roadside apocalypse...
When all the nations have gasped out their last and have finally failed...
When the seas have boiled and the ice caps melted and the coastlines eroded and changed and washed away millions of lives...
When the sky has turned blood read and the ozone layer has evaporated into the vacuum of space leaving us defenseless against the never ending onslaught of solar radiation...
When the four horsemen have left, and all is dark and quiet, and the earth is nothing but an empty shell, there will be, somewhere in England, a sign reminding us, at this very time, and for this very time, to "please drive carefully."Labels: anglophile
total immersion...
Since early April, I've been contemplating the changes. I've been listening, watching, and feeling how moving from four to five has affected us all.
You wouldn't think it'd be much of a change. Our routine is almost the same, but there are differences, both profound and subtle.
Swimming down below the surface, I look up, afraid that I might be getting too far down. The sunlight refracts and glimmers through the surface tension, now so far above me that I know I cannot make it back before my lungs must burst. Here, where the bottom meets the water, I must let it happen. Whatever will be, will be. I find peace, don't rescue me, I'm happy here.
I open my mouth, and draw in the liquid of fatherhood, and I find that it's ok, that I can do this. I am totally immersed in this sea now, and I will be here for a long time, it seems. But it's ok. The surface is up there, still, and I may, one day, see it again. But until then, I've found my peace down here, surrounded by what I need, and what needs me.
thing the seventh...
This has been a difficult project, this seven things, thing. This is the last of the seven things, since it is the seventh thing...ok? I'll get back to writing something else as I have time.
The last thing about myself is this: I love being home with my family. Home, right now, is Spokane, Washington. I love it here in Spokane. We have four distinct seasons. I like that. I didn't grow up that way, but my kids will. I love the way the darkness of winter slowly gives way to the gathering warmth of spring. The coolness of the breeze and the chill in the morning reminds us that it is only spring, and that summer isn't far off. In the spring, life returns once again, slowly at first, then more rapidly later in the season. By summer, as the heat begins, the blooms grow with reproductive fury, trying to bear their fruits before the imminent onset of fall. Fall slowly sneaks in a few hints, like a cool breeze at the end of a long hot day, some time in mid September, and by October, the nights are noticeably shorter, and the days pleasantly cool. Then winter comes. In late fall we have all made our slow preparations, covering the deck furniture, covering the BBQ grill, closing up the window units and replacing the storm windows on the house. By late October, if you haven't done these things, you will pay the price.
I love being at home with my family too. I love the lazy weekend mornings when my sons come into our bedroom and curl up with us and laugh and giggle. I love the little gurgling smiles I get from our youngest son. I love watching cartoons with my kids too. I love it all. I am a lucky man. I had no idea, when I married my wife so many years ago, that I'd be where I am now, with the children we have now, but I'm satisfied, happy, and content, most of the time.
So, that's the last thing about me. I'm not sure what it is, but there it is.Labels: seven things
thing the sixth...
I don't want this next thing about me to come across wrong. I don't want my mother to be sad about it, and I don't want people to think that I don't want them around. I do. It's just that, well, I like to be alone.
I grew up, from about 1980 on, alone. It wasn't a bad alone, it was a good 'alone.' It was the kind of alone where, as a kid, and sometimes an adult, you can spend a lot of good time thinking, imagining, and just living inside your head. I still enjoy that. I enjoy my alone drives from work to home, and back again. I enjoy shutting my door at work and working alone, without distractions, just me, my thoughts, and my music.
Sometimes my mother worries about me when I mention that I was always alone as a child. But, to tell you the truth, I think it was the best thing for me. I would spend hours walking around the ten acres of land that we had in Boyd, TX, just living in my head, and living out imaginary adventures.
So, I am a loner. But I love being alone with my little family, with my wife and my boys. I've let them into my little private world, I think. I still have to have alone time to recharge, though.Labels: seven things
thing the fifth...
I like old things. I like old houses, old books, old buildings. I love things with history. I like to think about where they've been and what they've seen over the years.
