Bixby

 

Bixby

By Ruthie Nicklaus

Life was so much easier when I was a kid, before I turned nine. 

Back then, there was no Bixby. Oh, I wanted Bixby. I’d begged for him. 

“Joey has a dog, can’t we have a pet?” That was me, pretty much every day. 

“Not a dog, honey,” said Mom, “You have school and your dad and I work. Dogs need a yard, or someone who can take them on a walk. They get lonely when they have no one to play with.” She picked up her purse. I knew what that was like, to have no one to play with. 

“Pets are a lot of work, you know. Don’t stay up past 8:30. I love you,” said Mom. She took the bus downtown most nights to her job managing a restaurant that she didn’t like very much.

“I would take care of him,” I insisted. “I’d do all of the work. You wouldn’t have to do anything.”

Mom kissed my forehead. “Goodnight Sweetest.”

I doubted that Dad would agree to a dog either. “Cats don’t mind being left,” I tried. “Annabel has three cats, and her Granny lives with them, her Granny has two, so that’s five cats. Five. Can’t we have just one?” I draped myself in his lap, between him and the screen. 

“Aha,” said Dad, “A cat. Hmmmm. I think I’m allergic.” He reached around me to continue typing up some kind of scientific report. My dad’s a wildlife biologist. He does research and studies that are supposed to help conserve the homes of animals. Animals. You’d think he’d love the idea of a pet. 

I kept asking. 

I pulled out my best pen. My birthday was coming up and in a kid’s world, there is no better currency than a birthday and some parental guilt. And I was ready to invest my whole bank account.

Dearest Mom and Dad,

I am an only child. Only equals lonely, you know. I want a pet. I need a pet. You will feel guilty later if you don’t let me have one while I’m still a kid, and let’s face it. Time is slipping away. I’m going to be nine. That’s just one more year of single-digit kid hood. Just one more year. Then TEN. Double digits. I’m going to be almost a teenager, and we all know what that means.

You simply can’t let me miss out on the joy I would get from a pet during this last year that I have left as a true, single-digit kid. 

Love, 

Your only, lonely son,

Drew

P.S. I saw the cutest little green lizard in a tank at the pet store. He looked very gentle and I would feed him and clean his tank and everything. PLEASE!

(I splattered a few drops of water onto the page. They looked just like tear drops.) 

Well, it worked. On the kitchen table on my birthday, August 3rd, there was a glass tank with a giant red bow on top. The tank had pebbles covering the bottom, and a plant growing out of them, and on top of the cave made of rock, a bright green lizard grinned at me. He gave me a thumbs up too, I swear! I named him Bixby. 

Bixby looked absolutely great in his tank, and he would curl up in a fanny pack that I draped across my chest when I rode my bike. He was the best lizard in the world. Until things got complicated. 

It started when I rode over to Joey’s birthday party. His birthday is next after mine, the last weekend before school starts. Bixby came with me in the fanny pack. I took him out when the candles on the cake were lit so that he could see Joey blow them out. 

And then when everyone started eating cake, Bixby stood on the table and took adorable little bites of cake by curling his tongue around a chunk and slurping it into his mouth. He had a triangle of frosting on his head that looked like a party hat. Joey laughed so hard! Annabel shoved me aside so that she could get her mom to take a picture of her and Bixby. 

“He’s so cuuuute!” She squealed. “Oh Drew! I LOVE him! I have to show Sofia! Can he come to my birthday too?” 

Annabel’s mom was obsessed. She snapped a bazillion pictures with her phone. Bixby stood up on his back legs and did a little dance! 

“I got it! I got it!” Screamed Annabel’s mom. “I’m going to post this video!” 

And then, like lightning, he got a couple hundred likes, in the first hour. By the next day, Bixby was all over YouTube and TikTok and pretty much all of the other social media stuff. The blast of fame was a huge surprise to me, but I should have guessed when I first saw that little green grin…

I shared the job as “Bixby’s manager” with Mom, because it was too much work for me with school. Annabel and her mom, and Joey and Sofia were part of the crew too. Actually, I didn’t really get to see Bixby that much anymore because he was always doing photoshoots and filming videos. Once in a while he still rode with me on my bike, but after a few minutes he would start motioning his little feet to say that he needed to get back to his “people”. 

