Girls just wanna have fun!
My daughter took a moment away from her dinner to remove her pony tail hair band and tie Abbey's ears back. The resulting poodle pony tail was so funny I had to get a picture.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Blog It!
We were playing a new boardgame, called Settlers of Catan. My son, as you can see here decided to act a bit silly. His mom decided to call him Rain Man since he was being goofy and that just set him off.
Launching into a silly imitation of a mental deficient he began acting weird and speaking in goofy voice. His mother grabbed the camera and had him pose.
As soon as she snapped the photo he snapped out of it... looked at her with a serious expression and said, "Blog it!"
I almost fell out of my chair at that. So funny... he knows his momma well.
Launching into a silly imitation of a mental deficient he began acting weird and speaking in goofy voice. His mother grabbed the camera and had him pose.
As soon as she snapped the photo he snapped out of it... looked at her with a serious expression and said, "Blog it!"
I almost fell out of my chair at that. So funny... he knows his momma well.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Friends
At lunch today I was a bit nostalgic so I started musing over the nature of the relationships in my life and naturally that brought me to thinking about my friends. You can see a few of them in the photo here... but its far from representative, I have many good friends not in the photo.
If you listen to mainstream psychology, oprah, and most media in general, you'll hear that friends are something to cherish. You'll also hear that you have to be a good friend to have good friends. I agree with them up to that point.
Most will also say that if your friends should reflect who you are, and that if you have friends with too many problems, or requiring too much maintenance you should probably cut them loose. This is where I tend to diverge, but I'll go ahead and lay out the mainstream view first.
Wealthy people have wealthy friends, people of faith tend to maintain friends who also share their spiritual views, which may make their faith stronger. People naturally gravitate towards one another when they share a lot of common views and principles, not to mention similar lifestyles and vantage points.
According to the popular line of thought, one of the best things you could do to improve your own situation, is to cultivate friendships with people that you want to be more like, or with people that bring positive insights, influence or energy into your life. Again, they're basically correct.
Now its my turn.
I generally ignore the advice listed above, even though it is essentially correct. I don't do this for purely emotional reasons, although I never really reasoned it out before today. As an only child, I was given to very strong friendships since the very beginning, perhaps to make up for my own lack of siblings. So much so, that most of my 'friends' would probably fall under the category of what some people consider family.
By that I mean that my friends definitely cross into the boundaries of my life that many would only consider allowing to their families. A lot of my friends are from my early years, if not from my early childhood as well. As such, I"ve grown with them, shared many embarassing experiences, shown them my darker side, cried with them, fought with them... etc...
The degree of trust that comes from such deep roots goes beyond the conventional meaning of trust. I don't just trust them not to steal my money, or lie to me, or say something I might not like to hear when I'm not around. In fact, my trust with my friends doesn't pertain to those things at all, they're human. I wouldn't doubt I've had a friend borrow a few dollars from me (although its fairly unlikely). I'd find it impossible to believe many of them hadn't lied to me at some point.
Truth is, those things aren't that important to me. I've gotten more money from friends, than I ever lost. I expect my friends to be tactful and tell me I look good sometimes even if I don't. And the occasional gossip that permeates human society doesn't bother me a bit.
The trust I have in my friends is quite different. Its more like the sort of trust you'd find in a mafia family I suppose. I believe that almost no matter what sort of crime I committed (if I were a criminal), I could tell almost any friend I know, and they'd keep it to themselves. Most of them would lie for me, if I asked, and some would go so far as to become accomplices to protect me if necessary.
Each of my friends is different, they have their own strengths and weaknesses, some are brave, some are not. Some are highly intelligent, some are more ordinary. Some are close to saintly, others are darker, and one of my best friends (now departed) was a desperate drug addict.
Supposing I had a great and pressing need, I could depend on any of them to support me, according to their abilities and situations. Most of them have families, and we all have many relationships in our lives, so I wouldn't ask things of them that they'd be unwilling to give anyway.
But if I had committed some great crime, robbed a bank, embezzled millions, or gone nuts one day and murdered someone, I suspect that most of them, would at the very least, keep mum, if not help me. Before continuing though, I like to say if I did have some huge problem like that I'd avoid involving most of them Anyway.. all that was hypothetical.
The point I'm making is this, I work in a highly professional place, surrounded by smart, upstanding, people of great integrity. Although I suppose many would consider them 'friends', I think of them more like close acquaintances. Relative to my long term friendships... well that's what they are. They're just the sort of people that Dr. Phil would probably encourage me to spend all my time with.
But I don't care, they wouldn't take a bullet for me, and most of the people I call friends probably would.
So I have a group of friends that many would call eclectic, weird, or in some cases insane (see above image right side). The picture above doesn't even do justice to how many friends I have, there are many more.
I measure my wealth by the depth of my friendships, not by the wealth or even the character of my friends. I think few people have been as blessed as I have, to have so many close friends, and for that I'm grateful.
If you listen to mainstream psychology, oprah, and most media in general, you'll hear that friends are something to cherish. You'll also hear that you have to be a good friend to have good friends. I agree with them up to that point.
Most will also say that if your friends should reflect who you are, and that if you have friends with too many problems, or requiring too much maintenance you should probably cut them loose. This is where I tend to diverge, but I'll go ahead and lay out the mainstream view first.
Wealthy people have wealthy friends, people of faith tend to maintain friends who also share their spiritual views, which may make their faith stronger. People naturally gravitate towards one another when they share a lot of common views and principles, not to mention similar lifestyles and vantage points.
According to the popular line of thought, one of the best things you could do to improve your own situation, is to cultivate friendships with people that you want to be more like, or with people that bring positive insights, influence or energy into your life. Again, they're basically correct.
Now its my turn.
I generally ignore the advice listed above, even though it is essentially correct. I don't do this for purely emotional reasons, although I never really reasoned it out before today. As an only child, I was given to very strong friendships since the very beginning, perhaps to make up for my own lack of siblings. So much so, that most of my 'friends' would probably fall under the category of what some people consider family.
By that I mean that my friends definitely cross into the boundaries of my life that many would only consider allowing to their families. A lot of my friends are from my early years, if not from my early childhood as well. As such, I"ve grown with them, shared many embarassing experiences, shown them my darker side, cried with them, fought with them... etc...
The degree of trust that comes from such deep roots goes beyond the conventional meaning of trust. I don't just trust them not to steal my money, or lie to me, or say something I might not like to hear when I'm not around. In fact, my trust with my friends doesn't pertain to those things at all, they're human. I wouldn't doubt I've had a friend borrow a few dollars from me (although its fairly unlikely). I'd find it impossible to believe many of them hadn't lied to me at some point.
Truth is, those things aren't that important to me. I've gotten more money from friends, than I ever lost. I expect my friends to be tactful and tell me I look good sometimes even if I don't. And the occasional gossip that permeates human society doesn't bother me a bit.
The trust I have in my friends is quite different. Its more like the sort of trust you'd find in a mafia family I suppose. I believe that almost no matter what sort of crime I committed (if I were a criminal), I could tell almost any friend I know, and they'd keep it to themselves. Most of them would lie for me, if I asked, and some would go so far as to become accomplices to protect me if necessary.
Each of my friends is different, they have their own strengths and weaknesses, some are brave, some are not. Some are highly intelligent, some are more ordinary. Some are close to saintly, others are darker, and one of my best friends (now departed) was a desperate drug addict.
Supposing I had a great and pressing need, I could depend on any of them to support me, according to their abilities and situations. Most of them have families, and we all have many relationships in our lives, so I wouldn't ask things of them that they'd be unwilling to give anyway.
But if I had committed some great crime, robbed a bank, embezzled millions, or gone nuts one day and murdered someone, I suspect that most of them, would at the very least, keep mum, if not help me. Before continuing though, I like to say if I did have some huge problem like that I'd avoid involving most of them Anyway.. all that was hypothetical.
The point I'm making is this, I work in a highly professional place, surrounded by smart, upstanding, people of great integrity. Although I suppose many would consider them 'friends', I think of them more like close acquaintances. Relative to my long term friendships... well that's what they are. They're just the sort of people that Dr. Phil would probably encourage me to spend all my time with.
But I don't care, they wouldn't take a bullet for me, and most of the people I call friends probably would.
So I have a group of friends that many would call eclectic, weird, or in some cases insane (see above image right side). The picture above doesn't even do justice to how many friends I have, there are many more.
I measure my wealth by the depth of my friendships, not by the wealth or even the character of my friends. I think few people have been as blessed as I have, to have so many close friends, and for that I'm grateful.
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Sands of Time
The sands of time hold still for no man. They move on whether we watch or not... rolling on into the distance, moving with the wind and water, ever changing and yet changeless.
Close your eyes and feel the air move across your cheek. Breath in, breath out, patterns against your eyelids make a contrast against the quiet dark. No matter how still, there is always movement, a constant beat as life goes on.
Focusing your eyes the imagery of the world seems stark and surreal. Have you opened your eyes or gone to sleep? Is there a difference? Through the stories of time, the images of living, the sounds of the world a constant backdrop... what is real and what imagined? Should we care?
Close your eyes and feel the air move across your cheek. Breath in, breath out, patterns against your eyelids make a contrast against the quiet dark. No matter how still, there is always movement, a constant beat as life goes on.
