Category Archives: One in a Thousand

The Rules in Our House

One in a Thousand, ,

E.O. Schaub

Sure, kids say the darndest things. Then again, so do their parents. What follows is a list of things I have actually said to my children over the last 9+ years…

It is not polite to jump at the dinner table.
It is polite at the dinner table to keep your clothes on.
It’s not polite to put food in your nose.
Okay, you don’t pour milk in your hand, and then drink the milk out of your hand.
We don’t close the produce drawer by kicking it.
No using vegetable brushes in your hair.
No standing on your sister.
No sitting on your sister.
No coloring on your sister.
No squashing your sister.
No kicking Mommy in the face.
Don’t you PUT roast beef on my forehead!
It’s a little early in the morning to be upside-down.
No, you cannot have four kinds of cereal for breakfast.
No one puts any feet in the sink unless Mommy or Daddy is in the room.
No feet on the alarm clock.
We don’t wear shoes in bed.
We do not have to sleep with the oven mitt.
Don’t step on anybody’s face- no stepping on faces.
No strangling.
No torturing.
We do NOT spray each other with vinegar.
We cannot jump on musical instruments.
We don’t pick our nose with the book but we DO flush the toilet.
I want everyone to stop throwing underwear at each other!
Do not spit food under the table!
No drawing on each other!
NO BOTTOM KISSING!
We don’t eat out of the dishwasher!
You are not supposed to crayon on the car!

    And of course, my own, all-time personal favorite:

Yes, eating your napkin is bad manners.

Thoughts on a Dead Deer

One in a Thousand, , ,

E.O. Schaub

A deer died in our backyard yesterday. Ten years ago I would’ve found this event deeply disturbing, tragic, and probably warranting a medium-length depression on my part. Instead, I thought to myself, “Huh. Interesting.” Later, when the hunter and his friend came in a pick-up truck to claim it and promised us some venison steaks as a sort of middle-man gratuity, I didn’t even recoil with a long-ingrained vegetarian revulsion. Instead, I thought: “Cool!”

Clearly, some things have changed. For one thing, I recently ended a two-decade-long meat abstention of varying degrees. (You know, no-red-meat-but-yes-poultry – ie: “flexitarian”– becomes no-poultry-but-yes-fish -ie: “pescatarian”– which evolves into no-fish-no-poultry-no-red-meat-but-yes-eggs-milk-and-cheese -ie: “ovo-lacto vegetarian”– which ultimately, of course, turns into “I eat nothing but kiwi-fruit, orange Tic-Tacs, and dirt” – ie: “antidisestablishmentarian”.) So no longer avoiding meat of any kind certainly changes my outlook on these sorts of things.

But other things have changed too: my definition of respect for life, and what constitutes responsible eating. Where once I considered it a act of kindness and compassion- not to mention a sign of my highly-evolved sense of ethics- to shun burgers in favor of a meal consisting of fries and water, or to consume a Thanksgiving Day dinner comprised of everything but the turkey- basically a festival of starch- nowadays I realize that respect for life, happiness and well-being has to by necessity, start at home. Which is to say, with me. Continue reading Thoughts on a Dead Deer →

Proposal for a New Town Uglification Committee

One in a Thousand, , , ,

oneinathousandlogoE.O. Schaub

Dear Editor,

It has recently come to my attention that our lovely New England farming community is far too charming and bucolic for its own darn good. How, I wonder, is a citizen supposed to get on with the important and difficult business of growing crops, milking, slate quarrying and sugaring, when he or she is constantly being bombarded by requests from Vermont Life photographers to “move a little to the left” and “look a little more rugged and haggard in the next one- but in a good way.”

You know the problems as well as I do. Every autumn our town is overrun with the dreaded Leaf Peepers, peeping at our leaves most indecently. Then the antique hunters arrive, breaking into our storage barns in hopes of finding a charming little shop selling glass milk bottles in which they might arrange flowers for their Soho loft powder rooms, or perhaps a family heirloom rocking chair they might yank from my beneath my dying grandmother’s arthritic fanny.

Every winter, the skiers descend like locusts, wearing parkas made of yak fur and demanding lactose-free ice cream at the diner, asking where the nearest Starbucks/sushi bar/Apple store is and lamenting the failure of civilization to bring sufficient cell phone service to our area as if it ranked slightly above sewage treatment and clean running water. Continue reading Proposal for a New Town Uglification Committee →