The Adventures of Podunk Jo – Adventure 2: Vacationing?

After various awards ceremonies and and endless stream of banquets, Jo was finally able to return to Nine Rivers for the last little bit of her vacation time. True, what with all the lesson planning she needed to get done before the start of term, it wouldn’t be much of a vacation. Still, it was home. She looked forward to spending some quality time with Tigger again, away from the crowds, from the fame. The only thing she was worried about was how to delicately say goodbye to Retardo.

She had tried, on several occasions, to indicate that perhaps the girl would be happier with her own space, her own life. Or perhaps back wherever she’d come from-back learning more Chinese medicine, maybe.  But Retardo always claimed that she was happiest with Tigger. Podunk didn’t want to share her reservations about Retardo with him either — he seemed so genuinely fond of her.

At last, it was time for Jo to go. She packed up her bags, but delayed speaking to Retardo until she was about to head for the train. Finally, she could avoid it no longer.

“Retardo,” Podunk Jo began, “it’s time for us to go. We need to return to Nine Rivers to get ready for the start of the school term.”

“Nine Rivers? Really? What are we waiting for? I can’t wait to see your hometown!” She and Tigger proceeded to link arms and do a little jig.

“Er…it’s not really our hometown…” How could Jo say she didn’t want Retardo to come now, after all the excitement?

“Yeah right. Next you’ll be telling me you’re from London and he’s from the Hundred Acre Woods.”

***

On the way to the train station, Podunk Jo and Retardo happened to pass a very strange street performer. This person (obviously a foreigner, despite her dark hair) was doing around a strange burning bush. At some points, she seemed to fan the flame, or at least gesture towards it: at others, she sidestepped or scurried away, as if in fear. Jo gave her a double take, and then a wide berth. Retardo, of course, was enthralled. She mimicked a few of the dance moves, and then had a glimmer of recognition. She began frantically digging in her bag. Tigger and Jo looked at Retardo with wide eyes, then at each other. They shook thier heads resignedly almost in unison.

Don’t worry, I’ll save you!” Retardo finally cried, holding her water bottle aloft. She rushed over and splashed out all the water on the wildly waving figure.

The girl stopped, wiped off her dripping face, and sighed. Tigger, ever-resourceful, provided a hankie.

“Why did you soak that poor girl?” Jo finally asked. “It wasn’t a very nice thing to do!”

Retardo looked at Jo with amazement. “Didn’t you see her gesturing? She was giving the International Gesture for ‘urgent – add water’.”

Jo was amazed that there was such a thing as an international gesture for urgent or add water, but she kept the thought to herself. “Do you think maybe she wanted you to add water to the burning plant over there?”

“The plant? Don’t be silly. She was probably overheated from repeated gesturing.”

The odd girl had been examining them closely. “So you both speak English? I should’ve known. ” She held out a hand. “My name is Samantha Anti-Danger Smith, but you can call me Sam.”

Jo nodded shook her hand briskly, and introduced everyone all around. “Anti-Danger is an odd sort of middle name. Any story behind it?”

“I’d better show you.” She put out a finger, and stretched it out to touch one leaf of the still-burning plant. Instantly, all the flames were extinguished. Podunk wondered why she hadn’t just done that in the first place.

“Right, well, we must be off to the train station…”

“Why don’t you come with us!” Retardo exclaimed. “We’re off to Nine Rivers for vacation. We could take you around and show you all the sights.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised. “That sounds nice. I’d be happy to.”

Inwardly, Jo groaned. This supposed vacation was turning into a bleeding circus.

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My mad grandmotherly skillz

I’m trying to get another Podunk Jo done, so this might be a little short. I was thinking today about what I might want to do this morning to get my three-day weekend started right while Mike was still sleeping. Knitting was the first thing that came to mind.

While it;’s true that I usually knit on the bus a little – I like to keep my hands busy – and I hadn’t done so in the past week since I’ve been reading so much, it still came as something of a shock. I am a grandma. I like to knit. On the weekend.

Some of you know about my future life goal of being a crazy/eccentric old lady, possibly with cats. However, I had intended that to come about as a part of my natural life, with the passage of time. True, I had already mostly achieved the crazy portion of my goal. I just didn’t expect the grandma part to catch up with me so quickly. Hello! I’m not even 30 yet.

I guess a part of my trouble with the whole concept comes from the traditional feminine tasks that I genuinely enjoy doing. I like being able to do things, to make things. I may need to know how to make my own socks some day, when the economy collapses. Hence, I knit. I may need to fix my clothes. Hence, I can sew. You know, useful stuff to know that people look at you funny for, or admire you for, claiming they could never do that/find the time. Thanks! Really!

It’s not that I’ve necessarily neglected the ‘male’ do-it-yourself skills. If I’m ever on a desert island, I have the carpentry skills to make myself a hut, or even something more extensive. I know how to purify water and start a fire and all that boy scout crap. Although, now that I think about it, that sort of thing has become rather effeminate as well. I know some geeky technology stuff too, though that’s also probably a less manly skill. Oh, and Mike taught me a bit about how to throw a knife, so that’s another manly skill in process. I don’t know anything about cars or engines really, but do I have to in order to be considered manly?

I guess the point is that I feel like an old lady for knitting.  I can’t seem to get over that ‘traditional role’ value for it in my psyche.  Maybe it’s partly because my mother doesn’t knit and my grandmother does.  Maybe that value was unconsciously instilled at a young age.  And despite whatever new, trendy, fashionable aspects knitting has today (yak), that’s not what has attracted me to it.  What I really like about it is a sense of independence I can get from it.   The “I’m going to make you an ugly sweater and you’re going to like it” sense.  The ability to make something for myself, as well as the ability to do things my way, are both key.

I guess that is sort of grandmotherly – not in a traditional sense.  In the powerful sense instead – the kind of grandmother who’s a little crotchety and on-edge, and will never go into a nursing home, and knows her vices and savors them.  I guess that’s the kind of crazy grandma I want to be.  Hurrah for one step closer.