Focusing your eyes the imagery of the world seems stark and surreal. Have you opened your eyes or gone to sleep? Is there a difference? Through the stories of time, the images of living, the sounds of the world a constant backdrop... what is real and what imagined? Should we care?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Haircut
In many homes this is an old tradition. Back in the day most families got their haircuts from Mom.
Donna got the bug and decided to save us a little money by doing haircuts for the kids, and I must say, she did a darn good job. Our little man looks better than ever.
Donna got the bug and decided to save us a little money by doing haircuts for the kids, and I must say, she did a darn good job. Our little man looks better than ever.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
A Dog's Life
I posted this in gigantic size so that you can clearly see the 'Snackin' Slices', artfully posed in front of our dog Charley here.
Yesterday I was sick, and Donna went to Conroe to pick up some things for the dogs. While she was there I got hungry and started thinking about soup. We didn't really have any soup left in our own pantry so I called her on the phone.
"Sure thing sweetie!", she said as she hung up.
Since she was in Target when I called she got the soup there. It wasn't the exact sort I wanted, but hey at least I got soup right? I was happy just to have soup.
Until today.
I saw what the dogs got. Stacks of some sort of custom soft dogfood, "It was on sale!", she told me when I noticed.
"But I wanted Chicken and Rice soup and I got noodles, and you only got me 4 cans!", I whined. "The dogs got 16 cans!"
"They didn't have chicken and rice soup at Target, and you're not seriously jealous of dogfood are you?" She's grinning at me now.
You drove 30 miles to a specialty pet store to get their food. I thought to myself jealously. But oh well... she's right... its silly to worry about pet food.
Half an hour later, I wander into the kitchen... and there I see what appears to be a bag of dried fruit! "Oooooohhh!" I coo happily to myself. "That sounds just peachy!" I picked up the bag, but to my chagrin, it was a bag of some other sort of special dog chew treats (see picture above).
"Honey!!!!!!"
The Silence of the Night
The silence of the night,
My beckon and my call,
To the loneliness inside me,
That consumes my heart, my all.
Why this pang inside of me,
For my friends so dear?
But now they're all asleep,
I am alone here.
To await the morning dawn,
When again they'll rejoin me,
And all of this long nightmare,
Will be just a memory.
Oh why this pang inside of me?
I wrote this at the age of about 12. It was the second poem I wrote, the first was lost and I'm only able to recall a few lines of it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
High School Reunion
This is a shot of me at the reunion. I stole it from a facebook album of one of the other classmates, Allisa Benson. She's not in the picture though.
You can see my childhood friend Chad to my right, then the lovely Roberta, and another longtime schoolmate and friend, Brad on the far right.
I think its one of my favorite pictures of the evening, as it shows me with the people I talked to the most at the reunion. I get a good feeling looking at it, I guess because I really like all the people in it.
Its rather odd though, I've hardly spoken to Brad or Roberta since High School (I still see Chad regularly). Even so I feel very close to them now, moreso even than when we were classmates.
I think that's because they've developed in ways that set them apart. They're both liberal thinking, and open minded. I hope they keep doing well in the next decades.
You can see my childhood friend Chad to my right, then the lovely Roberta, and another longtime schoolmate and friend, Brad on the far right.
I think its one of my favorite pictures of the evening, as it shows me with the people I talked to the most at the reunion. I get a good feeling looking at it, I guess because I really like all the people in it.
Its rather odd though, I've hardly spoken to Brad or Roberta since High School (I still see Chad regularly). Even so I feel very close to them now, moreso even than when we were classmates.
I think that's because they've developed in ways that set them apart. They're both liberal thinking, and open minded. I hope they keep doing well in the next decades.
Rocky Terrain
After our trip to the Rose Emporium we stopped at this nice rock formation on the road back. Its actually a spot where they cut through a hill to make a road.. thus exposing the bedrock and creating a cliff-like area.
Donna stopped for pictures, the kids and I went for the climbing. We climbed up to the top in several places, and took a few top down shots. It really was the favorite part of the day for me as I love clmbing things.
However it ended on a dark note.
Donna had brought one of her Blythe dolls. I wound up being forced to hold it in the air for several minutes while she took pictures. I was able to amuse myself though, by yelling to all the passing cars that they should bow down and worship, "Blythe, the Queen of the Damned."
Donna stopped for pictures, the kids and I went for the climbing. We climbed up to the top in several places, and took a few top down shots. It really was the favorite part of the day for me as I love clmbing things.
However it ended on a dark note.
Donna had brought one of her Blythe dolls. I wound up being forced to hold it in the air for several minutes while she took pictures. I was able to amuse myself though, by yelling to all the passing cars that they should bow down and worship, "Blythe, the Queen of the Damned."
Through a Child's Eye
There's our little shutterbug. My son Matthew is picking up some of his mother's love of photography. We took a trip recently to the Rose Emporium near Brenham, Texas, and he had a good time taking pictures with this little camera.
We had an extra so he got to have his own the entire time we were there. I think that helped a lot because it gave him time to think and consider his shots. From what we've seen of his photos he seems to have a good eye for interesting pictures and lovely shots (like his momma).
I wish they could stay this age forever.
We had an extra so he got to have his own the entire time we were there. I think that helped a lot because it gave him time to think and consider his shots. From what we've seen of his photos he seems to have a good eye for interesting pictures and lovely shots (like his momma).
I wish they could stay this age forever.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
As close as possible!
The Sling-Go Pet Sling! You and your pet together, Anytime, ANYWHERE, FOREVER!!!
This interesting item is not a joke... its real. I encountered it at the gift shop at the Rose Emporium near Brenham, Texas.
Just what I need. Now I can be together with my little rat turd of a longhaired chihauhau anytime, anywhere.... OMG how did I live without it? Probably peacefully and without dreaming about dog stew.
Why I'd want to attach that cancerous bit of furry dog flesh to my hip semi-permanently is a complete mystery to me. Dog people are crazy.
Which reminds me? How did I wind up with three dogs?
This interesting item is not a joke... its real. I encountered it at the gift shop at the Rose Emporium near Brenham, Texas.
Just what I need. Now I can be together with my little rat turd of a longhaired chihauhau anytime, anywhere.... OMG how did I live without it? Probably peacefully and without dreaming about dog stew.
Why I'd want to attach that cancerous bit of furry dog flesh to my hip semi-permanently is a complete mystery to me. Dog people are crazy.
Which reminds me? How did I wind up with three dogs?
Friday, February 27, 2009
Dog Tongue Causes Cancer
This just in, french kissing your dog causes colon cancer, melanoma and anal fissures.
Poor Sophie will be devastated when she finds out she can no longer engage in interspecies kissing. Currently she holds the world record for most french kisses stolen as a result of interspecies assault.
Specifically her usual modus operandus is to leap into someone's lap and ram her long tongue into their mouths before they can react.
However as a result of this new medical information we'll be forced to have her tongue removed.
Ah well.. them's the breaks eh?
Poor Sophie will be devastated when she finds out she can no longer engage in interspecies kissing. Currently she holds the world record for most french kisses stolen as a result of interspecies assault.
Specifically her usual modus operandus is to leap into someone's lap and ram her long tongue into their mouths before they can react.
However as a result of this new medical information we'll be forced to have her tongue removed.
Ah well.. them's the breaks eh?
Thursday, February 26, 2009
En Guarde!
This is Moira, warrior-princess. Also my daughter, when she's not dressing herself or her dolls I encourage her to go out and slay dragons.
Actually this reminds me of a story from years ago.
She and her brother were playing with a pop-gun, the old fashioned kind with a cork in the end attached by a string. After a bit they tired of it and switched to a different game. Matthew dressed up in one of his previous halloween costumes, in this case a green dragon suit, while Moira put on one of her princess dresses.
He was chasing Moira around the house in circles, her frilly pink dress flying as she ran for her very life. After several circuits she noticed the pop-gun lying discarded on the floor of the living room.
Suddenly her entire demeanor changed. Snatching up the gun she turned on the approaching dragon. Snarling her defiance she screamed out, "Die you naughty dragon!" Pop! She fired the pop-gun point blank into the rampaging monster's chest.
My son, being a good sport, promply collapsed and died, bleeding out his heart's blood on the ground like any decent dragon would after being shot at close range.
Standing over him, she looked down. In an instant her fierce visage transformed, from warrior to maiden. My little princess dropped her gun, performed a cute little pirouette and with a perfectly sweet smile said, "Do you want to dance with me?!" She then pranced away.
I laughed so hard my sides hurt.
My son the dragon declined to dance. I fear the dance would have done him more damage than the gun did.
Actually this reminds me of a story from years ago.
She and her brother were playing with a pop-gun, the old fashioned kind with a cork in the end attached by a string. After a bit they tired of it and switched to a different game. Matthew dressed up in one of his previous halloween costumes, in this case a green dragon suit, while Moira put on one of her princess dresses.
He was chasing Moira around the house in circles, her frilly pink dress flying as she ran for her very life. After several circuits she noticed the pop-gun lying discarded on the floor of the living room.
