It shows how long we've been kicking around this corner of the blogsphere that this is the fifth annual birthday edition of I Remember MrsDarwin!
If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.As always, we link to the egregious falsehoods of years past:
It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
When you're finished, post this paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.
I Remember MrsDarwin 2008
I Remember MrsDarwin 2007
I Remember MrsDarwin 2006
I Remember MrsDarwin 2005
And if the venerable Rick Lugari thought my pants were too tight in 2005, just imagine how they'd fit now that I'm pregnant.
14 comments:
They say you are two years to the day younger than me, but the truth of the matter comes out when we examine the past.
You were at various stages of your life a legendary politician, diplomat, revolutionary and, eventually, a Jedi Knight of the New Jedi Order. The daughter of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker and Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo, you are my younger twin sister, and shortly after birth you became the adopted daughter of Bail Prestor Organa and Queen Breha of Alderaan, making you a Princess of Alderaan. An accomplished Senator, you were most famous for your strong leadership during the Galactic Civil War and other subsequent galactic conflicts, making you one of the galaxy's greatest heroes. Later you married Han Solo and became the mother of their three children: Jaina, Jacen and Anakin Solo. Around the start of the Swarm War, you unknowingly became a grandmother through Jacen's daughter Allana.
One of the most important figures in galactic history, you could have been simply another galactic denizen had you not been adopted by Bail Organa. Politician, fighter, and spy were the roles that awaited you instead. You had a forceful personality and bright intellect, having accomplished much in your youth: you were a strong proponent for the Rebel Alliance, the youngest Senator ever of the Galactic Empire at eighteen standard years of age, and a member of the Royal Family of Alderaan. Years later, you were instrumental in the creation of the New Republic, and were elected to the position of Chief of State, serving twice in that office.
Due to your powerful Force heritage, Mrs. Darwin-Solo, following your family's legacy, you became a Jedi Knight in the New Jedi Order. You were partially trained by me and later by Jedi Master Saba Sebatyne, who declared you a fully trained Knight at the end of the Swarm War. This training would serve you well as the galaxy teetered on the edge of collapse into civil war once more during the Second Galactic Civil War, although it complicated your allegiance. During this conflict, your son Jacen turned to the dark side of the Force, becoming the Sith Lord Darth Caedus. You and Han became determined to destroy Caedus, feeling that your son was already dead. However, it was your daughter Jaina who ended his life in a lightsaber duel that also concluded the war.
In the aftermath of Caedus' death, the Solos became the guardians of their granddaughter Allana, at the behest of her mother, Tenel Ka of Hapes, and remained two of the galaxies most important figures; standing with the Jedi Order amidst the tensions that arose between it and the government of Chief of State Natasi Daala.
Happy birthday to us!
The Blackadder Says:
I was going to post a fictional memory of Mrs. Darwin, but the truth is that all of my memories of her are fictional. That's right, it's time I revealed the shocking truth: Mrs. Darwin does not exist! The real Darwin is a confirmed bachelor, and the whole "Mrs. Darwin" character is an elaborate ruse sprung from his fevered imagination.
If you've read this blog closely over the years, this will no doubt come as no surprise to you. It's long been common knowledge that the Darwin and Mrs. Darwin posts read as if they were written by the same person, and occasionally Darwin has even slipped up and written a Mrs. Darwin post under his own name. And, frankly, some of the Mrs. Darwin stuff is really just too good to be true.
I take it that these yearly fake Mrs. Darwin memory posts are a subtle allusion to all this, much like the cover to Abbey Road contains all the clues necessary to deduce that Paul was dead. But since not everyone is as brilliant as I in deducing the signs, I thought I would help them out.
Blackadder has burst my bubble with the revelation that Mrs. Darwin does not exist. Darwin should be flogged for carrying on this despicable hoax!
Now I must console myself that I at least, of all mortals, I am married to the perfect wife & mother of my children. For so long I thought another existed out there...
Alas, tears fill my eyes...
