Post 95

Emeralds & Rubies

Last blog post posted at 10:47 a.m.
Current time: 3:59 p.m. Better wait until a minute goes by or else this will be really hard to calculate.

Tick tick tick.

Current time: 4:00 p.m.

Time elapsed: Um, four hours plus kind of like one hour. More than one hour. One hour plus, um, 60 minus 47 which is maybe 13. Yes, 13+47=60. So we’re at – oh where was I? 60 minutes plus 13 minutes is 73 minutes. This is called blogging in real time. Not generally a good idea.

So we’re at 73 minutes plus 4 hours since last blog post.

Pretty sure.

That would be 5 hours and 13 minutes. Wow, that must sure look incredibly clumsy to you Folks Who Know Math and All the Shortcuts.

Okay, yes, it looks right.

Except now it’s been 3 more minutes.

Where was I going with this?


Last blog post: 10:47 a.m. MST
Current time: 4:00 p.m. MST let’s say.
Time elapsed: 5 hours and 13 minutes.
Reason: Easter Mass plus some other stuff including scalding my hand.
[Boiling water poured onto left hand by right. Clearly, the left hand doesn’t know what the hell the right hand was trying to do there. (A bit of biblical humour.) This means two things. It means that the left hand is now really pissed off at the right hand and isn’t on speaking terms, and it also means that I am typing while occasionally squeezing this bag of frozen corn.]
Current time: 4:09 p.m.
Goal: 6 posts before midnight.

Sorry – just have to step away from computer. I will resume when able.

Current time: 4:30 p.m.

So, to resume, or to start, whichever I’m doing, the thing is that I have an idea which completes the ideas in the last post. I had this idea after I had posted the last post.

Speaking of posting posts, I’m wondering how exactly that is going to happen between now and midnight because EfficientOne is most definitely not in Mountain Standard Time. He could be sleeping for all I know. I better not try to do anything fancy, like little red hearts.

So, speaking of little red hearts, I had a really cool idea.

It involves little red roses and little green leaves.

Hey EfficientOne! How do you feel about supplying those?

It goes like this.

The problem here, about these married couples and talking with ease and being open and so forth has to do with that level of comfort or discomfort that we all know too well, with those who, well, don’t mean well. There are always those people in our lives who surround us and watch us and, well, wait for us to fail.

They cuddle up close and act all concerned, but really and truly, they aren’t what they seem.

They’d be the first to ask you question one, question two and you wouldn’t quite know what to do. They’d be inquisitive, in your space, all around in-your-face.

Some people!

I get it.

On the other hand, there are those you’d be happy to chat with, those you’d be eager to laugh with. To them, you’d feel that you could explain how husband and you found yourself expecting and how he said such-and-such, and you exclaimed like this-and-that. And how he baked a cake and how you couldn’t believe that baking one cake could make the kitchen look like an airplane had landed.

And then of course, from the point of view of the sensitive outsiders – how would one know if your acquaintance is expecting, for absolute sure? These days, in the Idolization of Thin, it is a Crime Against Humanity to think, even for a moment that a woman might be Carrying A Human if she’s not. Oh, the horrors. “Are you expecting?” is currently considered a Level 9 Insult if you ask a woman this when she’s not. So everyone averts their eyes until she’s, say, about 38 weeks pregnant and way out to here. Then the timid question comes, “Are you, perhaps, expecting?” At this point, she’s ready to deck ya. “Of course I am, you idiot!” (Bop.) Never seen a pregnant woman before?” And we run into the problem of the disingenuous, yet again.

And don’t get me started about where that leaves the woman who is, in fact, expecting. What is she supposed to do? How difficult! There she is and into a conversation about, um, about um, nothing in particular, she’s supposed to say, “BY THE WAY, husband and I are EXPECTING”?! Nothing awkward about that. Nope, smooth as silk. Just blends so nicely into any old conversation, that does!

Currently, there’s just no easy way to do it. Nobody else is going to ask, but the observant are already wondering. Hmm, her clothes have suddenly become rather baggy. I wonder if … Hmm, she almost looks as if, I noticed, when she turned to the side, it almost looked as if …


The whole thing is fraught with difficulty and social awkwardness. Let’s cut through all this silliness and let’s start again.

We need a new way, in this day and age, in this age of Idolization of Thin.

I have a plan, Stan.

And I’m so excited. I’m so excited!

Here it is.

It’s the language of symbols.

And we’ll use the right hand. It wasn’t doing anything, right? Other than pouring scalding water on the left, right?