Suddenly her entire demeanor changed. Snatching up the gun she turned on the approaching dragon. Snarling her defiance she screamed out, "Die you naughty dragon!" Pop! She fired the pop-gun point blank into the rampaging monster's chest.
My son, being a good sport, promply collapsed and died, bleeding out his heart's blood on the ground like any decent dragon would after being shot at close range.
Standing over him, she looked down. In an instant her fierce visage transformed, from warrior to maiden. My little princess dropped her gun, performed a cute little pirouette and with a perfectly sweet smile said, "Do you want to dance with me?!" She then pranced away.
I laughed so hard my sides hurt.
My son the dragon declined to dance. I fear the dance would have done him more damage than the gun did.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Armed for the Dawn, Defeated by the Night
I visited Mom a few days ago... paying her back for a favor, but while I was there I got her to open up the old cedar chest for me again.
Since I had recently spent a lot of time on my kids shields and swords I had an urge to look at mine again. After all these years they still rest safely in her chest, sealed away should I have need of them again.
Looking at them I was a little surprised. The shield was just as I remembered it, but the sword was subtly different than my memories. The handle was longer, the quillons formed differently. All in all it was essentially the same, but subtly different than my memory.
I guess it just goes to show that time makes us strangers to even our own pasts. Even the stories of our own lives do not remain untouched. They shift.. ever so slightly... like colors under the sun. Dim in the first light of dawn, brighter in the morning, washed out with burning light at miday.... bright and true in the afternoon, and then dimming in the twilight hours of evening, finally leeched of all color under the light of moon and stars.
Just as our own stories burn and then fade away.
Just as we do.
Since I had recently spent a lot of time on my kids shields and swords I had an urge to look at mine again. After all these years they still rest safely in her chest, sealed away should I have need of them again.
Looking at them I was a little surprised. The shield was just as I remembered it, but the sword was subtly different than my memories. The handle was longer, the quillons formed differently. All in all it was essentially the same, but subtly different than my memory.
I guess it just goes to show that time makes us strangers to even our own pasts. Even the stories of our own lives do not remain untouched. They shift.. ever so slightly... like colors under the sun. Dim in the first light of dawn, brighter in the morning, washed out with burning light at miday.... bright and true in the afternoon, and then dimming in the twilight hours of evening, finally leeched of all color under the light of moon and stars.
Just as our own stories burn and then fade away.
Just as we do.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Fang the Mighty
The tunnel was dim as Fang strode forward. His companions followed not far behind as they left the sun and light behind them, their way lit only by flickering torches. A foul smell and guttural speech announced the arrival of their foes.
They had just reached the intersection of 3 passageways... and in the dim light.. they could see bugbears facing them from both paths ahead. Looking back they could see more approaching from behind as well.
As the party considered their options... Fang moved. "You will die now!" His defiant shout rang out, and without waiting he charged into the monstrous forms on the right hand path.
With a sigh that would have been quite audible in quieter circumstances, Talia the sorceress moved after Fang. Her shorter legs made it difficult to keep up with Fang as the half-orc warrior charged into the bugbears.
"Shoot them!" yelled Fang back to her, as his axe bit deep into the first of their enemies.
Fire raced from her fingertips to strike the next enraged monster stepping up over his fallen comrade. "Now you see why you should be nice to me Fang!"
"First we kill them... then I kill you after!" As usual Fang's logic left a lot to be desired. But Talia continued firing rays of fire and ice, helping her violent and unreasonable comrade in his merciless advance through the tunnel.
Behind them the druid, Lobo, had summoned help and with his wolf, Scar, was blocking the path behind them, to the left, Rogar and Valin had moved to hold the bugbears coming from that direction as well.
"Maybe we should move back.... stay closer to the others..." Talia started to say. But at that point the bugbear chieftain appeared at the back of the hall. Fang's enthusiasm redoubled as he began hacking his way to the leader.
"Shoot the big ugly one!" He yelled back to Talia.
Under her breath she mumbled... "Does he realize he's telling me to shoot himself!" She glared at Fang's backside for a moment, before refocusing her attention. Raising her small hand and calling to the magic within her... a greenish ray shot forth.. striking the largest of the bugbears... sapping his strength while he roared with rage.
Pointing at her and shouting... the chieftain was giving some sort of orders now. Yet another bugbear fell before Fang's axe as he stepped closer, but there were still too many between them. The leaders orders became clear however, as the bugbears in the back pulled out javelins and drew back to fling them at the adventurers.
"Ha! You think that will stop me!" Fang laughed as he advanced, but the javelins flew past him... at the tiny gnome maid. "Shit!" Fang grimaced as he saw the gnome was wounded. "I kill her! Not you!" And he began hewing his way to the javelineers.
Talia struggled with the pain as she retreated further back down the corridor, out of the sight of the javelineers. Sagging against the wall.. she wondered what to do, when a familiar form stepped up to her.
"Who's guarding the rear!?" She said with some concern, as Lobo examined her wounds. He answered her with a feral grin.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it." Shrieks and screams echoed back up the passage. Was that a bear she heard? Meanwhile the druid produced a wand, and with a few short words.. she felt the pain disappearing as her wounds closed.
"You'd better help him." The ragged druid said, and gesturing again, a large angry dire badger appeared amidst the bugbears facing Fang. "I have to get back to my end of things." And the druid stepped away... heading back to the sounds of an angry bear behind them.
Drawing herself up to her full but diminutive height... Talia returned to see how Fang was faring.
"Get this stupid badger out of my way!" He yelled, facing a large door. Dead bugbears lay strewn about, their bodies looking like so many broken dolls. The badger was tearing at the wood, but Fang couldn't get close enough to bring his axe to bear on it.
Fang was stunned for moment though.. as lighting struck the door, blasting it to flinders. Looking back he saw the druid waving as he walked away, back down the passage. "Asshole!" Fang's gratitude was less than spectacular, as he strode into the small room ahead, following the enraged badger.
Darts of pure energy lanced past him to strike the one bugbear standing behind the door, between Fang and the leader. "No! Shoot the big one!" Fang yelled. As if to demonstrate he and the badger tore into the largest of the bugbears with ferocious abandon.
Another greenish ray struck the ugly humanoid, weakening him further. The badger vanished as the limit of his summoning ended, but the leaders fate was already sealed as Fang's axe flashed again, burying itself in his chest.
"Ha! I kill you and you are the loser!" The half-orc roared his victory.
"He's dead Fang, I'm sure he realizes." Talia replied sarcastically as she looked over the fallen bugbears. "I'm going to go check on Rogar and Valin."
"I still kill you too, Pretty Butterfly!" Fang smiled with a psychotic gleam in his eye as she turned away from him.
Ignoring his maniacal posturings she sighed inwardly as she began running back to their companions. Sometimes, she thought to herself, I'm just not sure if he's serious, joking, or just retarded.
They had just reached the intersection of 3 passageways... and in the dim light.. they could see bugbears facing them from both paths ahead. Looking back they could see more approaching from behind as well.
As the party considered their options... Fang moved. "You will die now!" His defiant shout rang out, and without waiting he charged into the monstrous forms on the right hand path.
With a sigh that would have been quite audible in quieter circumstances, Talia the sorceress moved after Fang. Her shorter legs made it difficult to keep up with Fang as the half-orc warrior charged into the bugbears.
"Shoot them!" yelled Fang back to her, as his axe bit deep into the first of their enemies.
Fire raced from her fingertips to strike the next enraged monster stepping up over his fallen comrade. "Now you see why you should be nice to me Fang!"
"First we kill them... then I kill you after!" As usual Fang's logic left a lot to be desired. But Talia continued firing rays of fire and ice, helping her violent and unreasonable comrade in his merciless advance through the tunnel.
Behind them the druid, Lobo, had summoned help and with his wolf, Scar, was blocking the path behind them, to the left, Rogar and Valin had moved to hold the bugbears coming from that direction as well.
"Maybe we should move back.... stay closer to the others..." Talia started to say. But at that point the bugbear chieftain appeared at the back of the hall. Fang's enthusiasm redoubled as he began hacking his way to the leader.
"Shoot the big ugly one!" He yelled back to Talia.
Under her breath she mumbled... "Does he realize he's telling me to shoot himself!" She glared at Fang's backside for a moment, before refocusing her attention. Raising her small hand and calling to the magic within her... a greenish ray shot forth.. striking the largest of the bugbears... sapping his strength while he roared with rage.
Pointing at her and shouting... the chieftain was giving some sort of orders now. Yet another bugbear fell before Fang's axe as he stepped closer, but there were still too many between them. The leaders orders became clear however, as the bugbears in the back pulled out javelins and drew back to fling them at the adventurers.
"Ha! You think that will stop me!" Fang laughed as he advanced, but the javelins flew past him... at the tiny gnome maid. "Shit!" Fang grimaced as he saw the gnome was wounded. "I kill her! Not you!" And he began hewing his way to the javelineers.
Talia struggled with the pain as she retreated further back down the corridor, out of the sight of the javelineers. Sagging against the wall.. she wondered what to do, when a familiar form stepped up to her.
"Who's guarding the rear!?" She said with some concern, as Lobo examined her wounds. He answered her with a feral grin.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it." Shrieks and screams echoed back up the passage. Was that a bear she heard? Meanwhile the druid produced a wand, and with a few short words.. she felt the pain disappearing as her wounds closed.