Do you remember the day when you came over for coffee and our kids were listening to the LP of the Cajun Night Before Christmas, and you said, "Gosh, I've always wanted to have a pirogue because these gas prices are getting me down," and I said, "What do you know? I have a build-your-own pirogue kit in the basement that my MIL bought us last year because she cannot resist a bargain"?
We zipped down into the basement and set to work with clamps and glue and hey presto! the pirogue of your dreams was right there in my basement. We eased it out the window because it wouldn't fit around the bend in the stairs, and portaged over to the Potomac.
We weren't thinking that the Secret Service would be out in force because of the inauguration, and we looked at each other in puzzlement when they said "Step out of the bateau, ladies," because a) couldn't they see it was a pirogue? and b) how does one step out of a boat midstream?
They were not, however, concerned with such subtleties and I was afraid we would get shot when you saved the day. "I'm Princess Leia and this is my pirogue!" you announced with regal certainty. "Princess Leia," they gasped. (Who knew Secret Service guys were dedicated Star Wars fans?) "Sorry to interrupt your royal cruise. Could we have your autograph?"
MrsDarwin has turned out to be such a fine and thoughtful woman. She's always had a kind heart, but wasn't necessarily so grounded. Often times she let her passion for justice override common sense - not an uncommon thing among the young.
I remember the time as a budding feminist she became incensed that there still existed exclusive clubs where the men who held the reigns of power could get together to solidify their hold. The thought of male CEOs and lawmakers smoking cigars in a smokey back room making decision that effect thousands or even millions with no input from women troubled her. The thought that they were probably plotting ways to reinforce the glass ceiling as well simply made her livid.
"Enough is enough! It's the dawn of the 21st century and this has to STOP!", she exclaimed.
Armed with a homemade sign that said "SHATTER THIS GLASS CEILING", and a Walkman loaded with her favorite Helen Ready tape, she went on the march.
I'll never forget the sight of this darling but misguided young lady along the side of the road in during one of January's more bitter days. I convinced her to get in the car and let me take her to the hospital to get her frostbitten fingers treated. It was then that I had explained that the Chillicothe Gentleman's Club isn't quite what she thinks it is.
Embarrassed, but pleased no fingers needed to be amputated, she turned her attention to a new cause du jour. IIRC, it was something like Catholic anarchy.
Some of my favorite memories of MrsD are from when our parents were all serving as missionaries in Botswana. I was recently thinking over one particular day and I'd be happy to share it with you all.
Our parents were, as usual, inside the hut of a village chieftain, sharing the Good News and drinking entirely too much rooiboos tea. (To this day my mother can't stand the stuff!) MrsD and I were doing our Christian duty by piously informing the village children about the suffering and anguish found in Hell. The children, unfortunately, didn't seem particularly impressed, even when MrsD whipped out her trusty picture laden tracts.
One particularly vocal young lad challenged us to see something really scary. We glanced at each other, and not wanting to seem cowards and hoping to create a bond of trust with the children, agreed. He led us a ways through the bush to a ramshackle hut, surrounded by odd mounds. Upon closer inspection, these were found to be desiccated animals and other things that neither one of us wanted to examine too closely.
A bigger boy challenged MrsD to pick up one of the items and throw it in the river. Again, wanting to make a good impression, the plucky little MrsD scurried over, grabbed the nearest and most dried out looking object from the tableau and high-tailed it to the river before the local witch doctor noticed our presence. After completing the deed, all the little children burst into peals of laughter. MrsD looked at each other in confusion. The children shouted out (this is a rough translation) "You just threw a token to the local fertility god into the river! He'll be keeping a close eye on you from now on!" MrsD and I both grew red with embarrassment and slunk back to the hut where we waited anxiously for our parents to finish their 14th cup of tea.
I hadn't thought about this incident for years, but for some reason it recently popped into my head...
Is it this time again already? Explains why the (old)new baby is so big. There are so many things Mrs. Darwin & I haven't done together, I hardly know where to begin.
Anyway, I remember back when Mrs. Darwin and I were young and childless, and we would stay up late at night reading tax forms. She was always in search of some kind of deduction . . . though I guess she's figured out a more efficient method, now.
