Tuesday, October 31, 2006
all hallow's eve
Halloween, All Hallow's Eve, also known as the ancient celtic holiday of Samhain. That holiday that began the dark half of the celtic year, Samhain. It's brother Beltain, on the opposite side of the calendar wheel begins the light half of the year.
Tonight is Halloween. Last Saturday, however, we had our annual Halloween party. All in all we must have had about 15 kids and about six adults. Some notable adults were missed, but fun was still had (click the picture for...well...more pictures).
I remember Halloween when I was a kid, but not much. We lived in the country and trick or treating was difficult because the neighbors were so far away. I've done more trick or treating with my kids as an adult than I ever did as a kid. We're lucky because our neighborhood has a healthy infestation of kids under ten, which makes Halloween night pretty active until around 8pm, when the teenagers show up in jeans, t-shirts, and masks, grunting for candy. That's ok, we give it out to all visitors by the fistfull.
Happy Halloween everyone. Enjoy yourselves, enjoy your candy, and look out for the kids running around the streets!
the unknown...
This is the unknown. That place you've never been, that place you never know about until you're there. Welcome.
The unknown is full of fear, tension, hope and possibility. In the unknown places of your life, anything can happen, anything can be...all your fears realized, or all of your dreams come true, or even nothing.
Sometimes, the unknown slowly becomes known, know-able.
We strive to know, we want to know the future, we want to know causes for our effects, we like answers. When we don't get answers, we worry, we fear, we curl up and crawl away, eyes wide into the unknown.
We satiate ourselves with numbers, statistics. We soften the fear by talking about how it's unlikely that the unknown could harbor anything with malice toward us. We strive to push back the blackness of ignorance, our own ignorance, our own fear of...
the unknown.
reading...
People are constantly not asking me what I'm currently reading. Consequently, I always forget to tell people what they obviously do not want to hear, which is, what I'm currently reading. Finally, this barrage of unasked questions has driven me to compile a list of unwanted answers to those of you who have never even thought of asking me what I am currently reading.
I am currently reading the following (Wikipedia links where available):
Lilith - George McDonald
Untitled Manuscript - Written by My Aunt
A History of the English Speaking Peoples, vol. I - Winston Churchill
and finally (avert your eyes mother, you won't like the title of this next book).
On Bullshit - Harry G. Frankfurt
So. There you have it. Finally I've answered the question that hasn't been burning in your minds for weeks, nay, months. You can finally be at peace that you know, though you didn't know that you wanted to know, what I am currently reading.
So, what about what I've just finished reading? You've been not asking me that either, of course. Ok! Ok! I give in to all this un-asking! Here's what I've just finished reading recently:
At the Back of the North Wind - George McDonald
I suppose, what you're all not asking yourselves is "why doesn't toadman do sort of short little reviews of these books?" Why indeed? I suppose I shall have to begin a more concerted effort to give you all insights into these books that you've not asked about. I shall...verily I say unto you...I shall. In time.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
new life...
We heard it yesterday, at the doctors office. We all got quiet, listened, and we heard it loud and clear. New life beating away inside. Brand new, but still unseen.Labels: baby
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
the magic of fall...
"A spirit . . .
. . . . . .
The undulating and silent well,
And rippling rivulet, and evening gloom,
Now deepening the dark shades, for speech assuming,
Held commune with him; as if he and it
Were all that was."
SHELLEY'S Alastor.
There cannot be much that is more magical than that time in the early evening, in the fall of the year, when the color of the trees is set on fire by the angle of the lowering sun, and the crispness of the air begins to gently bite at the skin. It is at that time, that I fancy, doorways to other worlds become visible, and travelers from far dimensions unseen flow through those doorways more easily and without hesitation. This time of year swells with magic, color, and contentment. As the land in this northern part of our planet slowly puts itself to bed for the winter, it puts on one last grand fiery show for it's inhabitants, as they prepare and steele themselves for the long winter dark that looms.
Please join us, at Corbin Park, for our day of fall fantasy by clicking on the picture. See the color, watch the sunshine, listen to the laughter, forget the rest of the world for a while and feel, finally, contentedly alive.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
why...
Why is it that I sometimes feel like, because we have chosen to be a one income family during the raising of our children, ensuring that one parent is home all the time, we are being punished by society?
what a trip...
I mostly remember the smell. The familiar smell of wet cigarettes and beer that wafted out of the spent and tired bars as I'd walk from our tiny little apartment to the college early on Monday mornings.