Pictured to the left is Alexander Pope's translation of Homer's Odyssey printed in 1753. I like to think about the shelves these books have sat on over the years...the sunlight through windows that they've felt and seen...the days through which they've lived and the long gone voices they've heard, not to mention the long gone hands that have held them. I like to try and imagine what happened to volume one of this set.
I love old things. Do you?Labels: seven things
thing the fourth...
I love to travel. I do. I love to go to a new place and just look around and experience it all. In my line of work, I occasionally have to go out of town for training. I enjoy the traveling part, the being in another city and stuff. The only thing I don't like is not having my family with me when I return to my empty and lonely hotel room.
I don't know where I get my wanderlust, I just like it. When I was 18, I traveled by myself to Hawaii. That same year, I went with a church group to South America. Later, when I was 20 years old, I traveled by myself to Nairobi to spend two months with my parents who were there at the time. However, travel is expensive. Very expensive. I fear that I will not be able to travel with my family as much as I would like in the future. I want to show my wife and my children the world around them. I want them to see how other people live in other parts of the world. I want them to see some of the grand and magnificent things that I've seen in even my own limited travels. But I don't know if I'll be able to do this. I hope I will, but the world is an expensive place.Labels: seven things
thing the third...
If you know me personally, you will not argue the fact that I love music. I listen to music all day long in my office. I listen to music in the car. I listen to music outside while I grill hamburgers. I also sing. I have the voice of an angel...well, sort of. I also play a little keyboard. I'm not saying the keyboard I play is little, I'm saying I play it a little bit...however, now that I think about it, since I don't have a full piano in the house, the keyboard I currently play is, in fact, little. Oh well.
Music is a huge part of my life. I've always listened to all sorts of music. I remember, being about seven or eight years old, being given a hand-me-down 8-track player for my room. I would play stuff on it like the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, Gino Vanelli's album Storm at Sunup (still a favorite today, actually!), and others. I would imagine myself singing these songs in front of audiences, belting things out like I was a rock star. I'd rehearse my stage "moves" in the privacy of my room. Later, when I was older and actually did sing in front of crowds, at church and school and such, I was always too self conscious to really do any of the practiced "rock star" stage moves. I'm pretty sure the people at the church I grew up in were glad I didn't do these moves anyway.
What types of music? All types, really...with the notable exception of country music. I do not like the sound, and often times, the sentiments contained within country music. It bores me, and irritates. I know that sounds elitist, but it's true. But I still have Johnny Cash on my playlist. People often find this contradictory to what I've just stated above, but I feel Cash transcended several genera's. At least, thats my opinion, others may dissagre.
I have been called, in the past, a musical snob, because I listen to what many people consider Progressive Rock. While it's true that I indulge in heavy doses of the popularly labeled "Progressive" or "Art" rock, both old and new, I am not limited to this genera. I enjoy many other types, and always have.Labels: seven things
thing the second...
The first thing about me, in the previous post, is one of my earliest memories. I'll now share with you some things that I do not remember. It's not that I wasn't there, I was. It's just that my brain has decided, for whatever reason, to block out certain portions of my young memory, for good reason, it turns out.
Most people can remember being six, seven, and eight years old. I only have spotty memories of these years. I do remember soon after I turned six, an elderly uncle drove up in our driveway, I ran up to the window of his car and said "I'm six!" He replied "You're sick!?" I didn't know what to say, so I ran off, confused, but still happy in my six year old glee. There are other small bits of memories that come through, but none of them are very clear. You see, sometime in 1976 (my mother will clear this up, I'm sure), my father became very ill. He was in the hospital a lot, and was near death, several times, I'm told. I remember seeing my father laying in his bed in our home, when the illness began, and my mother bending over him. Then, the memories become strange. Driven from here to there by my older siblings. Being disruptive in Sunday school. Things like that. I distinctly remember, one Sunday morning, after being dropped off at my Sunday school class by my sister, becoming increasingly agitated by the teacher during the lesson. I remember, at one point, running to the other room, and hiding under a puppet show thingy and screaming for people to leave me alone. They had to call my brother to get me to come out from behind it. To this day, I don't know why I was so irritable and agitated so often. I can only assume that it was due to the stresses on my confused young mind during this time.