The left hand already has the wedding ring and the engagement ring. And that was a while ago.

The point is, it’s happy.

But the right hand needs its big moment, and I’ve got it.

It’s for the woman who is expecting, and this is beautiful.

When the husband and wife discover that a baby is on its way, the husband will go to the store, and he will purchase for her a ring with an emerald-coloured stone. The colour of the stone symbolizes a leaf, a leaf in the springtime, new life. It could be a natural emerald, a lab-created one (chemically identical) or just something sparkling and green.

Ideally, the ring would actually be somewhat adjustable in the back, to deal with any fluctuations in the width of the finger. It should also be comfortable.

But the main thing is that the husband should think it’s the very prettiest green-gem ring that his money can buy.

When the woman is ready to announce her pregnancy, she slips on the ring. Right hand, ring finger (next to pinky finger). This means that she is, in fact, with child. It means she’s happy as punch and the ring does announce, but without saying a word.

And notice the colour. You’ll notice it’s green, which means you can exclaim, “Judy! Oh Judy! You’re expecting! I see the green gem! Oh, congratulations – I just – oh my! I’m so happy for you! (if you are). It means that you can ask, politely, a question or two. (You’ll know when to stop, hopefully.) “Do you know – is it a boy or a girl? How far along? Have you chosen a name?”

For those who are quieter, who’d rather avoid the questions and commotion, the stone is more sedate. Husbands, you’ll know what she likes. For the meeker of mothers, the more private kind, the ring shall be different. It’s a red stone. The red could refer to a rose. A rose has its layers and into those layers, you do not, this time, insert your nose. It means, yes indeed, husband and I are expecting, it’s true, but at this time, we accept no questions, not even the first. We’ll let you know what we want you to know in our own time, but for now, this is all that we’ll say: we indeed are expecting a child. Right now, we’ll have our quiet time a private time a thinking time a whispering and giggling time so no questions for now. For now, yes, you’ll see glowing quietly on my right hand this red gem, meaning a red heart, a red rose, secrets between me and my love. You’ll see glimmering mysteriously on my right hand this red gem, meaning a stop sign from me to the world: no questions yet, no answers given, other than one, spoken by this stone: “Yes, I’m expecting – this much is true.”

This ring too would be adjustable and plenty pretty. The man would choose it in conjunction with woman, or on his very own. If he chooses it on his own, it should be what he thinks is most comely, most exquisite, most charming, most pretty. Something befitting the occasion.

(If the husband is clueless or frightened or sloppy in general, then the woman shall take to the internet. Her left hand can hold the credit card while the right hand types in the number. Tap tap tap and the ring is on its way. Though in such a case, I’d say the stone shall be bigger. “But husband dear, I had to order online and I didn’t expect it’d be as glamorous and gorgeous as this, she would say, if it’s true. Oh well, she could say – my right hand placed the order and the left hand was on the bag of frozen Berry Blend Organic [frozen fruit for smoothies; the corn is now all mushed up]. The right hand didn’t know what the left was doing (probably technically true), husband dear and ooh just look at the way the ring catches the light. You like?)

Something like that.

And although this was initially part of the Advice for Pro Life “series” I really like the title without encumbering it with the subtitle. So artistic simplicity is going to have to win out this time. And besides, I really don’t think this idea is really just for pro-life. It would be handy for any expectant mother.

But I have to keep going because here’s where it gets funny.

There’s nothing to say that a woman couldn’t own both.

This indeed could be quite fun.

On Tuesday it’s time for dinner with Gwen (green gem) but on Wednesday it’s knitting time with a noisy old hen (red gem). You choose the colour; the colour suits the context, your energy, your willingness and your mood.

Not every night is chat night, not every night is share night.

You decide.

You’re pro-choice!

Time: 5:54 p.m. MST. I will go eat my Easter dinner and then I’ll return.
Time: 6:38 p.m. MST. I resume.

Think of the advantages over the status quo. Currently, nobody knows when to ask and when to be silent. Nobody knows when to announce or how to bring up the topic. Elephant in the room situation. With this method, there’s an escape – an end to the stalemate.

No ring means the status quo continues – which is, basically, ask if you dare, but mainly just pretend that you don’t notice (don’t care?) – but a sudden gem means somebody is there. (Remember baby and new parents in your own prayers.) So simple and clean! Green gem is a green light for well-mannered questions and comments, but a red gem is a stop light, meaning privacy and time.

A leaf and a rose. Emerald and ruby.

Mined Gems indeed.

7:02 p.m. MST