"You'd better help him." The ragged druid said, and gesturing again, a large angry dire badger appeared amidst the bugbears facing Fang. "I have to get back to my end of things." And the druid stepped away... heading back to the sounds of an angry bear behind them.
Drawing herself up to her full but diminutive height... Talia returned to see how Fang was faring.
"Get this stupid badger out of my way!" He yelled, facing a large door. Dead bugbears lay strewn about, their bodies looking like so many broken dolls. The badger was tearing at the wood, but Fang couldn't get close enough to bring his axe to bear on it.
Fang was stunned for moment though.. as lighting struck the door, blasting it to flinders. Looking back he saw the druid waving as he walked away, back down the passage. "Asshole!" Fang's gratitude was less than spectacular, as he strode into the small room ahead, following the enraged badger.
Darts of pure energy lanced past him to strike the one bugbear standing behind the door, between Fang and the leader. "No! Shoot the big one!" Fang yelled. As if to demonstrate he and the badger tore into the largest of the bugbears with ferocious abandon.
Another greenish ray struck the ugly humanoid, weakening him further. The badger vanished as the limit of his summoning ended, but the leaders fate was already sealed as Fang's axe flashed again, burying itself in his chest.
"Ha! I kill you and you are the loser!" The half-orc roared his victory.
"He's dead Fang, I'm sure he realizes." Talia replied sarcastically as she looked over the fallen bugbears. "I'm going to go check on Rogar and Valin."
"I still kill you too, Pretty Butterfly!" Fang smiled with a psychotic gleam in his eye as she turned away from him.
Ignoring his maniacal posturings she sighed inwardly as she began running back to their companions. Sometimes, she thought to herself, I'm just not sure if he's serious, joking, or just retarded.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Psychic Powers
I'm a perfect husband.
I know.. you're jealous right? You either wish you were me.. or that you had married me. OR BOTH!
This is what I got my lovely wife for Valentine's day. I knew exactly what she wanted because I can read her mind. That makes me better than the rest of you loser husbands out there. May you all rot in hell.
Just kidding.
I am better than the rest of you... but not because of this. My sweetie put it in he Amazon wishlist... no psychic powers needed. The real reason I'm better than half a dozen other loser husbands is because the week before Valentine's I bought her some daffodils at the store.
Why?
Just because.. they were pretty and made me think of her. So I got 'em and brought 'em home.
I'm not really that good at scheduled holidays. And I am not perfect.. Sometimes I'm an ass. But...
I play to win... every day. Dats my woman!
I'm sleepy.. looking up this post is a bit.... eccentric.
Oh well.... night everyone.
I know.. you're jealous right? You either wish you were me.. or that you had married me. OR BOTH!
This is what I got my lovely wife for Valentine's day. I knew exactly what she wanted because I can read her mind. That makes me better than the rest of you loser husbands out there. May you all rot in hell.
Just kidding.
I am better than the rest of you... but not because of this. My sweetie put it in he Amazon wishlist... no psychic powers needed. The real reason I'm better than half a dozen other loser husbands is because the week before Valentine's I bought her some daffodils at the store.
Why?
Just because.. they were pretty and made me think of her. So I got 'em and brought 'em home.
I'm not really that good at scheduled holidays. And I am not perfect.. Sometimes I'm an ass. But...
I play to win... every day. Dats my woman!
I'm sleepy.. looking up this post is a bit.... eccentric.
Oh well.... night everyone.
Respite from Suffering
This is me leaving the same bookstore I mentioned before.
The stupid grin on my face is because of the knowledge that I had reading material to last me another day. Whew!
People just don't realize how much work goes into being a bookworm.
The stupid grin on my face is because of the knowledge that I had reading material to last me another day. Whew!
People just don't realize how much work goes into being a bookworm.
Addiction
I finished the third book in a series the other day. I went to get the 4th from the local bookstore and it was sold out!
Panic began to set in. But calm reasoning gave me some ideas. I had a friend with a copy. I called him.
"Sorry.. I have it.. but I loaned it to my mother."
SHIT
Wait.. the library!
"The library is closed for renovations.", said my helpful wife.
Noooooooo!!!!
So I called the library in another town... no luck. My options were disappearing quickly. Only one left... a bookstore in Conroe... 30 minutes away.
Luck was with me then.. but I didn't want to drive it. I was sleepy and tired.
Hunny bunny to the rescue! My sweet wife volunteered to drive (after some begging). I love my sweetie... otherwise I'd be in withdrawels by now.
Panic began to set in. But calm reasoning gave me some ideas. I had a friend with a copy. I called him.
"Sorry.. I have it.. but I loaned it to my mother."
SHIT
Wait.. the library!
"The library is closed for renovations.", said my helpful wife.
Noooooooo!!!!
So I called the library in another town... no luck. My options were disappearing quickly. Only one left... a bookstore in Conroe... 30 minutes away.
Luck was with me then.. but I didn't want to drive it. I was sleepy and tired.
Hunny bunny to the rescue! My sweet wife volunteered to drive (after some begging). I love my sweetie... otherwise I'd be in withdrawels by now.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Culture
I'm a redneck.
I say that with all sorts of different feelings at different times. The word redneck holds many different connotations, depending on how its used and who you're talking to.
For some people its equivalent to 'White Trash', which if you ask me is about the most negative terminology we have to apply to white people. But honestly.. I think 'redneck' has a lot of positive meaning as well, and believe it or not.. it can refer to certain blacks as well as the usual white's its applied to.
Don't believe me? Well truthfully its harder to fit the image of a 'redneck' if you're black, but I've definitely met several. Imagine Red Fox with a deep southern accent and a cowboy hat. Yes I've met some folks like that.
But I digress, lets get back to the meat of the matter... 'REDNECKS'. When I call myself that a lot of well meaning people that know me in my daily life would say, "No! No way, you don't look, sound or act like one." But they're wrong.
Just because I grew up a boy wonder, intelligent, bookish, excessively well read, etc... etc.. you get the picture, just because I grew up smart and well spoken, does NOT mean I'm not a redneck. It has more to do with my upbringing I guess.
Lets refocus a bit... without a doubt, I'm a southerner, a Texan, and I'm proud of it. Growing up my family regarded 'white trash' as something BAD, but 'redneck' was more of an exaggerated form of Texan. Something that could be funny, could be silly, might be good, and/or could refer to an ignorant ass too.
Given the right environment, my accent and demeanor change quite a bit.... you'd be surprised. Anyway, even though I don't fit the general image.. I'm still proud of my family's cultural heritage.
By the way.. this picture is of a truck that inspired the topic.
I say that with all sorts of different feelings at different times. The word redneck holds many different connotations, depending on how its used and who you're talking to.
For some people its equivalent to 'White Trash', which if you ask me is about the most negative terminology we have to apply to white people. But honestly.. I think 'redneck' has a lot of positive meaning as well, and believe it or not.. it can refer to certain blacks as well as the usual white's its applied to.
Don't believe me? Well truthfully its harder to fit the image of a 'redneck' if you're black, but I've definitely met several. Imagine Red Fox with a deep southern accent and a cowboy hat. Yes I've met some folks like that.
But I digress, lets get back to the meat of the matter... 'REDNECKS'. When I call myself that a lot of well meaning people that know me in my daily life would say, "No! No way, you don't look, sound or act like one." But they're wrong.
Just because I grew up a boy wonder, intelligent, bookish, excessively well read, etc... etc.. you get the picture, just because I grew up smart and well spoken, does NOT mean I'm not a redneck. It has more to do with my upbringing I guess.
Lets refocus a bit... without a doubt, I'm a southerner, a Texan, and I'm proud of it. Growing up my family regarded 'white trash' as something BAD, but 'redneck' was more of an exaggerated form of Texan. Something that could be funny, could be silly, might be good, and/or could refer to an ignorant ass too.
Given the right environment, my accent and demeanor change quite a bit.... you'd be surprised. Anyway, even though I don't fit the general image.. I'm still proud of my family's cultural heritage.
By the way.. this picture is of a truck that inspired the topic.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Quality
Here are the two finished swords. I had some leftover red velvet from making the shield backings... so I used it to take this picture.
Aren't they lovely? Two wooden swords, made to match my two children. I posted previously about how special my own wooden sword was to me, and how I hope these are just as special to them, but I have something to add.
If you'd seen my own childhood sword you'd notice that it was well crafted, but quite a bit simpler. Whereas mine was made of two pieces of pine, lapped, rounded and sanded, these two are made of 3 pieces of oak each, lapped, glued, sanded, stained, and sealed. The hilts are handwrapped leather, and all the classic parts of a sword are easily spotted, blade, point, quillons, hilt, and pommel.
One might be given to asking, "Why put such detail, such work, into a wooden toy that two children are going to go out and beat the crap out of?" Indeed I fully expect my kids to do exactly what I did, spar with each other, with trees, with fence posts, brick walls, and any other solid object that comes to mind.
The result of all these interactions will be numerous dents, dings, scratches and eventually cracks and splits, in the wood. Something beautiful, will be degraded and destroyed over time. Regardless of the effort put in to its initial creation.
Or will it?