He spent a lot of time in front of a mirror, practicing jokes and impressions. He used my toys and clothes as props and costumes. He had one video where he did this “lonely only child bit” where he begged my parents for a dog. But he actually got one! For real though, and NOW we have a family dog. Bixby chose a Great Dane, and everyone thought that was hilarious, because he’s a tiny lizard. He rode around like a cowboy on the dog, Ollie, who I had to feed and take care of and pick up his poop. I did not sign up for that! 

After our breakfast of waffles and cake and fruit parfaits, prepared by a chef, thanks to our own internet celeb, Bix, Mom gave us the morning update:

“Bixby is filming SNL today, and is available to practice shoulder riding this evening. We have that presidential speech that he’s going to make an appearance for on Thursday. You got this, Drew?” I gave her a Bixby-style double thumbs up.

“Hi Drew!” The crew was in my room shredding my favorite white hoodie with scissors. “We need snow for a holiday scene with Bixby as Santa Claus in a little sleigh.”

They were working on a huge cardboard set, painted with stars in the background and paper mâché trees. 

“Bix’s online feed needs one or two more progress updates before we wrap this up,” said Joey. 

“And let’s get more photos of the merch,” said Sofia. She measured Fuzzcat, my favorite stuffie that I used to sleep with. Fuzzcat was Bixby’s sidekick now, and the reproductions always sold out in minutes. 

Back in the living room Mom was ready with Ollie, who needed to be walked. He pulled us out the door. I slipped my hand into Mom’s warm hand. She gripped Ollie’s leash with her other hand. My head bumped against her shoulder. We dug our heels in, resisting Ollie’s pulling. It was nice to be in this together with Mom, but we were moving too fast. We bumped. We jogged. We jolted. 

“SLOW DOWN!” Mom commanded, but Ollie wouldn’t.

Kind of like life these days with Bixby. He would never slow down either. 

While struggling to keep pace with a 150 pound loping dog, I looked up at Mom’s face. She was giving me this sort-of funny look. Like she was exhausted but annoyed but also happy all at once. 

I don’t regret getting Bixby, it did make it possible for Mom to quit the job she didn’t like, after all. And I pretty much never think about being only or lonely anymore. 

But I think I knew how Mom was feeling, sort of…

 

“Life was so  much…easier…when I was just a kid.” I said.  

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch.

 

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“The kettle corn is gone?” Said Bunny.

“Something must be done,” said Mole.

They wanted kettle corn.

Linking paw to claw, they trembled in the autumn breeze. 

The dry leaves crunched. 

 “If we split up, we’ll double our chance,” said Mole.

 Bunny shuddered. 

“Make a line with a branch, and when kettle corn is found, we’ll follow our lines back together again.”

They tiptoed forth on branching paths. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hello Bunny!” Said Bear.

“We’re out of kettle corn. We need a crunch, crunch, crunch!”

 Bear laughed. “Indeed? I have kettle corn.” 

“But first, where’s Mole?” Said Bunny.

“Let’s go!” Boomed Bear. He filled a giant sack with kettle corn. 

They found Mole’s line, and followed its circling path. Mole was lost. Bunny cried.

“MOLE!” Bear and Bunny shouted together. 

Birds, slugs, flowers and trees wanted to help find Mole. 

Bunny followed Snail’s slime trail to a hole. 

“Mole!” Bunny bounced inside. They linked paws and claws and danced. 

“It’s time for crunch, crunch, crunch!” Said Bunny.

Bear brought out the kettle corn, and all of the forest creatures, even Snail, even the trees, munch, munch, munched in the crunchy autumn woods.

