Every Friday night, Stanley goes to New Edisons. It's sort of a Boy Scouts for geeks. Instead of earning badges in things like knot tying, fly fishing, and birdhouse making, they make telegraph stations, analyze the patterns on butterfly wings, and make pickles glow with electricity. Instead of summer campouts, they listen to lectures from Isaac Asimov.
When I picked him up last night, Stanley tossed his battered satchel into the back seat and crawled in after it. Stanely started carrying the satchel after he found it in the attic of his best friend's, Leonard Bell's, house. They didn't want it, so he claimed it and has used it ever since while his backpack lies unused under his bed.
He was unusually quiet and, looking into the rearview mirror, I immediately noticed something amiss.
"Where's your tie."
"I needed a belt."
"Like an engine belt?"
He looked at me like I was an idiot.
"No, like a belt to hold up my pants."
I considered the options, then ventured to ask, "Where's your belt?"
"Lenny needed it."
"For what?"
A sigh.
"To hold up his pants."
I knew I was digging myself in, but couldn't help myself.
"Where was his belt?"
"He didn't have a belt."
"And he didn't notice this before coming to New Edisons?"
"Martin," he said with another sigh. "Are you trying to be difficult?"
"No," I replied honestly.
"He didn't need a belt before coming to New Edisons."
"Weren't his pants falling down before coming, then? Or did he lose lots of weight over the past two hours?"
"His pants had elastic, Martin."
"So why did he need a belt then?"
"We needed the elastic."
I was starting to understand Stanely's train of logic, which gave me cause for concern.
"What did you need the elastic for," I asked.
"For a belt. A belt drive, like for an engine."
"Of course you did."
We drove on for a few minutes in silence and then, just as we were turning the corner onto our street, Stanley spoke up again.
"Just so you know, I'm over time zones."
"Over them?"
"Yeah. I'm still interested in them, but I've pretty much got them figured out."
"I'd noticed you hadn't asked much about them lately," I said.
"Yeah. I figured you weren't in any position to teach me more than I knew anyway," he said.
"So, what are you onto now, then?"
"I'm working on it," he said. "I'll let you know."
We pulled into the driveway then, and that was that. Stanley and the satchel went in the front door without another word.
Showing posts with label Stanley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stanley. Show all posts
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
A Timely Passenger
Stanley still has time on his mind.
The setting? The car. Me in front, driving, and Stanley in the back on our way to New Edisons.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah?
Stanley: You know about time zones?
Me: You still on that?
Stanley: Of course. So you know about time zones?
Me: Yeah. What about 'em?
Stanley: Well, I was looking at a map today.
Me: Congratulations.
Stanley: I'm ignoring that.
Me: Okay.
Stanley: So, I was looking at the map today and you know how the timezones change in the middle of the country?
Me: Yeah.
Stanley: Well, does that mean that somewhere, it's one time where someone lives and a different time across the street?
Me: I dunno. Probably. I guess it has to change somewhere.
Stanley: Weird, eh?
Me: I guess.
Stanley: So what if you went to school across the street?
Me: What?
Stanley: What if you went to school across the street? Would you have to get up really early?
Me: Or you could sleep in really late.
Stanley: What?
Me: Depends on whether you're an hour ahead of them or behind.
Stanley: Oh.
A big pause.
Stanley: Okay. If you're an hour behind.
Me: Then I guess you'd have to get up early, cross the street and get there an hour later.
Stanley: Even though it's just across the road?
Me: Yep. You'd leave your house at 7:30 your time and arrive at school at 8:35.
Stanley: And what about the kids who live across the street.
Me: Oh, they could just leave their houses at 8:30. Not fair, is it?
Another long pause.
Stanley: But they'd really be getting up at the same time as you, right? In the great scheme of the universe. Right? 'Cause if the teacher asked the first kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago." And if the teacher asks the other kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago," too. Right?
Me: Now you're catching on.
Stanley: On the way home, if you left school at three, you'd get home around two, though.
Me: Indeed you would.
Really long pause.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah? What now?
Stanley: I hope people there understand that.
Me: Understand what?
Stanley: That it's really the same time in the scheme of the universe.
Me: Why?
Stanley: So those kids have the same bedtime. Nobody should get cheated.
You've got to give him credit. He's got priorities.