More specifically... will its beauty be destroyed?
I would say no. My own wooden sword is still with me, cracked, no longer servicable, but still kept. Its dings, dents, cracks and blemishes in no way detract from its beauty, or the meaning of its crafting. Rather they add to it... layers of memories, adventures and glory. When I gaze upon it.. I see the joy that went into those days, and I see the love that my father's hand imbued the wood with, simple as it was.
When I fought with my sword, in the summertime wars of my distant youth, I could feel the magic in the blade. My opponents, and my allies as well, usually had to make do with sticks, boards or any other generally sword shaped object they could find.
By comparison, my sword, made by my father's hand, stood out like Excalibur, sword of kings. No other boy had a sword like mine. With every strike, block and reposte, I could feel the strength of my father in the sword, and in my own heart. What foe could stand against us?
None.
So... when I came around to making these for my children, the more I thought about it., the more work I had to put into these swords. These are without a doubt, made to a higher standard than mine was, but not because of a need to outdo my own dad's accomplishment. Instead I made them so, because I could. Knowing how important they are to me, and maybe to them, I could not do otherwise than to put everything I had into making them the best I possibly could.
In this world our lives do not last forever. The things we make and do, likewise will all perish in the ravages of time. There is not one thing that we can point to, which will last. Yet, the most important aspect of living, is quality. We are limited on time, on how much we can do within that time. Therefore we simply must put forth our best efforts in terms of quality.
Whether eating, drinking, loving, or... making wooden swords, quality in every effort, in each moment, is the best way to make the most of our lives.
Aren't they lovely? Two wooden swords, made to match my two children. I posted previously about how special my own wooden sword was to me, and how I hope these are just as special to them, but I have something to add.
If you'd seen my own childhood sword you'd notice that it was well crafted, but quite a bit simpler. Whereas mine was made of two pieces of pine, lapped, rounded and sanded, these two are made of 3 pieces of oak each, lapped, glued, sanded, stained, and sealed. The hilts are handwrapped leather, and all the classic parts of a sword are easily spotted, blade, point, quillons, hilt, and pommel.
One might be given to asking, "Why put such detail, such work, into a wooden toy that two children are going to go out and beat the crap out of?" Indeed I fully expect my kids to do exactly what I did, spar with each other, with trees, with fence posts, brick walls, and any other solid object that comes to mind.
The result of all these interactions will be numerous dents, dings, scratches and eventually cracks and splits, in the wood. Something beautiful, will be degraded and destroyed over time. Regardless of the effort put in to its initial creation.
Or will it?
More specifically... will its beauty be destroyed?
I would say no. My own wooden sword is still with me, cracked, no longer servicable, but still kept. Its dings, dents, cracks and blemishes in no way detract from its beauty, or the meaning of its crafting. Rather they add to it... layers of memories, adventures and glory. When I gaze upon it.. I see the joy that went into those days, and I see the love that my father's hand imbued the wood with, simple as it was.
When I fought with my sword, in the summertime wars of my distant youth, I could feel the magic in the blade. My opponents, and my allies as well, usually had to make do with sticks, boards or any other generally sword shaped object they could find.
By comparison, my sword, made by my father's hand, stood out like Excalibur, sword of kings. No other boy had a sword like mine. With every strike, block and reposte, I could feel the strength of my father in the sword, and in my own heart. What foe could stand against us?
None.
So... when I came around to making these for my children, the more I thought about it., the more work I had to put into these swords. These are without a doubt, made to a higher standard than mine was, but not because of a need to outdo my own dad's accomplishment. Instead I made them so, because I could. Knowing how important they are to me, and maybe to them, I could not do otherwise than to put everything I had into making them the best I possibly could.
In this world our lives do not last forever. The things we make and do, likewise will all perish in the ravages of time. There is not one thing that we can point to, which will last. Yet, the most important aspect of living, is quality. We are limited on time, on how much we can do within that time. Therefore we simply must put forth our best efforts in terms of quality.
Whether eating, drinking, loving, or... making wooden swords, quality in every effort, in each moment, is the best way to make the most of our lives.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
We are not amused.
This is our princess. Princess Abbey. As you can see from the photo she's just been painstakingly groomed and is ready for any social function.
She's also pissed.
Perhaps I should say 'out of sorts' or 'piqued' since 'pissed' is such an unladylike word.
Princess Abbey loves a day at the salon, where she's lovingly shaped, combed, scented and painted. She also loves to run rampant like a wild gazelle when she returns home afterward. Alas that was not to be, as her mother, Queen Donna the First, had other plans.
Queen Donna's first decree after they returned to the palace was that all of her subjects should be thoroughly photographed. Princess Abbey might not be able to defy the royal decree... but she did manage to show her displeasure in this photo.
We are not amused.
She's also pissed.
Perhaps I should say 'out of sorts' or 'piqued' since 'pissed' is such an unladylike word.
Princess Abbey loves a day at the salon, where she's lovingly shaped, combed, scented and painted. She also loves to run rampant like a wild gazelle when she returns home afterward. Alas that was not to be, as her mother, Queen Donna the First, had other plans.
Queen Donna's first decree after they returned to the palace was that all of her subjects should be thoroughly photographed. Princess Abbey might not be able to defy the royal decree... but she did manage to show her displeasure in this photo.
We are not amused.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Frenzied Youth
This little girl is deep in the throes of uncontrolled frenzy. I'm not really sure why, but I took a quick picture to document her crazed frenetic expression.
As you can see her face is contorted into a wild expression of delight. What you can't see.. is that she was also bouncing, and continued to bounce for quite some time after this picture was taken.
Reminds me of 'Tigger' from Winnie the Pooh sometimes.
As you can see her face is contorted into a wild expression of delight. What you can't see.. is that she was also bouncing, and continued to bounce for quite some time after this picture was taken.
Reminds me of 'Tigger' from Winnie the Pooh sometimes.
The Ghost of Ipswhiche!
Many years ago... back when I was given to travels into the far reaches of the world. I traveled to the lovely town of Ipswhiche, in England. While there I visited a couple of castles... admired the local scenery, the usual.
Little did I realize... that during my sojourn there I would attract the attention of a being not of our world. Since returning... I have been.. well the only word I can use is... 'haunted'. It seems that a ghost there took notice of me.. and followed me home to Texas.
In this photo I actually managed to capture the being as it manifested in my living room. As you can see its attention is firmly upon me... although I have no idea as to 'her' intentions.
Luckily 'she', who I have taken to calling Donna, for simplicity's sake, luckily she doesn't appear to have any malicious intentions. Although it does seem odd that a ghost would play chuzzle in the wee hours of the morning.
Little did I realize... that during my sojourn there I would attract the attention of a being not of our world. Since returning... I have been.. well the only word I can use is... 'haunted'. It seems that a ghost there took notice of me.. and followed me home to Texas.
In this photo I actually managed to capture the being as it manifested in my living room. As you can see its attention is firmly upon me... although I have no idea as to 'her' intentions.
Luckily 'she', who I have taken to calling Donna, for simplicity's sake, luckily she doesn't appear to have any malicious intentions. Although it does seem odd that a ghost would play chuzzle in the wee hours of the morning.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Days Gone By
The years fly by... but moments like this remind me of my own bygone youth. Summers that lasted forever.. and days that seemed like weeks. Each full of endless adventures.
Back then life was a story, unfolding before me. In any given day an empire could rise, fall and give birth to a new kingdom. I strode through the forest near my home as lightly as a sylvan sprite. At turns I was Robin Hood, King Arthur, or some other famous hero.
I could slip betwixt the trees with a lithe grace that was hard to believe, running in a fashion that would be foolhardy or downright dangerous now. At that time I wasn't the fastest boy in school... but I was the fastest one in the woods. Even as I hark back to those days.. my body still remembers the way of it, but it is far too heavy now. The last time I tried to run through the brambles and branches that way was near on 12 years ago, and, as I recall it exhausted my energy within a short couple of minutes.
But back in those mystic days I could run that way forever. Slipping between the trees, through briars and thorns, under brush and over logs. Leaping like a deer over low limbs and twisting in mid flight to pass through vines that were unseen until nearly too late.
Peter Pan would have been envious... and looking back... now I am too.
Farewell halcyon days.
Viva la something
This is my artsy picture for an artsy post about... something. Ok, I'm lying. I just thought the photo was a little neat. I don't actually have an artsy anything to say about it.
Actually on further reflection I'm not even sure its a good picture. Crap.
Hi my name is Michael and I'm a crappy blogger. I enjoy long walks on the beach, alcohol, boobs and my wife and kids are pretty darn cool too.
The first step... or so I'm told.. to correcting a crappy blog is admitting you have a problem. So here goes...
This post sucks.
There I said it.. I didn't really have anything good to blog... but under pressure from the powers that be I blogged anyway.. and now here we are, I'm sorry.
The second step is apologizing to your wife for making a bad blog post.
Honey, I'm sorry... I let you down. *sob*
The third step is taking off your pants... oh wait... nvm I'm already naked anyway. How'd that happen? Oh well.
Ok I lied again... I don't really know what step 3 is, in fact I've never done 12 steps of anything so I have no idea what their program entails. Except it ends up with handing your problems over to god or some bullshit like that.
