The world is full of many delightful blog entries. Just yesterday, for example, I was reading a blog about how to make cantucci. Cantucci are little Italian cookies that one might dip in coffee while overlooking a serene lake in Tuscany or surreptitiously avoiding the pursuit of armed thugs while pretending to read a newspaper in a Venetian cafe.
The blog that I read about cantucci started with a long anecdote about a walk in the woods in autumn and then gave a simple recipe and instructions for how to bake cantucci in one's very own kitchen. I would encourage you to search for a blog about cantucci making and, if you have a sufficient number of almonds, to make these delicious cookies yourself.
Or perhaps you could look over a blog that I saw last week about the preparation of Fischeintopf. Fischeintopf is a hearty German fish stew with potatoes, vermouth, and cod that one might sip rosy-cheeked after a day of Alpine skiing or of rescuing small children from abandoned wells. The blog that I read last week, after describing another autumnal walk in the woods, lists a simple recipe for Fischeintopf that I ate with great satisfaction.
But if you are not in the mood for delicious anise-flavored cookies or for a savory stew, you might continue to read this blog. I warn you that you will be neither comforted nor fed by the end of it. Indeed, you will not have even heard about an ambling walk through the autumnal woods.
This is because the subject of this blog is the Smith children.
The Smith children, ages 13, 10, and 7, are three of the most unfortunate children that have ever lived. Indeed, if ever three children did deserve a plate of Italian cookies or a bowl of German fish-stew it would be these three. But, as you will discover if you keep on reading, their only lot was suffering and woe.
The oldest of the three children was James, who was tall and polite and could build marvelous works of architecture out of empty seltzer cans. Indeed, James was never happier than when he was alone in his room creating colorful seltzer-can replicas of the Golden Gate Bridge, the Sydney Opera House, and the Eiffel Tower.
His younger brother, Owen, was extraordinarily gifted in volume of noise. Whether humming, whistling, beatboxing, (a word which hear means "making rhythmic percussive noises with one's tongue, lips, and teeth while simultaneously humming a vigorous dance rhythm") playing the piano, tipping objects down the staircase, or (his favorite activity) shouting, Owen was constantly exploring the limits of how much noise a single 10-year old child could make.
The youngest of the brothers was Felix, who was 7 years old. Felix was extraordinary in many ways, but most impressively and most obviously in the size of his head. Felix did not even need to practice having an enormous head. It was a skill that he was born with, and he'd excelled at it ever since he was first brought home from the hospital.
You might correctly suppose that these boys sound like charming and interesting children, and undeserving of such a wretched fate as will find them in this blog. You might ask, "Wouldn't such interesting and talented children be politely treated and encouraged to happiness by any adults they met?"
The answer, unfortunately, is "no." Because the Smith children were homeschooled, a word which here means "subjected to hours of tedious medieval subjects instead of getting their own personal iPad at the elementary school across the road."
And the children's chief persecutor was their father, a hirsute man ("hirsute" is a word which here means that he needed to shave every day and that he looked like he was wrapped in a blanket whenever he took off his shirt to get in a swimming pool) who made them work all day on Latin, grammar, and history, and theoretical math.
"Quickly, children!" he would shout "what is the 2nd person plural ending in the passive subjunctive imperfect?"
James, who had been thinking of building the Taj Mahal with seltzer cans, tried to concentrate on his Latin conjugation tables?
"Is it '-tis?'"
His Father snarled and slammed his book shut. "That's wrong!" he shouted, "And you need to memorize every word of your Latin book. Start memorizing right now and you can't have any lunch until you can recite it all from heart. Owen, come over here!"
Owen looked up. "What is the square root of the product of quotients whose inverse is congruent with a trapezoid's height?"
Owen paused a moment and tried to think through the question
"Hurry up!" shouted his Father, "I'm a very important person who has lots of other important things to do and you clearly didn't learn your lesson correctly. As a consequence you'll need to write out all the numbers from one to one million, four hundred ninety thousand and twenty six. Hand it into me before lunch and make it be in perfect handwriting or I'll make you do it all over again!"
Felix, who had been looking through some library books and trying not to be noticed by his tyrannical father, tried to turn a page as quietly as he could.
Father stalked over and looked at the comic book he was reading.
"Still looking at this garbage, I see. Well, no more fun reading for you unless you can diagram this sentence for me. Look where I'm pointing--where this character says, "The glumpfoozles were orange and tangy," what kind of a bojbicular hurdywoot is the word "orange?"
Felix frowned in puzzlement and asked what a bojbicular hurdywoot was.
"You never remember anything!" roared Father "I told you what a bojbicular hurdywoot was on the first day we brought you home from the hospital, and I just knew that you weren't listening. No more comic books for you, from now on I want to you to only read this list of industrial cleaning supplies. This is your fun reading from now on, so make sure you are enjoying it."
Father turned to face all three of them. "I'm going to practice my trumpet in the basement now and to play the loudest fanfares in the world. But don't make any noise or disturb me, you should all concentrate on your homeschool."
So Father went down and played the trumpet very loudly, and all three boys tried to work on their homeschool. At one point Owen tried to practice his piano assignment, but Father stalked up and shouted that he was making too much noise, so Owen went back to his math work.
It is difficult to work on dry, dusty homework under any circumstances, but it is even harder when someone is blasting a trumpet at jackhammer volume directly beneath you, and it is even harder still when you are a growing boy and you haven't had anything to eat for a number of hours. And it is even harder yet when you begin to notice that delicious smells are coming from the kitchen.
It was in the kitchen that the unfortunate Smith children found their Mother. She was frosting a magnificent three-layer cake in light blue buttercream frosting, but this was not the source of the heavenly smell. The smell that that enticed the Smith boys into the kitchen was the aroma of fresh-baked oatmeal cookies that had just come out of the oven.
"Mother," said Felix, "we are so hungry and tired of doing school! Could we please, please have one of your delicious smelling cookies? We know it is almost lunchtime!"
Felix's Mother smiled sweetly at her youngest son and at each of his brothers.
"My dear children," she began "I KNOW that it is almost your lunchtime. But no, you may not have one of these cookies."
"What about a piece of that spectacular looking cake?" asked Owen.
"No, eating sugar would be horrible for your health!" exclaimed Mother "I'm going to take these baked treats and give them away to other people. But I haven't forgotten about you. Why don't you all have a seat at the table?"
The boys, disappointed that they wouldn't get to eat either the cookies or the cake, sat at the kitchen table. Their mother carried out a dish and placed it in front of them.
"Here are some slimy Brussel sprouts. They are already nice and cold, and I've mixed them in with raw onions and fish bones. If you're still hungry after that I'd be happy to let you finish some of the old spinach from the bottom of the fridge that got slimy."
The door opened and Father reappeared from the basement.
"There you are, Dear!" exclaimed Mother. "Have a cookie! And maybe you can enjoy a piece of cake while I'm cooking up the steaks that you and I will have for our lunch."
"Mmm, mmm!" said Father, as he took bites of cookies that he was holding in both hands, "You'll have to tell me about the recipe for these amazing cookies!"
"I'd love to," said Mother, "But first let me tell you about a walk I took in the woods last autumn..."
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