The setting? The car. Me in front, driving, and Stanley in the back on our way to New Edisons.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah?
Stanley: You know about time zones?
Me: You still on that?
Stanley: Of course. So you know about time zones?
Me: Yeah. What about 'em?
Stanley: Well, I was looking at a map today.
Me: Congratulations.
Stanley: I'm ignoring that.
Me: Okay.
Stanley: So, I was looking at the map today and you know how the timezones change in the middle of the country?
Me: Yeah.
Stanley: Well, does that mean that somewhere, it's one time where someone lives and a different time across the street?
Me: I dunno. Probably. I guess it has to change somewhere.
Stanley: Weird, eh?
Me: I guess.
Stanley: So what if you went to school across the street?
Me: What?
Stanley: What if you went to school across the street? Would you have to get up really early?
Me: Or you could sleep in really late.
Stanley: What?
Me: Depends on whether you're an hour ahead of them or behind.
Stanley: Oh.
A big pause.
Stanley: Okay. If you're an hour behind.
Me: Then I guess you'd have to get up early, cross the street and get there an hour later.
Stanley: Even though it's just across the road?
Me: Yep. You'd leave your house at 7:30 your time and arrive at school at 8:35.
Stanley: And what about the kids who live across the street.
Me: Oh, they could just leave their houses at 8:30. Not fair, is it?
Another long pause.
Stanley: But they'd really be getting up at the same time as you, right? In the great scheme of the universe. Right? 'Cause if the teacher asked the first kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago." And if the teacher asks the other kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago," too. Right?
Me: Now you're catching on.
Stanley: On the way home, if you left school at three, you'd get home around two, though.
Me: Indeed you would.
Really long pause.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah? What now?
Stanley: I hope people there understand that.
Me: Understand what?
Stanley: That it's really the same time in the scheme of the universe.
Me: Why?
Stanley: So those kids have the same bedtime. Nobody should get cheated.
You've got to give him credit. He's got priorities.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Return
So I had Stanley up bright and early because, despite my parents' doubts, I am able to operate a clock radio. I made him some toast, poured him a bowl of cereal and proceeded to pack his lunch.
That's right. I can operate a loaf of bread, too.
Anyway, I zipped up the bag, turned to hand it to Stanely, and found him, spoon half-way to his mouth, staring vaguely ahead of himself, and grinning maniacally.
"What are you all Lex Luthor about?"
"Nothing." He snickered and his smile grew wider.
"Obviously it's something. What are you grinning about?"
"It's those people on the West Coast," he said, barely able to contain his excitement.
"What about them?"
"They have no idea!"
Did I mention that my brother's a seven year old psycho?
"They have no idea about what, Stanley? Spit it out."
He was downright bursting.
"I've been up for half an hour, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
He covered his mouth like he was holding the word's biggest secret between his teeth.
"They're all still sleeping! They have no idea what I'm doing right now! I could be doing anything and they wouldn't even know! They wouldn't find out for hours! They're not even awake!"
I considered looking to the heavens for answers. Instead I said:
"Yeah? Well remember that in England, they're already having lunch and you just woke up. They've been doing things for hours while you were still asleep."
His jaw dropped, his spoon rattled in his bowl of Cheerios, and I handed him his lunch bag, satisfied.
School was ... well ... school. You know what's ridiculous about the inmates at The Slammer? It's the first day back after, what, fourteen days? and half of them are all running up and hugging one another or slamming chests or doing little slick handshakes like they're long lost buddies. Seriously, people. It's been 14 days, and most of you saw each other over the break, too.
In any case, my parents came home tonight. They got in the door around seven o'clock and by 7:15 they were on the phone to Allie at Pennington's.
Seriously? They came in and called Allie right away. While Stanley and I waited. Isn't that like calling for pizza when you're sitting at a table full of food?
Anyway, once they got around to us, we sat through a twenty-minute synopsis of their trip while Mom rubbed moisturizer into dad's lobster-red back. It was a little difficult to patch together their story, given the frequency with which they interrupted one another. Basically, it was sunshine, blah, blah, blah, water, blah, blah, blah, starfish, blah, blah, blah, the buffet, blah, blah, blah, and doomed waterskiing.
Then they broke out the gifts.
For Stanley, a stuffed shark toy and a starfish tie.
For Allie, a woven straw box and a sea-glass necklace.
