Dad always knew winter in Alaska was gloomy, but when he heard about Seasonal Affective Disorder, something clicked, and he was amazed and delighted to find out that the deep dark winter could actually affect your mood for the worse. And he came up with a solution.

He bought a 500 watt halogen lamp, one of the sort that generally gets put on the outside of buildings, wired it up properly, and mounted it on a (don't try this at home, kiddies) camera tripod. The result was ungainly and decidedly unstable, and looked very homemade, but it worked well enough. He pointed the light at the couch and plugged it in.

500 watts puts off a fantastic amount of heat and light. Outdoors, it's a spark in the darkness. Indoors, unshaded, the couch turned into an instant bit of beachfront property. Dad called it "the basking light", and made references to lizards soaking up the sun.

It was an instant hit. Unlike some of Dad's other bizarre innovations, this one stuck around and got regular use. Dad always woke up first. He'd come down in the mornings, make some coffee, and curl up on the couch in what passed for his pajamas, in front of the light, waking up quietly and pleasantly. We'd join him some mornings.

The tripod was not a good solution. We tripped over that quite a bit, and there were some close calls. I don't remember if any of those incidents took the thing out, but by and by, Dad replaced the old contraption with a modern professional version -- a two-lamped construction light on a sturdy telescoping pole with three short and stable legs. Tay-Tay and I noted with approval that instead of just bare glass over the lamps, these were fitted with cages on the fronts. It worked very well, and Dad was even able to use it for its intended purpose, as we occasionally found him outside splitting wood after dark in the company of the lamps.

I thought pet weddings were for, you know, people under the age of ten. My family held two pet weddings -- one for one of the roosters and his #1 hen, and one for my sister's duck and her hapless drake. My baby sister was the driving force behind all of this. Since I was 12 or so, my sister must have been about 10. These are as I remember them, so, like any good story, they will have gotten better in the telling. But I think these are close to how they actually happened.

The chicken wedding was a lot of fun, because everyone involved was treating it like the elaborate joke it was. It followed hot on the heels of my baby sister's favorite violin teacher getting married in an elaborate swirl of pageantry. In retrospect, I can see how the adults were treating it as a much-needed venting of all the things they couldn't say about that wedding. (The chicken couple actually lasted longer, because they were fundamentally compatible, both full adults of their species, and he didn't wander off any more than usual when one of her eggs hatched. By the time the Bantam Bantam was widowed courtesy of a hungry dog, the human couple had dissolved in a storm of parenthood and irresponsibility.)

It went off beautifully -- the bride was radiant in the lovely cream and white dress that Mama had made for her (and too cooperative to try and back out of it -- it was basically a fabric funnel with enough room for her head to stick out the front, and lace around the edges) and the groom was not actively flapping and squawking (disgruntled but too dignified to make a fuss), and ever so handsome in a black felt vest that fitted neatly under his wings.

The ceremony was held outside, in our clubhouse/stage. (Mama had built it some time previously; it was a little shack with a side that could be lowered and propped on a bench, forming a platform suitable for dramatic performances. There were even curtains.) Decorations consisted of a piece of metal wiring conduit, bent into a crude arch, secured at each side of the stage, and festooned with tissue paper flowers. "The Arch of Happiness," Dad called it.

Dad pronounced appropriate vows for chickens (the rooster had to keep a watch out for stray dogs and goshawks, and when calling his hens over for food, he wasn't supposed to eat it all himself; I think the hen was supposed to stick close to the flock and not wander off into the woods and get eaten and a few other appropriate things), and the happy couple ate a cornbread muffin and we humans used it as an excuse for a summer party.


In contrast, the duck wedding was not quite a complete fiasco, but it came close a few times. The little round brown hen had been my sister's special pet once the chick had hatched, but then my sister got the idea of ducks in her head. So there were ducks. And then, after one of the ducks (mine) died, my sister decided we needed two ducks, and since she was going to be wanting to breed ducks later and have ducklings, wouldn't it make sense to have a drake? And why, our virtual aunt had one! And then once there was the drake, my sister set her sights on a wedding. And not just any wedding. She was determined that while the chicken wedding had been Good, this Duck Wedding would be Perfect.