 

How to Properly Dispose of (your own) Terrible Artwork

 

You have made bad artwork. This does not mean that you are a terrible artist. The fact that you’ve made bad artwork in the past is actually a good indicator that you are a very good artist. There are no great artists who have not made subpar artwork. But the point of this essay is this. You have pieces of your own artwork, and they are just bad. What should you do about it? Well, you’ve come to the right place. I have made A LOT bad art. I am still in possession of some of it, and I have found a way to release some into the next dimension. Here is my basic advice:

1. Do it yourself. You come across a bad painting. You don’t want it anymore. You think, “Maybe Grandma would like this for her birthday?” NO. Grandma should not have to be tethered to the guilt of canning a bad painting by her grandchild. Or worse, Grandma has to keep that horrible spectacle in her presence for her few remaining years, and when she dies, it will come back to you as if to haunt you for what you did to Grandma. Also, if someone you have given or sold a piece of artwork asks you if you want it back, the answer is YES. Save them the same burden you have just saved Grandma. You made the bad artwork, only you can dispose of it without guilt. 

2. Discreetly buy your work back from shameful places. If you see an awful drawing or print of yours in a 50 cent picture frame at thrift store or garage sale, (likely purchased by a dear friend or relative who wanted to support you at the time, but then realized that no place in their home could do your unsightly work justice), just buy the “frame with artwork”, quickly and get the hell out of there. No one else you know needs to see your name scrawled on this bit of shame. 

3. Find those sketches at your parents house and burn them. Should you burn your old sketchbooks? Probably not. But if you happened to have taken a lot of those life drawing classes where you did a million giant gesture drawings on newsprint, with charcoal and chalk, (that still gets everywhere, even after 10 or 15 years), take a quick peek through them, just in case there is gold of some sort, and then say goodbye and add them to the cozy fire in the basement woodstove. 

4. There is Gold! It’s true!! Your bad artwork is full of gold. You can laugh at it on a rainy day, it can give you new ideas on a good day. You should, most definitely, keep the bad art that some part of you still loves, if you have room for it. But don’t let it impede your life. If you are moving, or have chosen a light footed vagabond lifestyle, thank your bad art for its service to you, a la Marie Kondo, and set it free. Only you can, and should, do it.

5. Methods. It doesn’t really matter the method, though some ways seem less honorable for something you have made. Of course, what the art is will sometimes indicate the method of its disposal. I will just make a quick chart that may, (or may not), be useful to you. 

1. Burn-Yes. Watching your work return to the elements is satisfying and when it is gone completely, that feels good.

2. Garbage Can-No. It feels yucky to watch your drawings mingle with hot dog wrappers and banana peels.

3. Recycling-Yes. Sometimes this is ok, especially when it’s just a bunch of scribbled sketches or something. 

4. The Dump-Maybe. If you have made a refrigerator sized metal sculpture, there is a chance it can be recycled at the transfer station, which is a good thing. 

5. Donate or give to new owners-Maybe. See bullet point number 1. Know that the piece might come back to haunt you. If you are ok with that, and you really believe that the new owner or establishment wants and loves your discarded artwork, then it’s ok.

6. Reuse-Yes. Cut it up and make a collage. Turn the paper over and draw on the back. Let your kids scribble all over it or color it in. It’s ok, and who knows, it might actually turn into something amazing.

Good luck and happy disposing of your bad art! Trust me, you are going to feel great about it. And if somehow you do throw something away that you wish you hadn’t, let it be a lesson to you, that you are actually a great artist and you must start making new, amazing, better and more gorgeous artwork right away!

Something REAL

The stairs creaked as Florence climbed them to the attic. There she sorted ancient letters and dusty photographs until she fell asleep wrapped in an old fur coat. She woke the next morning with a head full of dreams.

“We’re going to do something REAL today!” Florence announced to her family.

“What does that even mean?” Scoffed her sister, Maya.

She grabbed a bag from the floor and filled it with an empty jar, some cardboard, paper, pens and pencils. She dashed to the garden and collected a big bowl of Granny’s prized strawberries.

“Let’s go!” Despite their uncertainty, Maya, Granny and Penelope, the dog, followed Florence out the door. 

