OKay, so I'm not a great cook. And the Kid knows ("You're not magic"), but he's got a sense of humor. Well, okay not really, I still have to explain myself to him.
"Don't I cook you the best cereal in town?"
"Um, no. Cereal isn't cooked. Ya pour milk over it. And I poured milk over it, not you!"
That part was true, he had crashed momentarily on the couch while I pretended he was lost and went to look for him in the bathroom. When I came back, I was actually surprised to find him where he should be.
I asked the dog, in a somewhat sincere voice, "Cody!?!? Where he?? I lost the kid!!"
But there he was, a huge smile, actually eating his breakfast (instead of playing with it, like he/we did last week. The Grand Battle of the Bran Flakes against the Pecans. Long story short, they both lost)
Breakfast was him, still puffy eyed and bleary, hair unsettled down and talking about some dream where he went back in time. And visited his father as a kid! I wanted to press him for details about how he KNEW he was back in time, wanting to put my impressions onto him. Did he recognize that the food labels had a different design? The apartment had tackier art? But all he kept saying was, "It was really . . . weird" Which for a kid, can mean a million different things.
So I gave him a spoon, a plain wooden spoon, a simple giveaway from The Taste of France event in Bryant Park. People were crowding the booths so much, you'd think they were GIVING things away. But no, the only samples I had were of an olive oil and butter. Given to me just past the Eiffel Tower sculpted out of butter. (And it tasted like Portuguese mornings by the ocean. So fresh, you could dive in)
I wanted him to read the label of the spoon, (he reads so little!) but he shrugged as if it was in French. I took it back and realized it was in script.
"Behold your magic spoon, giving you access to the marvels of a mysterious school and the fantastic secrets of French fine dining . . . " and a secret word: ONLYLYON
He shrugged again and said, "If it's magic then maybe it can make you . . . disappear!"
I closed my eyes like I was a squirrel, hoping I wouldn't be seen. It didn't work on him.
And then it was almost time to go and he didn't have pants. "I don't have any Flexible Pants!" he cried. I began going through the neatly piled pairs on the floor. "What about this?" Slacks, not jeans, but not sweats.
"I need Sweats! They need to be Flexible clothes, I have gym today!"
I dug a little deeper and found some.
He turned to me, wide-eyed, "It's the Magic Spoon!"
"Thank you, Magic Spoon!" I said, and then he said, both eager to take our magic wherever we can get it.
And later, when he and the dog were the first ones in line, he saw a van double parked in front of the bus stop.
"I wish that van would move!" he kept repeating.
Assuming that it would be gone from that busy spot within the next 20 minutes, and seeing someone walking up to it with keys, I said, "Ask the Magic Spoon."
He did and it worked.
I found the website, www.chef-factory.com/ . And watched the mysterious video, which starts with a boy that looks a little bit like The Kid. But ti turned into a bizarre cartoon, so i still don't understand if it is a restaurant or a cooking school. Somehow, it looked as if it was. But to attend the school, you have to go to Lyon, be an infant and also be a cartoon.
When the dog and I got back, I had a sense that the dog was watching me too closely. Like he's a spy or has a hidden camera behind his eyes (now THAT's a conspiracy theory). Or maybe he was just a soul watching me, watching how I treat him, and me noticing him makes me more vigilant over my own interactions with humans.
And that counts as effective Magic too.
"Don't I cook you the best cereal in town?"
"Um, no. Cereal isn't cooked. Ya pour milk over it. And I poured milk over it, not you!"
That part was true, he had crashed momentarily on the couch while I pretended he was lost and went to look for him in the bathroom. When I came back, I was actually surprised to find him where he should be.
I asked the dog, in a somewhat sincere voice, "Cody!?!? Where he?? I lost the kid!!"
But there he was, a huge smile, actually eating his breakfast (instead of playing with it, like he/we did last week. The Grand Battle of the Bran Flakes against the Pecans. Long story short, they both lost)
Breakfast was him, still puffy eyed and bleary, hair unsettled down and talking about some dream where he went back in time. And visited his father as a kid! I wanted to press him for details about how he KNEW he was back in time, wanting to put my impressions onto him. Did he recognize that the food labels had a different design? The apartment had tackier art? But all he kept saying was, "It was really . . . weird" Which for a kid, can mean a million different things.
So I gave him a spoon, a plain wooden spoon, a simple giveaway from The Taste of France event in Bryant Park. People were crowding the booths so much, you'd think they were GIVING things away. But no, the only samples I had were of an olive oil and butter. Given to me just past the Eiffel Tower sculpted out of butter. (And it tasted like Portuguese mornings by the ocean. So fresh, you could dive in)
I wanted him to read the label of the spoon, (he reads so little!) but he shrugged as if it was in French. I took it back and realized it was in script.
"Behold your magic spoon, giving you access to the marvels of a mysterious school and the fantastic secrets of French fine dining . . . " and a secret word: ONLYLYON
He shrugged again and said, "If it's magic then maybe it can make you . . . disappear!"
I closed my eyes like I was a squirrel, hoping I wouldn't be seen. It didn't work on him.
And then it was almost time to go and he didn't have pants. "I don't have any Flexible Pants!" he cried. I began going through the neatly piled pairs on the floor. "What about this?" Slacks, not jeans, but not sweats.
"I need Sweats! They need to be Flexible clothes, I have gym today!"
I dug a little deeper and found some.
He turned to me, wide-eyed, "It's the Magic Spoon!"
"Thank you, Magic Spoon!" I said, and then he said, both eager to take our magic wherever we can get it.
And later, when he and the dog were the first ones in line, he saw a van double parked in front of the bus stop.
"I wish that van would move!" he kept repeating.
Assuming that it would be gone from that busy spot within the next 20 minutes, and seeing someone walking up to it with keys, I said, "Ask the Magic Spoon."
He did and it worked.
I found the website, www.chef-factory.com/ . And watched the mysterious video, which starts with a boy that looks a little bit like The Kid. But ti turned into a bizarre cartoon, so i still don't understand if it is a restaurant or a cooking school. Somehow, it looked as if it was. But to attend the school, you have to go to Lyon, be an infant and also be a cartoon.
When the dog and I got back, I had a sense that the dog was watching me too closely. Like he's a spy or has a hidden camera behind his eyes (now THAT's a conspiracy theory). Or maybe he was just a soul watching me, watching how I treat him, and me noticing him makes me more vigilant over my own interactions with humans.
And that counts as effective Magic too.
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