Now, a few words about my sister. The phrase "give an inch, and they'll take a mile" was invented to describe her. She had decided at an early age that she was going to try to use debate, logic, and pure filibustering to get her way when it wasn't given to her immediately. She had learned her lesson about whining (don't), but she would bring up the same topics again and again, talking about the benefits of giving her what she wanted in such a pleasant and reasonable tone that it actually started to seem like almost a good idea, for the hour you were listening to her talk to you. You'd remind her of past disasters, and she would tell you, with the conviction born of true belief, that such a thing could never happen this time after all the lessons she'd learned from the past disaster. (The possibility of different disasters never seemed to occur to her.)

She was a born saleswoman, and would soon have you agreeing that yes, that made sense, and that, and that -- never noticing that the slippery slope that she was leading you down was actually the way to you giving her what she wanted. And then once you were out of range, you realized what a stupid thing you'd just agreed to. My parents followed the admirable and honorable idea of treating us like human beings, so once they said yes to us about something, they would not take back their word unless it was for a very good reason -- the same courtesy they'd extend to another adult. My sister wound up getting her way a lot. And when my sister was on a Mission to accomplish something -- once she had the go-ahead -- all pretenses of rationality would drop, and she would become a singleminded demon in pursuit of whatever the hell it was that she was trying to accomplish this time.

The duck wedding was no exception. My sister proceeded to make the lives of the rest of us fairly miserable in classic Mother of the Bridezilla fashion. Nothing was too good for her precious duck and the Ducky Wedding. A simple cotton print funnel with lace edges would not be good enough for Her Duck, so Mama struggled with uncooperative synthetic satin to produce a creation that wouldn't trip the bride up by hanging down too far in the front, but hung flatteringly over the duck's broad feathery back. There was a veil, too. The groom's costume was more of a pain, with something like a tail coat and a shirt front attached to a collar with a bow-tie. Also slippery evil satin stuff. Mama's patience wore thin. Tay-Tay's patience wore thinner. There was snarling and snapping. I probably didn't help much, hanging around the outskirts and making sarcastic commentary.

This wedding had specifically invited guests, rather than just whoever wanted to show up for the party. The chicken wedding could have easily been rescheduled in case of natural disaster; there was just a cake and some cornbread. The duck wedding somehow wound up with the sort of lavish preparations I associated with one of Mama's all-out holiday parties. I kept my head down and watched from as safe a distance as I could manage.

And then -- on the eve of the wedding -- disaster.

It's relatively easy to corner chickens and make them dress up. Not so with ducks. Ducks are grimy and like mud. Tay-Tay was going to go corner the duck and bring her inside in the cage for the night, so she'd be ready in the morning when it was time to dress her up and start the wedding. Now, ducks are notoriously flaky creatures. The duck had a history of maneuvers like this, so it just figured that on the eve of her wedding, she would have to go and sneak out of the pen somehow, and completely disappear.

My sister was ... distraught. To put it mildly. There was weeping and wailing. My sister's entire LIFE depended on the Duck Wedding going perfectly, and the Duck Wedding would do no such thing if the bride was not there -- lost, fled, DEAD... The night was dreadful. Once Tay-Tay had decided that something would be Just So, then woe awaited anyone or anything that thwarted her in her plans. This conspiracy of nature against her carefully-plotted wedding was an order of magnitude above the usual histrionics. I fled the scene in terror.

We were all up early the following morning. Despite my irritation with my little sister, I was worried about the duck too. She was a nice enough duck, and it would be a shame if something had happened to her. We stomped around the edge of the woods calling the name of her duck. (What self-respecting duck comes when called?) Just as we were about to give up, we heard a muffled quack from the tall weeds at the edge of the woods. There was my sister's errant duck, sitting quite comfortably on what was clearly a nest. My sister snatched up the duck and began lecturing her about running away and getting everyone worried.