This was of course way back before IRS.gov, when you had to make a run down to your local federal building to get the really good ones. So we'd be lounging around in the afternoon, and realize, "Hey, it's almost five -- we've got to do a forms run before the sidewalk rolls up in this town . . ."
We'd rush over -- the security guys all knew her -- and dig through the shelves until we found some numbered-publication she'd never read yet. Come back to the house, and of course she'd plop right down on the couch and start reading, leaving me to make dinner -- but I didn't mind, because whenever she'd chuckle she was always good for reading aloud whatever little delightful tidbit she'd discovered.
Ah, those were good days. I know poor Mrs. D was looking forward to a little breathing room between deductions, to be able to spend a little time curled up with the latest amortizations schedules . . . but you know, marriage is its own vocation.
Happy Birthday Mrs. Darwin!
I remember meeting Mrs Darwin while walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain. As pilgrims are wont to do, I had stopped off in a village cafe for a hot chocolate. The day was a bit overcast and it had been raining heavily for the previous couple of days. My boots were covered with thick mud from traipsing along muddy tracks, and I had left them at the door.
Suddenly there was this loud cackling noise from the doorway, and I heard this voice in English proclaim, "Oh thank goodness I am not the only one who looks like such an alien in muddy boots!" Then in walked Mrs Darwin, covered in mud all over from when she had fallen along the path. Muddy boots on their own weren't enough for her, oh no! She had to make a complete muddy fashion statement.
Well, that was the beginning of my acquaintance with Mrs Darwin. Off and on for the next few weeks, we would find ourselves in the same albergue or cafe, and often we walked along together happily chatting. The kilometres gradually disappeared under our feet, until one day we stood together on top of the last mountain, O'Cebreiro. It was a special moment, and we found ourselves sharing our deepest dreams. I clearly remember Mrs Darwin saying, "I see myself as one day being the mother of five".
It was the fall of '90 and Mrs. Darwin was an infant (he shoots, he scores!) when I first met the preternatural beauty (he shoots he scores!). You were reading Goethe in the original and singing Italian arias. (he is shameless!) :-)
I remember starting my political career in the Darwins' living room. They got together a fundraiser for me with all their friends, Red Cardigan, Happy Catholic, Tito Edwards, even Jay Anderson, Fr. Fox, and the Archbolds were there, plus many more.
Mrs. Darwin started the donations with a contribution of $1,500.00, but it turned out to be Monopoly money, she'd landed on my hotel on Park Place.
I was just remembering when you and Darwin were here in May and we got drunk and TP'd Anonymous's house. Too bad you're preggers, or we could do it again the next time you're in town.
You were a new employee at a large multi-national, making copies of management reports while I was preparing to do the same with the March Madness brackets -- a pool to benefit the underprivileged thus lending credibility to petty gambling. We'd met briefly at the company's literary club that past Thursday. Someone had said that Updike couldn't write women and we talked about it at the copier. "Are women that complicated or men that simple?" I asked, assuming the latter, since my thoughts were not literary at all but centered on the fact that your pregnancy was obvious enough such as not to be mistaken for any big-boned-edness. Your belly didn't reach out as far as your breasts and I wasn't sure that was something I should notice. The old saying around the accounting department was that "liars figure and figures lie" but one thing is for sure when it comes to the y chromosome: figures are never forgotten.
+JMJ+
I remember our first meeting! It was right after Spandau Ballet's 1986 concert at Wembley Arena. I knew there was something just not right about your "80s princess" look, and you must have thought the same about mine, because it didn't take us long to sort each other out as recreational time travelers.
You've never quite thanked me for saving you from making a huge mistake with one of the band members at that private party for groupies we somehow insinuated ourselves into. Now that you're a year older and wiser, surely you see that what seems like "a little kiss" can have huge repercussions across time.
Anyway, I still think of you when Only When You Leave comes on the radio! =)
If you want to meet up again at the Live Aid show in 1985, let me know, okay?
Once we had a grand old time--a few years back--when my car broke down and she carried it over her shoulder the 13 miles to the repair shop. I just walked by her side and sang her Irish songs while continuously praising her supply fit bod.
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