Oh and I lied about being naked.
Damn I seem to be truth handicapped.
Ciao
Little Turd
This is the new dog.
She's sweet.. she's cute, she looks like a little fox. But she's really a little turd. She's a long haired chihuahua.
She's also very jealous of our other dogs. However I don't really care about that.. all I realy care about is she's shitting in our kitchen, oh and peeing too of course. That annoys the crap out of me.
Our other dogs have no problem going out the dog door and leaving shit-mines for the kids to step in OUTSIDE. But for some reason she feels that's not effective enough. Instead she leaves them in the kitchen, hoping I'll step in them no doubt.
One of our ladies at work... who also has chihuahua's told me today that they are difficult to house train. Lovely.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Dreams
When I was a little boy my father made me a wooden sword and shield.
Although he made me many things, and did a lot of different things with me... the sword was my favorite. I played with it for years. I carried it into every major battle, every campaign. It was by my side for every neighborhood war and throughout many conflicts.
It lasted longer than any other sword I owned... indeed it made it through years.. until finally it cracked upon meeting a rather large axehandle.
That day was a sad one.. I retired my sword then.. put it away before it could break the rest of the way.. and I still have it to this day. Even now when I pick it up.. I can feel the magic... hear the call of my friends, urging me to their defense.
Those days are never far from my heart.
So now.. making a couple for my own kids... I will spare no effort. To make them a couple of wooden swords which perhaps will mean as much to them. Although who can tell... every childhood is different. Some of my father's greatest labors went unappreciated by me as a child.
Most likely the things that they will cherish most about their childhood (where I'm concerned) will be things that I may not even take notice of at the time.
Oh well.... the wooden swords will still mean a lot to me.
Friday, February 6, 2009
A Little Bit of Heaven
This is one of my favorite places.
The grocery store! Not necessarily this grocery store in particular... but grocery stores in general. They sell wonderful things... magical ingredients with which to make mystical delights!
Unlike a store like Wal-mart or Target.. these stores specialize in one thing... food! So there's fewer people, fewer distractions and less chance of your family driving you crazy. Actually there are times I don't mind Wal-mart.. but they generally involve me being there alone at a slow time of day.
Anyway.. back to the stores of heavenly delights. Grocery stores are simply wonderful places. There you can find fresh food of every description, spices, meats, fish, vegetables and all sorts of odds and ends. I don't particularly like going on a weekly or bi-weekly trip to the grocery store. I like to go on small daily trips.
That way you get only what you need.. that day! You don't buy things you don't need.. thinking you're going to use them 'next' week. You get only what you're actually going to use for dinner today, or tomorrow.
I think it saves money.. enables you to use fresher food and plan a meal with more variety.
Of course.. all of this is predicated on the assumption that you like to cook. Luckily I do. Maybe I'll talk about that in a later blog.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I'm not a member of any organized faiths as such. However I do have one important religious article, sacrament, ritual.. etc. BEER.
Beer is more than a beverage, its a state of mind, a state of grace.
It can be a common bond between strangers who have nothing else in common. It provides solace to the broken hearted, relief to the weary, and joy to the young.
Truly it is a wonderful liquid... honestly if you ask me it beats milk all to hell, strong bones and teeth aside. If you don't believe me.. have one.
If you still don't believe me have another.
If that doesn't work three is sure to help.
Repeat until you just don't give a damn... NOW you understand.
As a famous zen poet once said, "Beer drinks itself."
Hands
Such useful things... hands. Its really amazing what you can do with them. In fact.. virtually every thing we do, is done with these incredible tools.
Through them we express our desires for the world. They make true the thoughts in our minds, bringing ideas to light in the physical world. With them our dreams become reality, whether as a sketch upon paper, or as a building, car, or even a garden.
Imagine what you could do without your hands? It wouldn't be easy... probably easier if you just imagined some new hands and started from there.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Hospital
Hospitals often have such lovely views.
I actually didn't take this picture.. my sweet Donna did. I was a bit preoccupied thinking about my Dad. It looks like he's going to be receiving dialysis for a while. Possibly for good.
There's no magic cure for ailing kidneys... short of a transplant.
I'd like to get my hands on the idiot that did this to him.
I actually didn't take this picture.. my sweet Donna did. I was a bit preoccupied thinking about my Dad. It looks like he's going to be receiving dialysis for a while. Possibly for good.
There's no magic cure for ailing kidneys... short of a transplant.
I'd like to get my hands on the idiot that did this to him.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Camera Girl Commits Drive-by Shooting!
Last night something exceptional happened.
A woman.. who might otherwise be my wife... drove by and shot me (with her camera). I had realized before that I was incredibly sexy.. but this femme fatale obviously couldn't resist getting a candid shot of me as she drove by.
Luckily I had my camera at hand and I was able to take this defensive snap shot to help me identify the culprit.
Indeed once the image was analyzed and examined it turned out that it really WAS my wife with the camera! Yes, you heard me right.. my sweet Donna was guilty of driving by and shooting me anonymously with her camera.
I had known her to do things like this to others, dogs, flowers, random people, but not her own family! In such a blase and cold blooded fashion. But there we have it.. the evidence is clear... it was her!
I am blogging this now to get it out there.. so that others can see the truth before she comes for them as well.
A woman.. who might otherwise be my wife... drove by and shot me (with her camera). I had realized before that I was incredibly sexy.. but this femme fatale obviously couldn't resist getting a candid shot of me as she drove by.
Luckily I had my camera at hand and I was able to take this defensive snap shot to help me identify the culprit.
Indeed once the image was analyzed and examined it turned out that it really WAS my wife with the camera! Yes, you heard me right.. my sweet Donna was guilty of driving by and shooting me anonymously with her camera.
I had known her to do things like this to others, dogs, flowers, random people, but not her own family! In such a blase and cold blooded fashion. But there we have it.. the evidence is clear... it was her!
I am blogging this now to get it out there.. so that others can see the truth before she comes for them as well.
Angry man is Angry!
I feel like this sometimes.
Luckily here I was just taking a scary picture in the dark. But sometimes I feel like this looks. Not often.. but now and then. Thus far I've managed to keep a firm handle on it... so the police haven't had to come get me yet.
I think all men have a violent streak in them.. women too probably, but they seem to release their negative emotions in different ways. For the most part my darker side is short lived and quickly dissipates. Women on the other hand seem to leak their negativity in a sort of poisonous emotional pollution.
I dunno.. either way it can seriously put a downer on an otherwise beautiful day. I realize that we can't have positive emotions without also having their opposite.. but sometimes I really wish we could.
At their base, I think fear, anger, and hate are meant to motivate and empower us to protect our families, or avoid things that might hurt us. But in the light of day.. such emotions can be downright scary.
RAWR!
Luckily here I was just taking a scary picture in the dark. But sometimes I feel like this looks. Not often.. but now and then. Thus far I've managed to keep a firm handle on it... so the police haven't had to come get me yet.
I think all men have a violent streak in them.. women too probably, but they seem to release their negative emotions in different ways. For the most part my darker side is short lived and quickly dissipates. Women on the other hand seem to leak their negativity in a sort of poisonous emotional pollution.
I dunno.. either way it can seriously put a downer on an otherwise beautiful day. I realize that we can't have positive emotions without also having their opposite.. but sometimes I really wish we could.
At their base, I think fear, anger, and hate are meant to motivate and empower us to protect our families, or avoid things that might hurt us. But in the light of day.. such emotions can be downright scary.
RAWR!
Margeritas!
This is my favorite restaurant.
Its kind of hard to make out the details... we were driving by it at 70 mph and I was using the camera on long exposure with no flash. But the food sort of tastes like this picture.. so I thought it was appropriate.
Lately the management has been screwing around with the kitchen and the waitstaff.. so I don't know how long it will be our favorite restaurant. Although old habits are hard to break.. we've been eating there for almost 20 years now.
Oh well.. there are some other great places in town now.. so I might just spend more time at Cinco's and less at Margeritas. Either way.. Donna loves mexican food.. so I know I'll be eating at one of them.
Its kind of hard to make out the details... we were driving by it at 70 mph and I was using the camera on long exposure with no flash. But the food sort of tastes like this picture.. so I thought it was appropriate.
Lately the management has been screwing around with the kitchen and the waitstaff.. so I don't know how long it will be our favorite restaurant. Although old habits are hard to break.. we've been eating there for almost 20 years now.
Oh well.. there are some other great places in town now.. so I might just spend more time at Cinco's and less at Margeritas. Either way.. Donna loves mexican food.. so I know I'll be eating at one of them.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Mr. Roboto
This amazingly unclear photo is of the sorting robot we have at my work.
Essentially it works as a shipping sorter... it sorts cards (prescription cards) into boxes to be shipped to hundreds of different locations across the State of Texas.
Mostly it does its job and I do mine.. and we ignore each other. A state of affairs that suits us both fine. Unfortunately today that was not to be. The sorter quit working and all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put humpty dumpty back together again.
Its amazing how sometimes simple little things can cause big problems. In this case one tiny little tracking eye had gone bad. It was giving a constant signal of items passing it (items that weren't actually there). That caused all sorts of logic errors in the software and subsequently the machine decided to shut itself off to protect us all from its malfunction.