The wedding proceeded mostly as planned. Granted, the bride refused to wear her veil, and the groom was inattentive and flappy, and I'm sure my sister melted down at least once. But then it was over. Mama put down her foot at that point, and there were No More Critter Weddings. (Even though our two roosters Cello and Larkspur should at least have had a commitment ceremony or something, because they were always together and ignored the hens, even though with their relative sizes it never would have worked out physically.)

1) if you were to write a recipe for True and Lasting Friendship, what would it be? what "optional seasonings" do you prefer in your own?
1 large block solid trust, layered with liking, shared experience, and accumulated knowledge of the Other. I prefer mine with shared interests and a hint of potential romance, either active or latent.

( More questions, temporarily squinched formatting, my answers. Fun childhood anecdotes! General life philosophy! )

"I am not the fly's mother!"

When swallowtayle started playing the violin at age four or so, she wound up going to these one-week summer violin programs. Since I had given up the violin in tears, frustration, agony, and angst, as only a five or six-year-old who's not used to spending the whole day in school and furthermore can't bend her wrist that way and even furthermore won't practice can, I was not going to Suzuki Institute. Since FatherSir worked full-time, and Mama had to shepherd swallowtayle around to all the different activities, and I wasn't much for sitting around bored, Mama had to think of something to do with me. So she stuck me for the week with various friends of hers. The first year, I was with her friend who made the plush fish, but after that, I was with my virtual aunt.

My virtual aunt had chickens too. I liked chickens. They were feathery, warm, pretty, soft, pettable, and you could play with them. So I would go out to the henhouse with my virtual cousin, and we would catch chickens to play with.

There was one cute little banty rooster named Timber. I liked him, because he was cute, with pretty feathers, and he was easy to catch. He put up with me holding him. I think at one point I did find a doll dress that fit him. He put up with it with surprising grace, mostly because I had a firm hold on him, and he wasn't used to little girls picking him up and mauling him around.

My virtual aunt claimed that Timber was vicious, and not to be trusted. I didn't believe her, because Timbie behaved for me, didn't he? My virtual aunt was amazed that the bird was being so patient, or perhaps so shell-shocked, when I was playing with him.

Suzuki Institute finished, and I didn't think about Timber much. One day, after Mama got off the phone with my virtual aunt, she reported that Timber, who was never the best-behaved rooster around her, had gone beyond fighting with her feet, and had instead made an insane kamikaze leap onto her head while she was collecting eggs. She came back into the house bleeding, which resulted in my virtual cousin fainting.

Timber wasn't around very much longer, after that.

All the wassailing tonight reminds me of a particular party.


So our family was in the habit of throwing absolutely awesome Solstice parties. There were kids playing all over the upstairs, a potluck supper, music and caroling downstairs, and generally we kids would stage an Entertainment.

This particular year, we had chickens. The pet kind, in a coop outside. Mama told us girls sternly that we were not to go out and get any birds and bring them in, not even Calico and Aurora, because there were some co-workers of FatherSir's, and the one guy's wife was fastidious, and chickens in the house would not be a good plan.

swallowtayle and I were disappointed, but agreed.

The party was going strong, and I was perched downstairs with the grownups when I saw FatherSir put on his boots and red down vest and slip outside. I perked up my ears, because the way he was leaving made it clear to me that he was sneaking, and when he was sneaking, he was Up To Something. I kept an eye on the door, and sure enough, when he returned, he crept up the stairs with a lump under his red down vest.

I followed.

To much delight, FatherSir had brought Miss Aurora Fayoumis, the lovelier and more refined of our two Egyptian Fayoumi, and we petted her and made much of her. FatherSir sat her in state on a pillow from Mama's side of the bed, and we were having quite the time (and Miss A. was behaving herself perfectly, lying upright on the pillow as a particularly regal cat might) when Mama came upstairs.

Of course, swallowtayle and I got the initial "I thought I told you..." lecture, and when there was a break in it, I informed Mama, "But we didn't! FatherSir brought her in!" Mama cross-checked with FatherSir, and it was just so: FatherSir hadn't heard Mama's initial lecture about no chickens in the house for this party...

Fortunately, Aurora was a calm lady by temperament, and remained well-behaved for the duration of the party, even with the crowd, and Mrs. H. was charmed with her unhenlike serenity.