I also remember something else from this dark era. I remember, in the night time, waking up with an odd feeling. A feeling of disassociation from my own body. I sense of everything getting bigger, while I shrunk in size. Also, on other occasions, it would be the opposite, I would feel my size overwhelming and my mind floating in utter fear above all the tiny objects in my room. My sister says that she sometimes found me, during these years, when mom and dad were away so much at the hospital, awake in the night, at the top of the stairs in our house, crying. I don't remember that part, but I do remember the disassociated feeling. I have it still, on very rare occasions. It seems to be tied to stress, and lack of sleep. But I'm not sure.
So, there it is. My non-memories. A period in my life that is darker than the rest. I'm not sad about this time, or upset. It was just something that happened. Also, this is how I experienced this time in our family. It affected us all profoundly, and is still with us to this day. We all experienced it in our own way, and we all remember it in our own way. I can only imagine that life would have been even darker still, afterward, were my father to not survive his illness. Thankfully, he did survive, and life went back to normal, and my memories clear up around 1979-80.Labels: seven things
thing the first...
I don't know about this exercise, this "seven things" thing. I'm not sure what to divulge about me, that most of my readers don't already know. Still, I suppose I'll give it a try by starting early in my life. I don't know if this will be interesting, or the most boring series of posts ever done here. We shall see.
I was born in 1970 in a hospital that no longer exists, in a suburb of Fort Worth, TX called North Richland Hills. That's me in the picture to the left being held by my aunt not long after my birth. I am the youngest of four. My closest sibling in age is my brother who is nine years older than me. My earliest memory involves my brother, a Chinese lantern, and a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo. I remember laying on the bottom bunk of a bunk-bed, and seeing the glowing Chinese lantern hanging from the ceiling, as my brother jumped down and showed me his glowing yo-yo. I was apparently sleeping in a bed, so I must have been at least two years old or so. That would make my brother about 11 or 12 at the time. This seems to fit since he seemed shorter in my memory than he does presently.
I don't really remember anything else until we were moving out of that particular house in North Richland Hills, to our house in Boyd, in 1974. I vaguely remember running around in the empty living room of that house with my cousin. That's it.
Anyway, there's day one!
Note:
I've been corrected about a few details in this post by my mother that I must point out. I am confused about the hospital in which I was born. I was actually born, according to my mother (and I suppose she would know) in Harris Hospital, in downtown Fort Worth, TX. Incidentally, our first son was born there as well. The hospital I'm confusing it with is, most likely, Glenview Hospital in Richland Hills, TX, where my father spent many an ill day and night (see the next post). The hospital has been converted to some sort of retirement home, apparantly.
Also, my brother is 8 years older than me, not 9. I never was good at math.Labels: seven things
thinking blogger and seven things...
Phil, over at A Family Runs Through It, awarded me a Thinking Blogger award, some time back (click here). Also, our English Rose friend, marmitetoasty, tasked me with the "Seven Things" meme a while back as well. I've been thinking about these things, and have decided to try and list bloggers that make me think, and also seven things about me, over the next few days. I've been over-tired and a little busy since the birth of our third son back in April, so this should be something mildly interesting to some of you, so I think I'll try to do these memes.
First, I want to thank Phil for awarding me the "Thinking Blogger" award. It's always nice to be noticed. I never really think about how my writing affects others, just how it makes me feel. I don't know if that's the right way to think about doing a blog, but then, I've never really fallen in line with the rules anyway, that is, if there are any anyway. So, thanks Phil, I appreciate the comments.
I think I'll start with a quick list of bloggers out there who make me think on a regular basis.
1. Scott, a personal friend of mine, who writes the blog "Caveat Emptor," never ceases to make me think and laugh at the same time. His post from today is no exception.
2. Bob, a new personal friend of mine, who writes the blog "The Unbearable Bobness of Being," also makes me think. His writing can be in your face, or subtle. He is a master word smith, and his wit is cutting. I enjoy his writing whether he's ranting or waxing poetic.