They were waiting for me when I walked in the door at work.
Its so nice to have people always happy and ready to greet you at the door when you walk in. I finally got to have my morning coffee an hour later.. it was cold.
I've decided this year I'm not sending the sortation machine a christmas card. That'll teach it.
Essentially it works as a shipping sorter... it sorts cards (prescription cards) into boxes to be shipped to hundreds of different locations across the State of Texas.
Mostly it does its job and I do mine.. and we ignore each other. A state of affairs that suits us both fine. Unfortunately today that was not to be. The sorter quit working and all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put humpty dumpty back together again.
Its amazing how sometimes simple little things can cause big problems. In this case one tiny little tracking eye had gone bad. It was giving a constant signal of items passing it (items that weren't actually there). That caused all sorts of logic errors in the software and subsequently the machine decided to shut itself off to protect us all from its malfunction.
They were waiting for me when I walked in the door at work.
Its so nice to have people always happy and ready to greet you at the door when you walk in. I finally got to have my morning coffee an hour later.. it was cold.
I've decided this year I'm not sending the sortation machine a christmas card. That'll teach it.
Captive Plant
This plant sits on a shelf above my desk.
I'd like to say it was the original that my mother gave me... but alas.. it died. Mostly various ladies that work in my office come in and give it water now and then.. along with admonishments at me for forgetting to water it.
This one was a replacement, but it looks just like the one that was in the vase when Mom gave it to me.
When I'm bored I look at it from below... trying to imagine myself as a tiny person climbing up into an enormous philodendron tree... deep the the mysterious jungle.
Other times when I'm bored I just fall asleep and drool on my desk.
I'd like to say it was the original that my mother gave me... but alas.. it died. Mostly various ladies that work in my office come in and give it water now and then.. along with admonishments at me for forgetting to water it.
This one was a replacement, but it looks just like the one that was in the vase when Mom gave it to me.
When I'm bored I look at it from below... trying to imagine myself as a tiny person climbing up into an enormous philodendron tree... deep the the mysterious jungle.
Other times when I'm bored I just fall asleep and drool on my desk.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Belief
It is my firm belief.. that we should not hold firm beliefs.
I got that line from an author I like... I believe it was Richard Bach... but I can't be sure.
I firmly believe that beets are the devils turds. But other than that I can be flexible.
I got that line from an author I like... I believe it was Richard Bach... but I can't be sure.
I firmly believe that beets are the devils turds. But other than that I can be flexible.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Dad
Dad... a word filled with connotations. At the moment its a word I can't get off my mind.
Being a father has given me a lot of new insights into the mysterious enigma that is my own dad. He and I are very different in many respects. Unfortunately one of the big differences is communication.
My dad's not a big talker when it comes to his feelings. He'll talk about how to fix something for as long as you'll listen, and he loves to tell stories, but its a conscious act of will for him to say something like, "I love you." He tries though...if I say it first.. he always replies, even though I can tell its hard for him to say it.
Even more than small phrases like that... I wish he could tell me other things about how he feels. Things like.. "I'm proud of you.", or even share his feelings about the events of his own life, such as the death of his father, adopting me, marrying mom, or my step mom.
Sometimes I really really really wish.. so much.. for that sort of simple guidance. Not even guidance really.. just the comfort of knowing that 'he' went through some of the same things, same feelings, same situations that I've encountered, that I'm still discovering.
I have to figure a lot of those things out. I know he's just a man... a regular guy in many ways. But to my heart he's the man that held me first as a child, and so I still return to puzzling over him... again and again, even though there are so many other men who'd be easier to understand. I spend a lot of time thinking about what's gone on in his mind, currently and even more... what he's been through before.
It would be so much simpler if he could just TELL me!
Instead I deduce and infer... from little bits of information, things I hear from Mom, or my Step-mom, or his sisters. I think about those bits of information, and think about my own experiences as a father and I try to piece together.... the things I would tell me, if I were him, and I could speak to me as I speak to my own son. But no matter how smart I am... its just not the same. I WANT HIM TO TELL ME.
I don't feel like a very good son. I love my dad, but I don't spend any time with him. He likes to hunt and fish, to be outside. He likes cars, races, and sports. I'm really not much for wanting to hunt or fish, and I have little interest in cars or sports.
When I see him.. its awkward.. and getting more so as I get older. There's fewer stories for him to tell... less time spent together, and longer silences. I know he loves me, and someone once told me that he's proud of me, but that doesn't make for much of a conversation.
Now he's in the hospital, he's not doing too well after an operation. And I"m afraid, afraid of all that I will lose if he passes on, of all the things he could never tell me directly. I'm afraid and I'm lonely. Most of all I wish I knew if he felt something like this about his own dad. Just knowing that would give me a sense of comradery at least.
I have my own kids now... and I 'think'... that perhaps I'll be able to save them from this confusion and solitude when they're grown. I hope that my own ability to talk and share my heart freely.. will prevent this for them. I really hope so.
But it doesn't make this any easier.... I want MY dad to talk to me like this. I want my dad to hug me the way I hug them. No matter how old I am.. inside me there's a little boy, and this is what he's saying, "I love you Daddy, please don't die."
Being a father has given me a lot of new insights into the mysterious enigma that is my own dad. He and I are very different in many respects. Unfortunately one of the big differences is communication.
My dad's not a big talker when it comes to his feelings. He'll talk about how to fix something for as long as you'll listen, and he loves to tell stories, but its a conscious act of will for him to say something like, "I love you." He tries though...if I say it first.. he always replies, even though I can tell its hard for him to say it.
Even more than small phrases like that... I wish he could tell me other things about how he feels. Things like.. "I'm proud of you.", or even share his feelings about the events of his own life, such as the death of his father, adopting me, marrying mom, or my step mom.
Sometimes I really really really wish.. so much.. for that sort of simple guidance. Not even guidance really.. just the comfort of knowing that 'he' went through some of the same things, same feelings, same situations that I've encountered, that I'm still discovering.
I have to figure a lot of those things out. I know he's just a man... a regular guy in many ways. But to my heart he's the man that held me first as a child, and so I still return to puzzling over him... again and again, even though there are so many other men who'd be easier to understand. I spend a lot of time thinking about what's gone on in his mind, currently and even more... what he's been through before.
It would be so much simpler if he could just TELL me!
Instead I deduce and infer... from little bits of information, things I hear from Mom, or my Step-mom, or his sisters. I think about those bits of information, and think about my own experiences as a father and I try to piece together.... the things I would tell me, if I were him, and I could speak to me as I speak to my own son. But no matter how smart I am... its just not the same. I WANT HIM TO TELL ME.
I don't feel like a very good son. I love my dad, but I don't spend any time with him. He likes to hunt and fish, to be outside. He likes cars, races, and sports. I'm really not much for wanting to hunt or fish, and I have little interest in cars or sports.
When I see him.. its awkward.. and getting more so as I get older. There's fewer stories for him to tell... less time spent together, and longer silences. I know he loves me, and someone once told me that he's proud of me, but that doesn't make for much of a conversation.
Now he's in the hospital, he's not doing too well after an operation. And I"m afraid, afraid of all that I will lose if he passes on, of all the things he could never tell me directly. I'm afraid and I'm lonely. Most of all I wish I knew if he felt something like this about his own dad. Just knowing that would give me a sense of comradery at least.
I have my own kids now... and I 'think'... that perhaps I'll be able to save them from this confusion and solitude when they're grown. I hope that my own ability to talk and share my heart freely.. will prevent this for them. I really hope so.
But it doesn't make this any easier.... I want MY dad to talk to me like this. I want my dad to hug me the way I hug them. No matter how old I am.. inside me there's a little boy, and this is what he's saying, "I love you Daddy, please don't die."
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Family
This is my family. I should be in the picture.. but I was too lazy to set up the tripod and use the timer. Besides... I doubt our dog, Sofie, would have posed like that if I'd been in the shot.
Not to mention... our other two dogs were avoid the photo as well.
The important thing is that families are made of love. My wife orrganized this photo because she feels strongly that the marriages made in California should not be destroyed.
I quite agree with her. Its ridiculous that we should prevent people who love one another from having the basic rights that go along with marriage. There is no reason to denying them. There is no logic to saying to them.. 'my love is greater than yours, my happiness is proper.. yours is not'. Those are the sentiments of selfish, narrow minded people.
Its quite sad to me that many of the people voting and trying to stop gay marriages are in fact, also kind, sweet people in their own right. People who are otherwise good. People who are at their very base, kind and loving.
There is only one way such people could be made to support such bigotry. And that is the irrational indoctrination of so many children with religious teachings from a young age. Any religion that endorses such stupidity is guilty of poisoning the minds of every person it touches.
I am not an atheist. Nor am I a member of any religion. I believe we are all part of something much greater, much more beautiful than any man's limited conception of god. If god did happen to confine himself within some anthropomorphic shell... then the worshippers in most of the churches today would have cause for great fear.
For the god I would envision would have no patience for bigotry. That god would have no sympathy for those teaching children that they were inherently sinful. That god would never be so vain as to command every other soul to pray to him, to praise him.. he would have no need of such ego boosting.
Most surely.. he would NEVER deny two people the right to happiness together simply because they didn't fit the traditional gender pairings of the majority.
