With cousin Lynn, Kenny the Mensch graced every Christmas, Chanukah, wedding and funeral of my childhood. In just three syllables LynnandKen promised an evening of glamour and bonhomerie, an anticipated exoticism far removed from my Everyday. When I learned Kenny had died I thought of a book Dad bought Dan at the very start of his life. It was a French telling of Hickory Dickory Dock. We read it daily, tracing the mouse’s journey up and down the clock. In this version, time passes and in its chaotic wake the little mouse’s beloved toy is broken. Funny how that happens.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Friponi Fripono Fodge
With cousin Lynn, Kenny the Mensch graced every Christmas, Chanukah, wedding and funeral of my childhood. In just three syllables LynnandKen promised an evening of glamour and bonhomerie, an anticipated exoticism far removed from my Everyday. When I learned Kenny had died I thought of a book Dad bought Dan at the very start of his life. It was a French telling of Hickory Dickory Dock. We read it daily, tracing the mouse’s journey up and down the clock. In this version, time passes and in its chaotic wake the little mouse’s beloved toy is broken. Funny how that happens.
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