I'd stop in at the Kharma Kafe for a coffee, and come out smelling more of smoke and incense than of coffee. But I enjoyed that. This was the time of my life for this. We were young, being educated, feeling fun and living alone in a college town for the first time.
The music usually started on Thursday evenings. I would sometimes go down to Rick's Place and check out who ever was playing that night, it was usually funk with a heavy brass section, owing to the fact that the school was known for turning out stellar musicians. They all had chops, killer chops. Whitey, Mushroom Groovy, and others. They'd wear their funky clothing, Dr. Suess hats or top hats, and waggle them around on stage. But for all this silliness, one thing held true, they could play. Man, could they play.
Rumor was New Bohemians had played here, before they picked up their headmistress. Others were rumored to have played here as well, like Ten Hands, Course of Empire, and even older guys like Brave Combo and Blood, Sweat and Tears.
This is what college life was all about for me. Walking home late from some class, hearing the music, like you'll hear at the end of this post if you listen, wafting out over the air with the smell of tobacco and weed, urine and beer. I was glad of it, it was an elixer of life for me, the whole place. I started becoming more of who I am today because of the drug of University life.
powered by ODEO
Mushroom Groovy - Fungusamungus - Psilocybin
Thursday, October 19, 2006
dreams...
My wife sometimes asks me, "If you could do anything for a living, what would you do?"
This is an easy question for me to answer, because I dream big. I've always dreamed bigger than my own confidence and ambition. My answer? I'd be a writer.
Yup. Who wouldn't, right?
For me, writing, like I dream I could write, would involve me sitting on a covered front porch somewhere...anywhere really (because you wouldn't be tied to a location)...sitting there enjoying a nice cup of coffee, looking at the view, and occasionally typing on a laptop as the muse strikes me.
Being a writer would also, as I mentioned, satisfy my wanderlust of wanting to live in such places as the Hampshire countryside, or Scotland. If I was a wealthy writer, maybe having a house in both in England's Hampshire region and in and around Huntley, Scotland would be the thing. From the house in Huntley, I could write with more authority about the North Wind, and may be even find out what little Diamond saw when he got behind it. In the Hampshire countryside, I might be able to write, with more authority, about the beauties of rural England, about it's history and druidic past.
But those are just dreams. I don't have more than about three books in my head waiting to get out, and they can't get past the wall of my own self confidence anyway. Besides, I am fully content now to be a good husband and father. I could remain a good father and husband as a writer, I'm sure, but that takes money, confidence, a manuscript, and a publisher willing to take a huge risk on the likes of me.
But that's just me. I dream big, and live simple.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
what would you like to hear? something narcissistic?
Perhaps I could tell you about how I broke my pinky finger in Hawaii when I was 18 and indestructible? Maybe I could reminisce with you about my trip to Paraguay the same year, Scott was there. He could tell tales too.
Or maybe I could tell you how I wasn't intelligent enough, by the standards of the state of Texas, to be accepted to a state university in 1988, and had to go to junior college and take remedial mathematics. Maybe I could tell you about the day I moved out of my parents house, for the first time, and they left the country? Maybe I could tell you about what my life was like then?
You'd probably like for me to tell you about my two months in East Africa, the grueling thirty hour commute to Nairobi (including layovers and everything), alone, in November of 1990. I could tell you about how, as a twenty year old, in Africa, with less than half of my University schooling finished, I felt more educated about the world in that two months, than ever before. Maybe I could tell you about how it changed my life. I could tell you what I did for four hours in Frankfurt airport, all alone in a foreign country whose language I did not speak at all.
You likely wouldn't like for me to tell you about the grand and ill-advised mistake I made when I took a job in Florida for six months. You'd probably rather hear about our wedding day, and when we lived in Denton, within walking distance of the college for two years...blissful newlyweds and on our own, finally.
I know many of you would like to hear about the birth of our first child, but not the layoff afterward. Some of you would like to hear about the year that we lived within 200 yards of the Rio Grande, where each night I would stand and look out across that dirty river, into the deep darkness of the Chihuahuan desert of northern Mexico and wonder if there were people looking back, dreaming of a better life. You'd also be interested, probably, in hearing about the birth of our second child, against all odds, in Laredo, TX.
