April, 2014

Time Flies Like An Arrow
(Fruit Flies Like A Banana)

Lexi had been staring at the clock on the mantle with the concentration of a cat at a mouse hole (or Tony DiNozzo at a hoochie bar). I couldn't blame her—it was as ugly as a hangover after a 3-day drunk. You couldn't help but stare, like passing a 20-car pileup on the freeway. It had been a wedding gift to Ducky's grandparents and was the epitome of Victorian overblown muss and fuss, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a stunning achievement of meal furbelows: lute and harp-toting cherubs, flowers, bows, curlicues and other crap. Mother had found it when we cleaned out the attic; ignoring (or not hearing) Ducky's muttered, "Dear heavens, I thought I donated that monstrosity to charity back in California!" she hauled it downstairs, badgered Gibbs' visiting-for-Christmas father into cleaning and tinkering with the clockworks until it ran perfectly, and put it where nobody could miss it—no matter how hard they tried.

"I don't get it."

"Get what, sweetie?" I stopped on the way to Ducky's desk, mail in hand.

She pointed o the clock. "It doesn't make sense."

"The cherubs? The decoration-versus-actual-clock-face ratio of 3 to one, minimum?"

"The numbers," she said, picking up on my 'please be more specific' hint.

She had learned to tell time on an analog clock before kindergarten, so I knew it wasn't big hand/little hand confusion. "How so?"

She pointed to the face. "Okay, that's one. That's two. I guess that means five… but why is four I - V instead of I - I - I - I? It's stupid."

"Actually, it's smart," I countered, but not unkindly. "Hang on." I went to Ducky's desk, dropped the mail, grabbed a pen and paper and headed back to the couch. "C'm'ere." Lexi plopped onto the floor near the coffee table. "Okay. You're used to Arabic numerals." I wrote 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 on the paper.

"That doesn't look like Arabic."

"Well, no, not like the letters Auntie Ziva showed you." (And, quite inadvertently, Lexi misspelled something and wrote a very naughty word. Ziva laughed herself into hiccoughs.) "Trust me, they're called Arabic numerals." I wrote I, II, III, IV and V. "Those are Roman numerals."

She almost pounced on the paper. "But why isn't four I - I - I - I?" she asked almost triumphantly.

"Okay, let's do it your way." I wrote the numbers from 1 to 12, all using single digit I's. By the time I got to 8, she was frowning; by 12 she gave a small snort. "Okay. How would you fit that—" I pointed to the IIIIIIIIIIII. "—there?" I pointed to the clock.

"Oh, you need little teeny eyes for reading little teeny print…" she sang. My kid loves filk songs; genes will out, clearly.

"Right. So-o-o-o-o-o…" I wrote I = 1, V = 5, X = 10, L = 50, C = 100, D = 500, M = 1000. "Up to three, you use single I's. To make 4, it's IV. Why do you think it's IV, not IIII?"

"It takes less room."

"True. But why is I - V… four?"

I could almost hear the wheels grinding. "I dunno," she finally admitted.

"Okay." I wrote a 1 and a 5. "How would you make 4 out of that?"

"Cinchy," she said immediately. "Five minus—" Her eyes widened. "Oh! Five minus one! V minus I!"

"Exactly. So nine—"

"X minus I!" Still kneeling, she bounced up and down on her heels.

"Okay. If ten is X, eleven is XI… how would you write fourteen?"

She stopped in mid-bounce. She stole a glance at the clock, but it was no help.

