Charm’d, I’m sure

A couple of events this week have set me to thinking about the fundamentals of life.

Here’s the latest one:

I e-mailed my family yesterday with the news that I have been selected for the final round of interviews for a position at the Oregon School Boards Association as a Board Development Specialist.  When my second son Ben saw I have to write a 400-word essay by September 23 as part of the interview, he sent me the following: 

Here are some professional tips 

Disclaimer: Please don’t actually do any of this 

I don’t know where I’d be w’out Ben.  In all of my 64 years, 35 of’em spent reading undergraduate papers,  I hadn’t ever noticed you could stretch a 380-word essay to 400 just by decontracting your contractions.  

If only ’twas that easy.  My problem’s much more likely t’be how t’cram m’original 900-word essay into 400.  You’ll be surprised t’read this, but I generally think I’ve a lot t’say and th’world needs t’hear it. But Ben’s insight has that covered, too, if you just flip it over:  you can get a good ways from 900 to 400 by contracting the uncontracted. “Never use two words when one will do,” they say, but they might’ve also said “never use two words when a contraction’ll do.” 

What’re the odds I’d receive this brilliant insight just in time for my first job interview in over 35 years, from my 18-year old brand new college freshman son?  D’you think ’tis mere chance?

If you’re tempted t’think so, you’d better consider the photo headlining this update.

That’s the neighbors’ tree lying in my back yard. It fell there last Monday evening in the windstorm that hit Western Oregon just after I drove to Seattle.  There’s a fence along our boundary, but this tree snapped off about 30 feet above the ground and fell over the fence without hitting it.   The trunk of the tree and its branches just missed the play structure I built for Ben and Sam when they were three.  Two of our trees were within range of the fallen one, but it came down neatly between them. The top of the fallen tree barely brushed our back deck.   

Why didn’t the entire tree fall?  Out of the 360-degree arc in which it could have fallen, how did it find the approximately 3 degrees in which it could do no real damage?

Maybe it’s just a fluke.  Lots of trees fell in that storm on people’s houses.  Lots and lots more trees burned in the ensuing fires, and whole towns were lost.  Probably I shouldn’t make too much out of one precisely-placed tree fall, and one precisely-timed bit of writing advice previously o’er-looked for six decades. 

But where’s the fun in that?  This is a fantasy league, friends, not a grim reality show.