Feeding the Less Fortunate

Times are tough. There's no way around it. Jobless rates are at a level unseen in decades, homes were lost due to mortgage schemes and income loss, and 3/4 of the Golden Girls are dead (though, now that I think about it, the fact that they mostly survived for another two decades after the end of the show's run, considering the concept of the show, is a pretty remarkable thing). And even here, we've taken a few hits--the tough times are hitting close to home.

Last Friday, Stuffie Time Theater began anew! I'm not entirely sure what kind of time or interest I'm going to have in creating stories for the kids to briefly act out, but considering how little else I have going on to pass the time, there's a pretty good chance that this will be the first in a resurgence of storytelling.

It will take a little doing. Norah is not the least bit cooperative, and Gabe is a little TOO cooperative. Not to mention the fact that I really don't remember any of my previous storylines anymore. I remember something with fish sandwiches, time travel, and the Russian mafia. And Karl Weathers. Actually, I'm going to have to do some research to even remember the names of all of his toys--lord knows he doesn't know who most of them are. AND we've had at least a dozen stuffed animals added into the mix that will need some establishing.

Anyway, the story that we began Friday went something like this:

Soupie the super dinosaur and Amy Horsie are a couple. Yes, yes, I know. Dinosaurs and horses should NOT cross-breed. That would be a nightmare. But there you have it. The heart wants what the heart wants. These two stuffed animals are still two of Gabe's favorites (though, that list is fluid and he's got about a dozen of them that he takes to bed with him, any of which might end up being his favorite on any given day), and Amy doesn't really have any story yet, so it just made sense that they would hook up. Really, MORE of his toys are going to need to start hooking up if I'm going to keep the drama off life support. Sadly, that's just the way of storytelling. No matter how ridiculous most story romances are, if one isn't included, people aren't interested. People are weird like that.

So, Soupie and Amy shacked up (they DO share a bed every night, and have for some time--I shutter to think about the kind of stuffie orgies that take place in Gabe's bed while he sleeps) and bought a house. Probably from that same shady realtor I used in that subprime storyline (was that the screaming monkey? Can't remember). It is a well-known fact that superheroing pays terribly. Just ask Spiderman, who has to whore himself out by taking pictures of his own fights to sell as Peter Parker just to make ends meet.

And Amy, for her part, isn't able to contribute much financially either. See, Amy started her career out as a prancing show pony in a circus. Every night, acrobats and other sordid near-carnies road out on her back during the various processions into the arena. She hated the work, but it was steady and didn't require TOO much from her, allowing her to focus much of her downtime energy on supporting her man--mostly on an emotional level, though she did need considerable first aid skills, as well--at home. It was the way she was raised, unfortunately. Very provincial. She always secretly wanted more for herself, but saw her role as supportive wife as primary to her way of thinking.

Everything was working out, if not working out well, until that night when she was injured by a sad clown. It began with a terrible juggling accident. Culminating in a volley of little people being shot from the cannon into a stack of Chinese acrobats. Much carnage. It breaks the heart. During the chaos, Amy's leg was badly injured.

Now, we know what happens to horses with bum legs. But that's NORMAL horses with bum legs. This horse had a superhero husband at home and she could, presumably, talk and do other anthropomorphized things, so it's not like anyone was going to put her to sleep or something. Instead, she went on disability because she could no longer work.

Amy's terrible leg wound. Note that the band-aid really doesn't even adequately cover or keep the wound closed (actually, that band-aid has been on there for over a year now, so that says something about the sticking power of your average band-aid). Very sad. She's like the Fisher King with her gaping, open, never-healing leg wound. Probably that kind of storyline for her would have been more interesting, but it is what it is.

For a time, they were able to scrape by. Thanks to the mortgage they signed, they were only making partial interest payments in the beginning, which they could JUST afford, but those payments quickly ballooned out of their price range. The house--a nice little ranch style in the suburbs--was quickly foreclosed upon and they were left high and dry.

"Surely," you might argue, "Soupie would be able to make a living. He DOES have super powers that he could make use of during his day job, making him a possibly invaluable asset to some construction company or other. At the very least, the community should help foot his bills so they can continue to benefit from his crime fighting." You'd think that, wouldn't you? It makes sense.

So, anyway, there they were, completely destitute and wandering the streets, homeless. They briefly considered a life on the rails, but hoboing is such a non-starter these days thanks to observant rail authorities and impossible to access rail cars. Instead, they just started moving from homeless shelter to homeless shelter until they were taken in by Gabe, a benevolent man-child who swore to care for them in their time of need.

The only catch was that the couple would have to serve as his "babies." He would feed them--even going so far as to acquire their favorite foods--but only on the condition that he could strap them into seats and feed them like babies. Such a humiliation for a superhero and his disabled wife!

Soupie's favorite foods, in case you can't make them out, are a snowman and a little mouse cat toy. Yum!

Ah, good times.

In other news, our house nearly flooded over the weekend. Turns out there might be a good reason why our house is listed in the flood plain (though it hasn't ACTUALLY flooded in this house since the 60s, and that time a bridge collapsed--so I still feel as though we're throwing several hundred dollars a year away on insurance we'll never need). Between Wednesday and Sunday morning, we received about 9 inches of rain. For those of you not in the US, using your crazy measuring system, that's about 13 hectares, I think. Sunday morning, we watched as the little creek that runs along our yard (which usually doesn't "run" so much as "stagnate" unless it's raining) filled, then overfilled, then began to creep into our yard. Eventually, the water got within about twenty feet of our house.

What we woke up to. Normally, the creek isn't visible from our house as there is a slope that drops about eight feet down along the edge of our lawn.

About forty-five minutes later.

This is the creek across the street. Normally, there is no water in this part. Eventually, this whole portion of road was underwater, though we didn't get a picture of it.

Our backyard. The slope leading down to the creek just ahead is even steeper than the earlier picture.

Sand Creek, the big "river" that runs through town. This is the concrete fence that lines the walking path. The walking path is up a considerable hill from the river itself. These ducks were probably pleased that they could get out of the rushing water. It was moving, by my estimate, well over ten miles an hour.

Fortunately, the huge band of rain that was heading our direction missed us--it dispersed as it went around town, which was a little weird but definitely fortunate for us. Another big set of storms blew through that night, which also missed pretty much just us. I'm pretty sure it was Fate keeping an eye out for this house. If a house as poorly put together as this one can keep standing for well over 100 years, then SOMETHING must be looking out for it.