3. Green Libertarian, yet another new personal friend, who writes the aptly named blog "Green Libertarian," always makes me think. He tells it like it is. Inside his sailor's language riddled posts are often gems of ideas that are well thought out, and common sense.
4. JBelle, who writes the blog "Notes from the 'Kan EWA," writes about things she is passionate about. Her children, her faith, her garden, and her travels. She makes me think about the good things in life.
5. Marmitetoasty, who writes the blog "Twaddle: Everyday Rubbish," is always making me laugh. Since laughing, to me, is akin to making me happy, which makes me again appreciate the good things in life, and think about those things, I will award her a "Thinking Blogger" award as well. Her prose is full of thick English euphemisms, idioms, and dialect, and that makes me smile. She is her own person, and no mistake. That's one of the best things about her...and that makes me think. Our family loves her dearly, since she sends us a never ending supply of English treats and pressies.
So, that's my top five thinking bloggers. There are more out there. Everyone on my blogroll is wonderful, and have made me think in the past. I could list something about every one of you, but I'll show some restraint and limit myself to five, for the time being.
Tomorrow, I will begin the seven things meme. Now that I think about it, it might be harder than I had at first thought. I'm not sure there are seven things about me worth mentioning, but I'll give it a go.Labels: thinking blogger
a giving spirit...
I remember when he was born. I was ten or eleven. It was his birth that made me an uncle for the first time, and made me realize that I was supposed to be growing up.. that I was no longer the youngest person in this broad family.
As he grew, he was a bit of a terror. I remember as a kid he once stole one of the crystals off the chandelier in my parents bedroom right before he and his mother (my sister) left for home. I remember wondering if he was going to be a kleptomaniac when he grew up. Nothing was further from the truth.
When he got older, he was once chastised for not having a coat on a cold night when he showed up to some family function somewhere. Where was his one coat? He had given it away to someone on the street who needed it more than he did. He has become a better man than many in his own generation. He's a good kid, and he's just returned from his second trip to Africa. He spent three months working in an orphanage, living lean, and healping others. During this trip, he gave away his cell phone at a border crossing, in order to get a visa for the neighboring country, because he had no American money at the time. Just gave it away. He said it seemed like they might need it more than him anyway. My inclination is that he thought it more important that he get into the country, than that he have cell phone. He's home now though, having just gotten over Malaria, which he'll carry with him the rest of his life.
Some people wonder what's wrong with him. Why would he just give stuff away like that? Why doesn't he come home, go to college, get a good paying job and help people with his money? They worry about him, how he's living, what he's doing, if he's in danger. I don't. He's a good kid. He's got a spirit that's as precious as a diamond. He's doing what his heart loves, and that's more important than anything in the world.
humble pie...
The residents and head chef at Bellmaison, after seeing the previous post, were still kind enough to send over to our little Toadmaison, comestibles, edibles, toys and pressies. Bellmaison, and the friends of Bellmaison (you know who you are), cannot be thanked enough for your kind generosity, in the face of such strange imitation by yours truly.
We are truly sitting with a face full of humble pie, after such generosity, and yet, the garden discussions between Bellmaison, and Toadmaison, may continue. The Lilac that I purchased for the lady of Toadmaison last year, has put on it's first bloom, but the vegetable garden has yet to be turned and planted, even as the seedlings in the basement continue to grow. We hope to have some of that done this weekend, as time and the responsibilities of parenting allow. This means, that there will likely be precious little done to the garden other than watering. The lettuces, nearly lost from our mistake of leaving the cold frame cover on, are slowly recovering...we have high hopes for salad soon.
Our new Royal William rose is in hospital. This means, that it is under a paper sack and soaking up as much water as I can give it...again, we have hope that it will pull through. If it does not, we have been assured by the gardeners of Bellmaison, that another plant will be forthcoming.
Again, we are humbled. We are thankful. We are blessed.
the sincerest form of flattery...
