No coffee, just some blooms

I love to walk outside and see the fruits of my labors. This morning there were two blossoms on my morning glory plant. A vibrant color filled my field of vision, I am not sure if it is purple or indigo or something else altogether. It just kind of startled me awake to the promise of a good day. As I looked around there were four or five heirloom tomatoes waiting to be picked. Odd term heirloom tomatoes, these are the real tomatoes not transport friendly tomatoes that popular the stores today. A garden in full is a great thing to see as I am leaving to work indoor all day dealing with the psychology and legality of addiction.

The radio promised a clear day today with bright sun and blue skies. I may see it at my lunch hour if I am lucky. Still knowing that the weather is nice is kind of comforting. Little things, little joys, these keep me going.

The shoals of what is and what is not

Tuesday, September 04, 2012

It was the first day of school from Primus and Secundus.  The years have flown by.  Primus is a senior and Secundus is a junior.  Every year has had it challenges and this year will be the college application process.  I don’t know if this is going to be anything like I expected it to be.

My children are human.  In some ways they are bright. In some ways they are dumber than moose poop.  I guess much the same can be said of me.  My wife, well she isn’t dumber than moose poop, not ever.  The maze of admissions with grades and test schools will never reveal who my children are to the people on the other end of the pipeline.  How can a dry sheet of paper convey the work ethic of an ASD kid or his wry and witty sense of humor?  Funny that, ASD kids are not known for their biting humor, but Primus’ tongue is rapier sharp. 

The thing is words on paper and raw scores aren’t going to tell you what that boy is all about. It is my hope he finds a place in this world, a good place, where he can be of benefit to our greater community.  He believes in public service although there are flashes of cynicism that I see.  Sometimes I am convinced that his Aspergers is an evolutionary step in a better direction.  Less deception, less artifice, more of this is what is and this is what is not. 

Pick that Book Up Dummny

When I was young I read voraciously.  I was not of the norm. In the past I have talked about my weight and myself so I won’t dwell on it.  When I started reading it was an escape from my contemporaries.  It took me to place where great people lived.  My first reading addiction was a biographical series about famous Americans.  Lincoln, Washington, Edison, Nathan Hale, Patrick Henry these were the idealistic characters I lived with.

Of course now I know these were hagiographic tomes designed to inspire youth like myself.  These were more complex people, men and woman who still did great things mind you, but their failings, their feet of clay were hidden from my view then.  But that is not what this is about.  I have missed reading. When I poured over those pages I was in pure joy.  Word after word brought me pleasure.  

As I grew my appetite for books became voracious.  I read anything that wasn’t just pulp, science fiction, surrealistic tales of life, political rants and the classics. Many were new classics mostly late nineteenth century. In the past couple of weeks I have reheard a book I read as a teen.  (Chris, please, please don’t let you blood pressure go up here).  As I heard it I heard lyric poetry and I heard voices crying to connect with something greater.  I also heard disillusionment and a sense of despair that was ever pervasive.  

I am left to wonder now what would I get if I reread some other books that were part of myself education cannon in my teens and twenties?  I know that early Kurt Vonnegut has held up well particularly Mother Night.  I read that to my children as a bedtime story over a couple of weeks.

Ah the balance.  I want to continue to mentally grow and it seems foolish to go back and revisit the books of my past.  Maybe I will pull an oral copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  That might be the only one that would make sense.  

The key thing is I have to make time for reading, writing and thought.

Saturday Before the Holiday

The air condition is turned off today. Trust me I hate the heat today is not too bad.  I am listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter again trying to get a sense of what this disc means.  It just seems to me that she is in a dark place.  I think the music is beautiful and the lyrics elegant but pained.  For example:

These are your instructions

When you become reclusive

When old friends say they miss you

When sleep becomes elusive

Fill up every journal

Empty every shoebox

Burn the lists and letters

Sweep out all the old thoughts

Shake off all the covers

Throw every window open

Stand here in your bare feet

Welcome in the morning

These are your instructions

When grace has left you stranded

When you are lost and wounded

Bleeding and abandoned

As I write Francie is in the kitchen.  She is cooking dinner.  Also there is zucchini bread in the over giving off the warm most smell of walnuts and green shredded yard fruits.  Primus is disassembling and reassembling his computer.  The mouse does on this particular does not work.  School is next week and thus it must be returned to operating condition. Secundus is watching snarky cartoons.  Life is good right now.

How I Spent a Free Day

Friday, August 31, 2012

The breakfast is done for those of us who eat breakfast.  Morning repast today was a mushroom cheddar omelet with a dash of B & B for flavor with Kenyan coffee on the side.   (Me I am still drinking decaf.) 

Mary Chapin Carpenter is on the stereo.  While on holiday a couple of weeks back a friend had asked me whatever had happened to Ms. Carpenter.  I told her that I had seen a recent CD but that I hadn’t heard it.  Last night while at Best Buy I saw the disc for $9.99 I thought how could I go wrong? Thus I bought it. 

The tunes are different.  The music is beautiful but the themes are dark. I am also listening to Jann Arden and to Rosanne Cash.  Ladies day on the CD juke box or so it seems.

As the music plays the delicates are in the washing machine.  Yesterday’s dishes are in the dishwasher going swoosh, swoosh, and swoosh. I have pulled out the kids expired passports and now I prepare to experience the post office.  Arggh. Did I mention I am dying to hear the last disk of On the Road?  When last we left Dean and Sal they were smoking the hugest bomber ever with a bunch of Mexican men somewhere deep in Mexico.  

(Later)

4 loads of laundry later and the day of house work is done.  I made chicken noodle soup for dinner from scratch, beans, peas, potatoes, noodles, chicken, shallots, chicken stock, carrots and fresh tomatoes.  With some cibatta bread on the side it seemed to go over quite well. I ran out of milk today.  Thus I had to go to Sam’s Club.  On the trip to and from we took a circuitous route.  On the Road is over.  Really I think I appreciate the writing farm more than I did when I was 14.

Blessings of the Morning

I walked today in the light of what feels like an early fall morning. My walk wasn’t long because I have not been feeling good of late.  Still, the cool morning air and the growing light dancing among the pines cheered me.  The air seemed clean and it was dry.  It was a moment of peace without expectation.  My footsteps were a prayer of thanks for a wonderful start to the day and a plea that what follows will be as positive.

Summer is at an End, almost.

August in Michigan, especially after about the 20th, hints strongly of the coming fall. Days while still warm and sometimes even quite hot give way to nights where covers are comforting. School lives just beyond the upcoming holiday weekend.
My kids are off this day to go to the high school and to get ID pictures taken. Hopefully they will both be able to pick up class schedules. My oldest, Primus, missed his picture and schedule day in that we were on holiday. However he is a senior and the expectation is that he will go to a professional photographer for his senior yearbook shots. He is there in the hope, perhaps vain that he can get his schedule.
Michigan and its educational rituals are weird or our high school is weird. When and where I grew up in South Jersey, just outside of Philadelphia the difference relative to a senior picture versus any other picture was that you wore a jacket and bought a bigger package that you did as a sophomore, junior, etc. You also bought engraved name cards. Together they were shoved into envelopes and sent to relatives in the hope money would return. Now the senior picture is a whole photo shoot. $$$$ out the pocket. Ugh. And instead of mailed monetary solicitations you hold an open house and invite tons of people in the hope they will come and eat catered food and bring tribute. Double Ugh.
I guess why I am writing this is to note the warm season is coming to an end. It has been a dry and hot summer. I will miss it. The signs are here. Football at the university is coming up soon. Sigh. I really will miss summer this time.