And for me?
A keychain.
That's right.
A keychain.
With a palm tree on it.
That's how dull my parents think I am.
*sigh*
Nice to have you home.
That's right. I can operate a loaf of bread, too.
Anyway, I zipped up the bag, turned to hand it to Stanely, and found him, spoon half-way to his mouth, staring vaguely ahead of himself, and grinning maniacally.
"What are you all Lex Luthor about?"
"Nothing." He snickered and his smile grew wider.
"Obviously it's something. What are you grinning about?"
"It's those people on the West Coast," he said, barely able to contain his excitement.
"What about them?"
"They have no idea!"
Did I mention that my brother's a seven year old psycho?
"They have no idea about what, Stanley? Spit it out."
He was downright bursting.
"I've been up for half an hour, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
He covered his mouth like he was holding the word's biggest secret between his teeth.
"They're all still sleeping! They have no idea what I'm doing right now! I could be doing anything and they wouldn't even know! They wouldn't find out for hours! They're not even awake!"
I considered looking to the heavens for answers. Instead I said:
"Yeah? Well remember that in England, they're already having lunch and you just woke up. They've been doing things for hours while you were still asleep."
His jaw dropped, his spoon rattled in his bowl of Cheerios, and I handed him his lunch bag, satisfied.
School was ... well ... school. You know what's ridiculous about the inmates at The Slammer? It's the first day back after, what, fourteen days? and half of them are all running up and hugging one another or slamming chests or doing little slick handshakes like they're long lost buddies. Seriously, people. It's been 14 days, and most of you saw each other over the break, too.
In any case, my parents came home tonight. They got in the door around seven o'clock and by 7:15 they were on the phone to Allie at Pennington's.
Seriously? They came in and called Allie right away. While Stanley and I waited. Isn't that like calling for pizza when you're sitting at a table full of food?
Anyway, once they got around to us, we sat through a twenty-minute synopsis of their trip while Mom rubbed moisturizer into dad's lobster-red back. It was a little difficult to patch together their story, given the frequency with which they interrupted one another. Basically, it was sunshine, blah, blah, blah, water, blah, blah, blah, starfish, blah, blah, blah, the buffet, blah, blah, blah, and doomed waterskiing.
Then they broke out the gifts.
For Stanley, a stuffed shark toy and a starfish tie.
For Allie, a woven straw box and a sea-glass necklace.
And for me?
A keychain.
That's right.
A keychain.
With a palm tree on it.
That's how dull my parents think I am.
*sigh*
Nice to have you home.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Bed Time Questions
Two somewhat noteworthy things happened today.
The first was a phonecall. My mom, who will return with dad sometime tomorrow night, called from some port or other to remind me to get Stanley (the junior) up and ready to catch the bus to school by eight tomorrow. As if I'd forget. It's back to The Slammer for me, too.
Stanley's pretty happy to return, though. He spent an hour today ironing a clean shirt and practising tying a new red-and-black tie he got for Christmas.
In the background on the phone I could hear cheers, shouts, and general shenanigans.
"Your dad's waterskiing," Mom explained. "One last go before we get back on a plane. But don't worry. I don't see this hobby taking off anytime soon. I swear he's nearly drowned three times. Besides, he's missing his trombone."
I assured her that I'd get Stanley on the bus in the morning, told her I'd see her tomorrow, and hung up.
The second event isn't really that noteworthy, either, except that it illustrates Stanley's brain functioning for those who don't know him well. Like I said, he's a bit analytical and asks enough questions to make Alex Trebek want to hang himself.
Tonight it was time zones. I was trying to get him away from the ironing board and into bed. It went something like this:
"Martin?"
"Yeah?"
"You know time zones?"
"What do you mean, do I know time zones?"
"I mean, you know time zones?"
"What about them?"
"Well, what time is it?"
"Here?"
"Yeah."
"8:15."
"What time is it in London?"
"London, England, or London, Ontario."
"London, England."
I did a little math.
"1:15."
"In the morning?"
"Yeah."
"Today or tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
"So in England it's tomorrow when it's today here?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"At the same time." To his credit, technically it wasn't a question.
"Yeah."
"So if I do something right now, to them it will be yesterday?"
"I guess so."
"So does that mean if I do something right now, in England it's already history?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, is our present their past?"
"Well no."