Here at Toadmaison, the roses are making a valliant effort at coming back, but we've burnt the tops of the lettuces because we forgot to take off the glass top of the cold frame yesterday. Also, the lovely front flower bed that we worked up last fall has started to show some blooms, but the phlox hasn't come up, and that has us worried.
We are still at war with the Meow-nation regarding their insidious and sneaky excretory habits in the garden between the garages, although we currently have the upper hand in the form of smelly moth balls. Hopefully, this will keep the Meow-nation from defiling the place until the Irish moss takes hold of the soil which we try to water on a daily basis, but occasionally miss a day or two. If we were up early enough, we might be able to catch rogue members of the Meow-nation, red-butted, so to speak. Alas, we are often too tired for words at such early hours.
We have high hopes for the dead spots in the front lawn where there were once dandelions. Our bad idea of killing the vile weeds with chemicals backfired and caused spots in the lawn, making our lawn look as though it has some sort of lawn pox.
Still, the story of Toadmaison continues. The grape hyacinth in the front spring bed are making an effort to rise above the unmowed grass, and we have aimed the tiny clematis at the precariously placed lattice that we moved from the side garden, where it's older sibling met it's death last year. We have high hopes for this one.
props to JBelle, of course...
Also, I wrote something over at [cantus de animus] today, if anyone is interested.Labels: copyright infringments
age inappropriate...
King Arthur: Old woman.
Dennis: Man.
King Arthur: Man, sorry. What knight lives in that castle over there?
Dennis: I'm 37.
King Arthur: What?
Dennis: I'm 37. I'm not old.
King Arthur: Well I can't just call you "man".
Dennis: Well you could say "Dennis".
King Arthur: I didn't know you were called Dennis.
Dennis: Well you didn't bother to find out did you?
King Arthur: I did say sorry about the "old woman", but from behind you looked...
Dennis: What I object to is you automatically treat me like an inferior.
King Arthur: Well I am king.
Dennis: Oh, king eh? Very nice. And how'd you get that, eh? By exploiting the workers. By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society.
I do, in fact, turn 37 tomorrow (I've been waiting to use the quote above all my life! HA!). I've actually forgotten that my birthday was this week several times. My mother called me this morning and reminded me. For me, it's really become our middle son's birthday, since he shares this day with me. The 8th of May is his day now, so far as I'm concerned.
Still, it's a time to reflect, I suppose. I've done many things in the time I've had so far. I've stood on top of Africa, on Kilimanjaro. I've stood next to the largest waterfall in South America, Iquazu Falls. I've been to Hawaii. I've done more than most people get to do in thirty seven years, and a lot less than some other people get to do. I've fathered three boys and moved over two thousand miles from my birth place, and started to settle down, for good.
When I look in the mirror, I don't see the kid who went to South America or Hawaii, nor do I see the young man who went to Africa. I see an aging man with dark circles under his eyes, gray hair in his beard, a growing double chin, and a fading light in his eyes. But at least I still see happiness, and mostly, contentment at where he is, where he's been, and where he's going. To all that, I say:
I'm 37! I'm not old!Labels: age inappropriate
anthropomorphologistics...
...head full of feathers dancing like pillows blowing in the wind I dream of sleep. I drive with the other monkeys in their metal boxes over the smooth black river through what is left of the untamed wilderness as I look up at the cotton ball clouds of morning. Coffee calls.
I love the coo of his voice in the middle of the night, as he nurses. Warm and comforting is the sound of this activity. Softness is his face, darkness is his hair and eyes, and the dishes aren't getting done, and the baskets of laundry pile high in the living room as the cool air of morning hits my face and I stray again on that path toward making the green.
Eyes burn, dishes wait, sleep calls, love abides. Routine interrupted, slowly returns, slowly alters, changes, modifies, colors our world in new, augments our relationships in unknown ways. The scratchy old black rocking chair is my home at 2am, sleeping with a warm body on my chest, newly full from the warmth of his mother, but not quite ready to return to slumber. We rock, then we slow down, then we lay back together and sleep. We sleep till morning light...Labels: baby