They got off the bus in front of the library where homeless people often slept. Florence arranged the strawberries in the bowl and next to the jar she made a sign on the cardboard that read, “Strawberry for Your Thoughts.” 

Mother’s Day is on it’s way!

Whether you are a mother (of any kind), or not, or you have a mother in your life, (or not), if you are interested, I need your help as a gift to me for Mother’s Day. 

I would like to make a few Mother’s Day cards for my new shop. I need stories from the memorable moments in your lives and families that could make great cards. I have a few of my own stories that I plan to use as well, but perhaps your stories will bring even more characters to life in my drawings, which would be really fun and exciting for me! 

I can’t guarantee that I will be able to use every story, or if I do use your story, you will like the card I make and want to give it to someone, but you never know! It could happen, and if it does, you would be able to buy your card from my shop. 

P.s. This isn’t a big money making scheme on my part, I’m keeping the mark-up on all of my products from this print-on-demand shop as low as possible, but if it were, pretty smart thinking, huh?!

P.s.s. This IS an inspiration gathering scheme, and if you are still reading this post, perhaps you should send me a story now. Anything is wonderful, really!! (Email me, message me, post a comment, whatever works.)

Ruthie Nicklaus’s Redbubble Shop

Men Hate Wicker

 We could all use a little humor, right?

I once heard it said that Men hate wicker. The sentiment of the statement sunk right into my head and stuck. I have never been able to see the stuff in quite the same way since. Kicking back with a brewski to watch the game, with your feet up on a white woven coffee table curli-cued with intricate scrollwork doesn’t seem to quite fit the stereotypical masculine image, but why not? It’s a strong and versatile material, which can be woven and sculpted into gorgeous shapes and swirls. 
Why wouldn’t a man like to look up from tinkering in his garage or workshop, to catch a glimpse of his stubbled jawline in a beautiful oval mirror encircled by a halo of hatched vines of basketry? 
The fact that long lasting, durable furniture can be made from tiny strands of willow is a marvel. I tell you what, women can program computers and be firefighters and, well, Vice Presidents. 
My husband is going to be thrilled when he sees that his old drum stool has been replaced by a new rattan peacock chair!
Men don’t hate wicker. 
Wicker is just the just the next opportunity to break down the small minded gender norms that twist and weave their way through our collective consciousness. 
But we won’t, you won’t, stand for it one second longer. 

Guys, go get yourself some wicker! 

#guyslovewicker #menwithwicker #wickerlover

Goldie and the Garbage Gang Extraordinaire!

 Meet Goldie! 

She is a superwoman hero of epic stature, (four feet tall) and her secret power, which is the ability to see into the future, gives her a vision of what will soon transpire in her very own neck of the city. Her neighborhood is located on the northern outskirts of town, near a busy main highway that hosts plenty of used car lots, fast food, fast woman for sale, and not a lot of care taken to tread lightly with nature.   

What Goldie’s future-sight reveals, is an ever-expanding team of masked heroes, (also all of pint sizes, and ranging in age from 4-10 years old), who intermittently unplug their virtual school and gaming devices to come out of their homes during the dark cold days of the 2020 Covid Pandemic winter, to collect discarded trash, and give the trees and blackberry shrubs a chance to sigh a breath of relief. 

Once they calm their parents’s wariness of the dangers of the task, the members of the gang come out in groups of twos and threes, never breaking the unspoken but understood rule of six feet of social distance, but always waving, calling to, and encouraging each other. It takes a long time to make a dent in the visual scourge of scattered cans and bottles, boxes and clothing; but as the weeks trudge on, Goldie’s marvelous mind’s eye reveals that the work of the small heroes eventually opens a bright window of hope for the spring days which will begin to squeeze their way into existence.....

.....and what comes next will cause you wonder of a sort that the imagination has never dared. A pandemic may have closed the schools, but it has not crushed the spirit of the youth. In fact it has ignited passion in an entire generation that is flaring much sooner and stronger than humanity has ever seen....