"Why not?"
"Because even though their clocks are at a different time, it's still happening at the same time in reality."
"Why? If it's 1:15 there and it's only 8:15 here, it's not the same time, is it?"
"No, it's not the same time on the clocks, but it's the same time still."
"How's that?"
"Shouldn't you be going to bed?"
"I will. How's that?"
"How's what? Bedtime or this whole time zone thing?"
"How can it be different times and the same time, too?"
Why can't I have a brother who just goes to bed? Or to boarding school like Allie, for that matter. At the rate he's going, he'll be old enough to go at 8 and a half.
"Because clocks are just clocks. Yeah, the clock times will be different, but in the great scheme of the universe, you're still doing something and it happens when it happens and even though we might label it differently, it's still happening just at that moment. When it happens. An hour from now, it'll be 9:15 and if someone asks me, 'When did your brother ask you a stupid question about time instead of going to bed?', I'll answer, 'An hour ago.' And in an hour, in England it'll be 2:15, and if some English guy asks another English guy, 'When did Martin Melbourne's brother ask him a stupid question about time instead of going to bed?', that other English guy will answer, 'An hour ago,' and then he'll add, 'and then he went to bed.'"
Stanley stopped and looked at me for a moment, tie in hand.
"Good. That makes sense."
And off he went to bed.
The first was a phonecall. My mom, who will return with dad sometime tomorrow night, called from some port or other to remind me to get Stanley (the junior) up and ready to catch the bus to school by eight tomorrow. As if I'd forget. It's back to The Slammer for me, too.
Stanley's pretty happy to return, though. He spent an hour today ironing a clean shirt and practising tying a new red-and-black tie he got for Christmas.
In the background on the phone I could hear cheers, shouts, and general shenanigans.
"Your dad's waterskiing," Mom explained. "One last go before we get back on a plane. But don't worry. I don't see this hobby taking off anytime soon. I swear he's nearly drowned three times. Besides, he's missing his trombone."
I assured her that I'd get Stanley on the bus in the morning, told her I'd see her tomorrow, and hung up.
The second event isn't really that noteworthy, either, except that it illustrates Stanley's brain functioning for those who don't know him well. Like I said, he's a bit analytical and asks enough questions to make Alex Trebek want to hang himself.
Tonight it was time zones. I was trying to get him away from the ironing board and into bed. It went something like this:
"Martin?"
"Yeah?"
"You know time zones?"
"What do you mean, do I know time zones?"
"I mean, you know time zones?"
"What about them?"
"Well, what time is it?"
"Here?"
"Yeah."
"8:15."
"What time is it in London?"
"London, England, or London, Ontario."
"London, England."
I did a little math.
"1:15."
"In the morning?"
"Yeah."
"Today or tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
"So in England it's tomorrow when it's today here?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"At the same time." To his credit, technically it wasn't a question.
"Yeah."
"So if I do something right now, to them it will be yesterday?"
"I guess so."
"So does that mean if I do something right now, in England it's already history?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, is our present their past?"
"Well no."
"Why not?"
"Because even though their clocks are at a different time, it's still happening at the same time in reality."
"Why? If it's 1:15 there and it's only 8:15 here, it's not the same time, is it?"
"No, it's not the same time on the clocks, but it's the same time still."
"How's that?"
"Shouldn't you be going to bed?"
"I will. How's that?"
"How's what? Bedtime or this whole time zone thing?"
"How can it be different times and the same time, too?"
Why can't I have a brother who just goes to bed? Or to boarding school like Allie, for that matter. At the rate he's going, he'll be old enough to go at 8 and a half.
"Because clocks are just clocks. Yeah, the clock times will be different, but in the great scheme of the universe, you're still doing something and it happens when it happens and even though we might label it differently, it's still happening just at that moment. When it happens. An hour from now, it'll be 9:15 and if someone asks me, 'When did your brother ask you a stupid question about time instead of going to bed?', I'll answer, 'An hour ago.' And in an hour, in England it'll be 2:15, and if some English guy asks another English guy, 'When did Martin Melbourne's brother ask him a stupid question about time instead of going to bed?', that other English guy will answer, 'An hour ago,' and then he'll add, 'and then he went to bed.'"
Stanley stopped and looked at me for a moment, tie in hand.
"Good. That makes sense."
And off he went to bed.
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