Some of you might have already heard about our crazy idea to take a job in Washington state after only living in Laredo for a year. Our idea to move our little growing family 2000 miles away from everything we've ever known. Some of you have already heard this because this is where we are now. Our life's adventure is continuing. The road map of my life, the experiences I've had, makes up the story of who I am. My wife and I now share almost thirteen years of that story. The broken finger is still with me. The visions, thoughts and experiences I had in Paraguay and Africa remain forever embedded in my consciousness. The pain and anguish and regret of Florida is there also. The happiness of Denton, the joy of new life, the depression of the lay-off, the nervous energy of moving away, the anxiety of a second new life, and the insanity of taking a chance on a long distance move. It's all there, in my head. It builds me and shapes me and makes me who I am.
But do you want to hear it? Do you care? I am who I am now, because of my past. If you knew me then, I'd have been different. Some people remain the same throughout everything, but I've changed with each new experience, into what I am today. In the future, I'll probably change again.
keep off the grass...
At 5:15am every weekday morning, I am awakened by the sound of classical music. It's always something different, and I never can quite remember what it is. My wife turns it off, nudges me, and I fall back to sleep.
Exactly nine minutes later, this same thing happens again, and after my wife turns it off, I slowly rise, turn my legs to the side of the bed, letting them fill with blood once again so that walking is a little more stable. I press down, the synthetic fibers caress my bare feet as I walk out of the bedroom. In the dining room, there's wood. It's cool on my feet. In the kitchen, tile. It's cold. On the stairs to the basement, rubber. In the main basement room, concrete. Very cold. In the downstairs office, carpet once again.
After I shower, and leave the house, my feet covered in their protective covering made of leather and rubber and synthetics, I walk across the concrete porch to the gravel driveway, and get in the car. The car rolls along my drive to work, rubber against gravel, asphalt and concrete.
After I park, I walk over asphalt, concrete, and paving bricks to my office. Tile. Tile everywhere. I walk to the Union building for a coffee. Paving bricks. Concrete.
When I get home, my children drag me outside, no shoes, and I lay down in the soft cool grass and try to remember what it feels like to be a human living on a planet that is natural and alive.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
hankerin'
It was quiet. The boys were in their bunk bed down the hall. I was laying in our bed, reading. Our house is situated such that the boys can lay in their beds, and if the doors are open to our rooms, they can look down the hallway and see me laying in our bed.
Things were just a little different tonight, however, my wife was downstairs finishing up a couple of things on the computer related to our coming trip to Texas. I had already told them that she'd be up shortly to tell them goodnight. That's when it came. The small voice of our youngest, our three year old.
"Dad?"
"Yes son."
"I'm really hankerin' to see mommy."
"Did you say hankerin'?"
"Yes."
"Ok. I was just checking. She'll be up in just a bit."
Where the heck did that come from? Do they still show that commercial on TV? You remember the one, don't you? (click the picture).
Hankerin'. Ok. Well, he was born in Texas, I suppose it could have slipped in there somewhere!
please feed the anachronisms, ok?
It was cold this weekend. Nice and cold. Cold and nice. We did a number of things that aren't really worth mentioning to the world at large, or even people who matter, but we did, indeed, do 'things' that were fun. We also did other things as well. Like clean the basement, do the shopping, become overwhelmed at the Goodwill store's annual costume brawl (sale) and general free for all mosh.
The place was crowded with things. Goodwill is like a never ending garage sale where you have to pick and choose through the bizarre in order to find (as you sneeze from the several air-bourne allergens stirred up by this very act) the treasures. We found a few. They were washed, sanitized, and otherwise cleaned, and are now a part of our lives, as they once were a part of someone else's lives.
We often frequent Green Bluff during this time of year. Ok, I'll be honest, we frequent Green Bluff during almost every festival that they have. Strawberries, Cherries, Peaches, and finally, Apples. We even go up in December for a Christmas Tree and a quick photo-op with the local red suited and white bearded Saint.
This time, we went and there was a number of additional festivities at Walters Fruit Ranch (the farm that we frequent most often), including a corn cannon, pig races, a giant dried pea 'sand' box (dried peas instead of sand, you see), a hay maze, pony rides, and etc.... The first year we went to this festival, it was tiny. In the three years we've been patronizing this place, it has grown out of control. It's good for the farm, I suppose. This is their biggest time of the year, and the kids really dig the extra stuff during this time of year.
The batteries in the camera died after just a few pictures though...so there won't be much of a record of yesterday's events, sorry. I just plain forgot to charge it up. I'll post them when I get around to it....
And now it's Monday. Monday morning. Monday morning and the world is, again, thinking about nuclear war. I wish it was yesterday all over again. Don't you?
provenance...
