St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. Once, in his life, he was aided by baying hounds; the sound of the hounds ensured that a particular ship captain would reverse his course and find room for Patrick's safe passage on the sea. Finally, for six years, Patrick served as a shepherd. My own family had an "animal weekend" -- my daughter hopped like a frog to commemorate one of the plagues that waged war with Pharoah. We saw impressive works of taxidermy at New Jersey's Great Swamp -- my son wondered aloud if these were living creatures. And, for a full hour, one of us became a talking unicorn. St. Patrick's Day is the start of spring, additionally -- and, on Sunday, I (at long last) saw a crocus. In my former, childless life, I didn't see the change in seasons as a major event...but anyone with childcare duties knows that the return of warm weather is a gift. Thank God.
Julia Wertz receives a call from her mother, an invitation: "Let's collect eucalyptus spirals!" The trip is an occasion for mild antagonism -- Julia refers to Mom's "nonsense plan," and Mom implies that a certain assumption of Julia's is evidence of insanity. But the tension ebbs *and* flows -- rancor is forgotten when the two women become excited about a redwood log and a possible "new planter." The chat ends with a burp. There is a philosophical discussion. Is a burp a form of "comedic relief"--? Or is that strictly the job of a fart? I don't think these panels are revolutionary, but they're fun. Any kind of journey is (potentially) a story -- on its surface, the eucalyptus mission is banal, but then, it's not something we often see in art. Also, people burp. People talk about farts. I'm glad that Wertz is working to make this observation -- she is even smuggling her observation into the pages of "The New York...