"Okay—" I handed her the pen. "Write ten as a Roman numeral." She wrote a quick X. "Now, right next to the X, write a four in Roman numerals." She wrote the IV. "So you have X—ten—plus four—fourteen. If there's a smaller number between two bigger numbers, you subtract from the one on the right. Ten. Five… minus one." The light was slowly dawning. "What do you think nineteen would be?" She wrote X, thought a moment, then added IX. "Excellent. Okay. Using this list—" I pointed to the I-V-X-L-C-D-M. "Write… thirty-five." She scrawled XXXV. "Good. Thirty-nine?" XXX… hesitation… IX. "Good. Forty?" XXX… she stopped. Chewing lightly on her bottom lip, she frowned. "It's like I, you don't want a long line of X's. If L is fifty…" She wrote an L. "How would you take away ten to make forty?" Light bulb! She wrote an X on the left side of the L. "Right! 100?" She wrote a C. "90?" X to the left of the C. "89?" L… XXX… IX. "Fabulous. Now let's try something really hard. Four hundred…ninety… nine."

Her eyes roamed over the list. "Four hundred is like four and forty. I can't write CCCC. Right?"

"Right."

She let out a little huff of air.

"Break it down. Do the hundred, then the tens, then the ones."

After a moment: "C… D?"

"Very good."

"Hey! CD! A DVD would be 500 – 5 – 500! Five hundred-four hundred-ninety-five!"

"Not exactly…"

"Four-ninety-nine…" She got back to task. "C… D… X - C - I - X!" she finished triumphantly. "This is easy!"

"Okay, Smarty pants. Write your birthday."

"September nine, twenty-oh-eight," she chanted, writing IX - X - MMVIII.

"Today's date,"

She looked at me, puzzled. "What is today's date?"

I looked at my cell phone. "April fifth."

IV - V - MMXIV.

I grabbed the DVD of Bell, Book and Candle from the other side of the coffee table. "Quick. What year was this released."

"MCMLVIII. Nineteen fifty-eight!"

"I was going to reorganize the living room anyway…" I laughed.

While I recategorized, Lexi alphabetized, announcing titles and translating dates. "Star Trek 6! 1991! The Man Who Would Be King! 1975! Metropolis!" She stopped and glared. "Hey! How come it says MCMXXVII and MMI?!"

"The silent movie came out in 1927. They released it a couple of times with soundtracks—1985 or 86, I think, and later again. Kind of like colorized movies."

She gave the box a sneer. "Feh." (I snorted.)

"They remastered it, and the soundtrack from 2001 is closest to the original soundtrack."

"It can't have a soundtrack. Silent movies are silent," she argued.

We continued to debate live music at silent movies versus soundtracks versus cramming pop music into a movie and calling it a soundtrack while we reorganized DVDs, videotapes, CDs and albums. Ducky had been taking care of some hush-hush errands (my birthday was coming up soon; hmmm…) and entered the house to a volley of "1943!" "MCMXLIII!"

"1897!" I threw out. (We had progressed to books, and I was putting away a battered paperback of Dracula.)

"M-D-C-C-C-X-C-V-I-I!" she bellowed triumphantly. At Ducky's astonished look, she said (rather smugly), "I am an expert on Roman numerals."

"Oh, really?" he teased, agreeing. He winked at me. "All right. What is thirteen?"

She made a face. "Baby stuff. XIII."

"Ho, baby stuff?" He folded his arms mock-sternly. "Seven hundred and sixty three."

"DCCLXIII," she shot back. I grinned.

"Hmm. What is… 1,603—" She started to answer and he held up a hand. "—minus 247?"

She made a tiny grrr and wrote the numbers on the paper. With Tom Lehrer's New Math in the back of my head I watched her work the problem and write 1366… then change it to 1356. "MCCCLVI."

"What's your birth date?"

"We already did that, Daddy."

"Excuse me," he said. "What's the date for Christmas?"

"XII, XXV."

"Valentine's Day?"

"II, XIV."

"Easter?"

"That changes every year," she said patiently.

"Oh. So right. Ah—what was the year of Columbus's first voyage to North America?"

"Uh… MDCCLXXVI?" she said hopefully.

"That's 1776. American Revolution. You're off by close to three hundred years," he said with an easy grin.

"I said I was a Roman numeral expert," she said archly, turning back to her shelving with a flounce. "Not a history major!"

For those keeping reality score, I am now stealing from my son-in-law. Hey; now he knows he's loved!