a comment without needing to first create an account on one silly thing or another. You may even leave an anonymous comment.

Although I may be able to ferret out your identity. I'm just sayin'.

Ding Dong! Avon Calling!

Dear Oma and Tante,

Our doorbell rings a lot.

Mama doesn’t like it much. First, she just doesn’t like talking to people that much.

Oh, wait, no—that’s Daddy.

Second, when the doorbell rings the dogs go tearing to the door barking up a storm, Boo the Cat saunters over looking for an escape, I toddle there as fast as I can to see if I can stick my finger into the door hinge, and Sabrina runs over in all her naked glory shouting, “I WANT TO SEE! CAN I SEE?!”

Mama says the whole bunch of us look like Cosmo Kramer on Seinfeld showing up at the door.

After Mama has ordered the dogs to the backyard, grabbed Boo, and shooed Sabrina and me away from the door, she opens it to find out who it is.

Sometimes it is someone nice, like a play date or kids on a scavenger hunt or carol-singers out wassailing or a neighbor with cookies or jam or bread or an invitation.

But lots of times it is No One We Know.

No One We Know is very nice. No One We Know would like to sell us steaks, bring milk to our door, paint our house numbers on our curb, check our windshields for cracks and fix them for free, aerate our lawn, mow our grass, kill our bugs, soften our water, check our furnace, and save our souls.

At least I think that’s what the Mormon missionaries and the Jehovah's Witnesses want. They never really say.

After Mama says, “Thank you, but no thank you” about ten times, she closes the door.

Then she says, “Only in Utah.” As in, “Only in Utah would two guys think I’m going to let them into my house when I’m home alone with two small children so that they can ‘check my furnace.’”

Apparently Only in Utah No One We Know is usually raising money for college or a mission. I guess they all want to go somewhere else and ring other people’s doorbells.

Last week No One We Know rang the doorbell during naptime. The dogs started barking like crazy, Boo slinked in looking for an escape, I sat bolt upright and started to cry, and Sabrina popped out of her room like a jack-in-the-box and shouted, “WHO IS IT?”

Mama answered the door with me on one hip, one hand on Katie’s collar, and a foot poised to stop Boo.

No One We Know said, “Hello. I’m wondering how your water softener is doing?”

Mama said, “It’s doing fine, but I’ll let it know that you inquired after its health.”

OK, not really. But she should have said that.

Instead she said, “We don’t have a water softener.” Then she said, “Thank you, but no thank you” about ten times.

The next day, Mama put a sign on the door that says:

Please Respect Our Privacy
NO SOLICITING

When Daddy got home, he said, “Why is there a ‘No Soliciting’ sign on the door?” Mama said, “Because I’m sick of people trying to sell me things during naptime.”

Well, Mama’s sign has pretty much worked. No One We Know doesn’t ring the bell at naptime anymore.

Instead he rings the bell at bedtime.

Last night Sabrina and I were in our pajamas. We had finished our bath and brushed our teeth. I was upstairs fussing and making the sign for “milk!” over and over again. Daddy was downstairs trying to get me milk and Mama was upstairs explaining to Sabrina why we couldn’t read “The Little Snowman” one more time when the bell rang.

Daddy grabbed Katie by the collar and kept a lookout for Boo while Mama shushed me and grabbed Sabrina before she could run downstairs shouting, “WHO IS IT?”

It was No One We Know. Two very nice Mormons wanted to charge Daddy $30 to hang an American flag on our porch on national holidays. They supply the flag.

After Daddy said, “Thank you, but no thank you” about ten times he closed the door.

“And that,” shouted Mama from upstairs, “is why we have a NO SOLICITING sign!”

Overheard, Part Deux

Mama: What’s the most important part of being pretty?
Sabrina: Pretty on the inside!
Mama: That’s right. What is most important is in your heart and mind . . .
Sabrina: And lungs!

Erik (responding to an email about our finances): Why don't we have Sabrina look for nickels around the house this afternoon? If she finds one we can huddle around it and bury it like squirrels.

(Sabrina and Mama are talking after Sabrina has thrown a tantrum. Sabrina didn't want to brush her teeth.)
Mama: Why do I make you brush your teeth?
Sabrina: To keep them strong and healthy. So we won’t have to get a flu shot in our teeth!