Many years ago, at an antique shop in Fort Worth, TX, I purchased the only remaining three volumes of a four volume set of very old books. I took the 1753 translation of Homer's Odyssey by Alexander Pope home, smelled their musty old pages, and thought of all they'd seen. I thought of all the changes the world had been through since these had been printed in Glasgow. I was laughing about the "F's" as "S's" in the printing when I came across a sticker, pasted in the front cover of the book.
My first thought was that it was some later addition, but I wasn't sure. One sticker were the words "Erasmus Head, Prebendary of Carlisle." A name, and a position.
Over the years I've occasionally come back to the books, and wondered about old Erasmus. I wondered how his books ended up in Fort Worth, TX. Not knowing much about the history of the Church in England, I had to look up what a "Prebendary" was (found it after Wikipedia began! Thanks Wikipedia!). Finally, some weeks ago, I wrote a research assistant at an Anglican Historical website the following short email:
Hello,
I have in my possession three volumes of a four volume set of Alexander Pope's translation of Homer's Odyssey printed in 1753. Inside the front cover is pasted a name card that says:
Erasmus Head, Prebendary of Carlisle.
I have found lists of Bishops who were also Prebendaries, however, I have yet to find the name Erasmus Head listed anywhere.
I wonder if you would know who this person was?
Thank you,
Sincerely,
I didn't know if this would yield any information, since my own limited online research of the history of Bishops and Prebendary's of Carlisle had come up flat.
Today, I received an answer to my query from the person I wrote to:
Dear [sir]
So far, all I can tell you from our database is that Erasmus Head was educated at Queen's Oxford, had an MA by 2/6/1735, which was the day of his ordination as deacon - in Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford. On 31/5/1735 he was appointed as curate of Bletchingdon, Oxon. Hopefully, by the time we have finished linking all our data there will be more information on him.
How tantalizing to have 3 of the 4 volumes - but what a wonderful find. In case you are interested in the history of the clergy, I have attached details of a one day conference we are holding later this month.
Regards,
Educated at Queen's Oxford, I wonder what old Erasmus would think of our world? I wonder what old Erasmus would think about his books being sold to a long haired, bearded man in a country that didn't even exist when they were printed? I wonder if I could, and if I wanted to, find Erasmus' fingerprints on the pages of this book, on the binding or cover? I wonder what other books he had in his library and what his house was like back then? I wonder what these books saw when he first brought them home from the "bookfeller's" shop? I wonder what happened to volume 1 of this four volume set?
I wonder alot of things like this when I hold these books, when I flip through their pages. I wonder what Erasmus' eyes were like, as he read them? What was his life like?
I wonder. Maybe one day I'll learn even more about him.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
stockholm syndrome
It seems to me that, upon reflection of my surroundings, Stockholm Syndrome is the culprit. Our environment hasn't changed, and there are some who, despite all the evidence, remain loyal. We are experiencing this not only here, but nation wide, I think.
Before long, we'll all be just like good old Patty.
fall...
At the organic farm, near Spangle, we run free. We roam the massive rolling hills formed by the catastrophic flood over twelve thousand years ago. We look out over the recently cut wheat, our faces to the wind, and we bend the air. We air-bend. Then we sit, and listen to the silence, and try to hear what the wind is telling us, as it rustles through the spent and dried up wheat stalks.
Earlier, we ground and pressed fresh, wild, apples. Their juice, their very life blood, spilled out into cups for us to drink. We drank their energy and the life given to them by this volcanic soil, into ourselves, and were that much closer to the earth. We were earth benders.
Parenting is hard. It's the hardest job you'll ever love, if you'll pardon that old tired saying. No less than two times did our six year old require a 'talking to' in a separate room, because of his boisterousness. The turmoil in my heart is painful as I feel anger and love at the same time. My self control occasionally releases and I say something stupid, then I repent, and things are as they should be. He's changing, alot. He's growing, fast. He's not the same temperament as I was when I was a child. I'm not sure anyone really could be. I was different, alone, in my own world most of the time. He requires attention, playmates, and play prompting. It was my idea to air-bend with him in Spangle, at the farm. I thought it would be good to get away, just he and I, and it was.
We stayed for dinner at our friends farm. It was a nice time of chatting and getting to know one another better. We left under a starry sky, and a bright half moon. Driving along the curving two lane road that wound it's way up and down over those ancient dunes, they both fell asleep. The darkness enveloped us, covered us with the glowing warmth of fall-time, and it was good.