Sabrina (pointing to a thermometer): What’s that?
Mama: What?
Sabrina: I think it’s a me-mom-eter!

(Mama is upset that she had to call an electrician to help install a light.)
Sabrina (in a soothing voice): You did a good job on the entryway light, Mama. You didn’t need any help with that one.

(Linnea has a cold, and is asleep but snoring and making a ridiculous racket.)
Mama (joking): What is that noise Linnea is making?!
Sabrina (giggling): She’s sleeping.
Mama: What?! I don’t make that noise when I sleep.
Sabrina: Oma does!

(Mama has been gone, and comes home to find Sabrina and Daddy building with blocks.)
Sabrina: Look Mama! I made a castle! I builded a waterfall and a gate—to keep the commoners out!
Mama: That’s great, Sabrina. Good job!
Sabrina: What’s a commoner?
Mama: It’s someone who isn’t royalty. Like Daddy.

(Linnea has been sick and getting a lot of attention.)
Sabrina: We need Linnea to hurry and grow up so that I can get more Mama snuggles.

(Sabrina is wearing a white dress and has a white dishcloth on her head.)
Sabrina: I’m a bride. I’m getting married.
Mama: How nice.
Sabrina: I have a newborn baby 'Nea in my tummy.
Mama: Then it’s a good thing you’re getting married.

(Linnea Screams.)
Erik: Linnea, did you wake up on the wrong side of Mommy this morning?

(Sabrina is putting together an outfit that involves four different shades of pink. It actually hurts Mama’s eyes to look at it.)
Mama: You may not wear that outfit.
Sabrina: Why not?
Erik (from the other room): Because it looks cheap!

(Sabrina climbs into Mama’s bed early in the morning, and promptly starts crying.)
Sabrina (wailing): Something smelly is in my nose!
Mama: Really?
Sabrina (still wailing): Something smelly is STILL in my nose. And it’s coming from your mouth!

I'm Sorry Winter, But We're Through

Dear Winter,

We need to have a talk.

Yes. That talk.

I know you think things are swell. But you’ve been cold for months now. I feel you're treating me rather badly.

Yes, I know you were never a warm season.

And I know that when we started this—this—thing—this relationship—whatever this is—I know I said there were things I like about you.

But it turns out I don’t like those things as much as I thought I did.

No, you’re right. You have lots of good qualities. Snowflakes. Frosty patterns on the windowpanes. Hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is lovely. Snowy evenings. Those are delightful too. Yes, especially with a fire. You’re right.

But—and here’s the thing—those snowy evenings always turn into sidewalks and front walks I have to shovel. There’s always a driveway covered in snow, and someone inevitably drives on it before the snow is cleared and then there are icy tire tracks to slip on until spring.

No, there are other good things about you. Yes, Thanksgiving is great. I enjoy cooking and drinking. Christmas is very nice too. And the lights over the holidays.

But (in truth) all the sweets give me a bit of a headache, I always gain weight, and the cleaning up is really a chore.

I know you don’t mind when I gain a little weight. That’s not the point.

New Years? Well, frankly, it’s overrated. If you stay home you always think you’re missing some great party and if you go to a party you never have all that much fun because everyone is trying so hard to have fun and you always wonder why you didn’t just stay home.

The New Years’ fireworks are nice, but they scare the dog.

Valentine’s Day? Don’t get me started.

Look, all those things about you are great. But they don’t really make up for the ice on the sidewalks, the lost and mismatched mittens, the woolly things that itch my skin, the outrageous heating bills, the frosted car windows that must be scraped, the colds and flu, the fourteen hours of dark. And I really hate it when it the oogie-googies in my nose freeze.

No, I do bundle up.

Yes, of course the northern hemisphere needs a rest. But must it last so long?

Spring will come in a few months? True, true. But then you’ll be back again and we'll fall into the same old routine.

So I think we’re going to have to break up.

No, there’s no other season.

Well, yes, I did just spend some time in Florida. Yes, I like Florida. Yes, the beach. Stop it now. I’ve only seen Florida the one time. It’s not like I plan to move there. At least not right now.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. It will only turn into ice.

I’m sorry, Winter. Really I am.

It’s not you. It’s me.