Luckily for those who worship in churches and listen to the teachings of other men, teachings that exclude and punish others... luckily for them the true god is a lot more forgiving than I am. That god allows them the freedom to be bigots and assholes even as he disdains their petty worship.
Not to mention... our other two dogs were avoid the photo as well.
The important thing is that families are made of love. My wife orrganized this photo because she feels strongly that the marriages made in California should not be destroyed.
I quite agree with her. Its ridiculous that we should prevent people who love one another from having the basic rights that go along with marriage. There is no reason to denying them. There is no logic to saying to them.. 'my love is greater than yours, my happiness is proper.. yours is not'. Those are the sentiments of selfish, narrow minded people.
Its quite sad to me that many of the people voting and trying to stop gay marriages are in fact, also kind, sweet people in their own right. People who are otherwise good. People who are at their very base, kind and loving.
There is only one way such people could be made to support such bigotry. And that is the irrational indoctrination of so many children with religious teachings from a young age. Any religion that endorses such stupidity is guilty of poisoning the minds of every person it touches.
I am not an atheist. Nor am I a member of any religion. I believe we are all part of something much greater, much more beautiful than any man's limited conception of god. If god did happen to confine himself within some anthropomorphic shell... then the worshippers in most of the churches today would have cause for great fear.
For the god I would envision would have no patience for bigotry. That god would have no sympathy for those teaching children that they were inherently sinful. That god would never be so vain as to command every other soul to pray to him, to praise him.. he would have no need of such ego boosting.
Most surely.. he would NEVER deny two people the right to happiness together simply because they didn't fit the traditional gender pairings of the majority.
Luckily for those who worship in churches and listen to the teachings of other men, teachings that exclude and punish others... luckily for them the true god is a lot more forgiving than I am. That god allows them the freedom to be bigots and assholes even as he disdains their petty worship.
Charley
This is my dog Charley.
He's a boy.. unlike the other dogs around here. He's also the most laid back. He knows what he wants. To lay in your lap... whoever you are, and to be stroked and petted for the rest of his life.
He's a bit neurotic, easily scared.... and he pees on me if I make sudden moves or surprise him. I think he was abused before we adopted him... but its hard to tell. He might just have been born with a nervous disposition and a weak bladder.
Who knows... in any case.. I like him. I just have to be careful how I pick him up and not startle him. Otherwise I get a special charley surprise.
He's a boy.. unlike the other dogs around here. He's also the most laid back. He knows what he wants. To lay in your lap... whoever you are, and to be stroked and petted for the rest of his life.
He's a bit neurotic, easily scared.... and he pees on me if I make sudden moves or surprise him. I think he was abused before we adopted him... but its hard to tell. He might just have been born with a nervous disposition and a weak bladder.
Who knows... in any case.. I like him. I just have to be careful how I pick him up and not startle him. Otherwise I get a special charley surprise.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Anime
I had a long day today.
This is the show I was trying to watch when I got home.
But my Donna had different ideas. I paused it here.. it was an hour before I got back to it.
Oh well.... I'll sleep and catch up tomorrow.
This is the show I was trying to watch when I got home.
But my Donna had different ideas. I paused it here.. it was an hour before I got back to it.
Oh well.... I'll sleep and catch up tomorrow.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Letters from the Dead
This is my wallet. Its leather, and its a lot like my last wallet. However it has a few notable features.
First, it contains an all purpose multi parsec communicator, able to reach out and touch someone light years away. Second it doubles as a weapon if I get mugged. Just throw it at the mugger and run.
Ok ... I was joking.. only #2 is true.
It really does have a lot of other meaningful features (for me). First, it was given to me by my wife's grandmother, Irene, after her husband Doug died. Inside she wrote me a lovely note about how she had given it to him.. but he wouldn't stop using his old wallet (rather like me). Anyway.. he died.. and so she sent it to me, clearing out old things etc...
I really liked Doug, he was very personable and an all around great bloke. So I took to using the wallet. Then a year or so later.. she died as well. I still have her note inside.
All in all.. being the nostalgic kind of guy I am.. I will probably use this wallet till it falls apart. It seems a palpable link to England (a place I love) as well as a link to two wonderful people that I didn't get to spend enough time learning about.
So now I have two reminders of them, their granddaughter (my sweetie) and this wallet. I can't squeeze her into my back pocket so the wallet definitely has a special place for me as well.
Cheers!
First, it contains an all purpose multi parsec communicator, able to reach out and touch someone light years away. Second it doubles as a weapon if I get mugged. Just throw it at the mugger and run.
Ok ... I was joking.. only #2 is true.
It really does have a lot of other meaningful features (for me). First, it was given to me by my wife's grandmother, Irene, after her husband Doug died. Inside she wrote me a lovely note about how she had given it to him.. but he wouldn't stop using his old wallet (rather like me). Anyway.. he died.. and so she sent it to me, clearing out old things etc...
I really liked Doug, he was very personable and an all around great bloke. So I took to using the wallet. Then a year or so later.. she died as well. I still have her note inside.
All in all.. being the nostalgic kind of guy I am.. I will probably use this wallet till it falls apart. It seems a palpable link to England (a place I love) as well as a link to two wonderful people that I didn't get to spend enough time learning about.
So now I have two reminders of them, their granddaughter (my sweetie) and this wallet. I can't squeeze her into my back pocket so the wallet definitely has a special place for me as well.
Cheers!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Rubik's Riddle Runs Rampant
Ok so the title doesn't mean anything.. I jus tlike alliteration.
I'm sleepy so I hope you'll all excuse me for being confuzzled and muzzy headed.
Today has been brought to you by the letter R.
Everyone make your way quietly to the exits and don't stare at the idiot in the cage.
I'm sleepy so I hope you'll all excuse me for being confuzzled and muzzy headed.
Today has been brought to you by the letter R.
Everyone make your way quietly to the exits and don't stare at the idiot in the cage.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Little Things
It is indeed the little things that are often most important.
Such as ear hair.
You never think of it in your younger days.. its something that afflicts other people. Something they're used to. Something that shouldn't bother them, just the people that have to look at it.
Till you start sprouting it. Then you realize its a pain in the ass. You pluck it out and it comes back. It tickles when you scrape your finger in your ear. You wonder if other people see it. Suddenly you've gone from your sleek youthful days, when hair only grew in cool places.. like your head, your genitals... your cheeks. Places that made you look good or proved you were a man.
Now its growing from your ears... and it just proves that old age is rather silly, and somewhat annoying.
God definitely has a sense of humor.
Life is a stage.. just remember that the last laugh is always on you.
Such as ear hair.
You never think of it in your younger days.. its something that afflicts other people. Something they're used to. Something that shouldn't bother them, just the people that have to look at it.
Till you start sprouting it. Then you realize its a pain in the ass. You pluck it out and it comes back. It tickles when you scrape your finger in your ear. You wonder if other people see it. Suddenly you've gone from your sleek youthful days, when hair only grew in cool places.. like your head, your genitals... your cheeks. Places that made you look good or proved you were a man.
Now its growing from your ears... and it just proves that old age is rather silly, and somewhat annoying.
God definitely has a sense of humor.
Life is a stage.. just remember that the last laugh is always on you.
Summertime
The little boy I have there is my other child. The boy. He's wonderful, and annoying. He's everything I wasn't.. and a few things I was.
He'll never be me. That is the hardest lesson of fatherhood. Initially I think most men have a conception of their son being their legacy... a sort of follow up, themselves part two.
Then you have one... and you realize, he's not you. Never will be. From the first day he's someone else. Learning to deal with that is the essence of the transition from child to father.
On to the good stuff, he's a boy! Despite being different, he's still a boy. There are some things we share my wife will never understand. Partly I feel its my job to protect him a bit.. from the women in his life. At this tender age he's still very unsophisticated compared to females.. any females.
Not only that.. but women really don't understand us and he's a poor communicator as well (would that he had gotten that gift of mine!). Often its all I can do to haul his bacon out of the fires of feminine retribution before he pours gasoline on the flames with his poor wording.
I love him.
We don't always get along, but somehow he knows I'm looking out for him, even as I tease him about his music teacher (she's cute and he knows it!).
He's good in ways I never was, and sometimes wish he wasn't. On the other hand.. he'll never make the mistakes I did... but I"m helpless to protect him from the mistakes his own brand of choices will produce. It should be fun to watch.
Keep the hugs coming son, and I'll keep cheering for you no matter what you decide to go after.
He'll never be me. That is the hardest lesson of fatherhood. Initially I think most men have a conception of their son being their legacy... a sort of follow up, themselves part two.
Then you have one... and you realize, he's not you. Never will be. From the first day he's someone else. Learning to deal with that is the essence of the transition from child to father.
On to the good stuff, he's a boy! Despite being different, he's still a boy. There are some things we share my wife will never understand. Partly I feel its my job to protect him a bit.. from the women in his life. At this tender age he's still very unsophisticated compared to females.. any females.
Not only that.. but women really don't understand us and he's a poor communicator as well (would that he had gotten that gift of mine!). Often its all I can do to haul his bacon out of the fires of feminine retribution before he pours gasoline on the flames with his poor wording.
I love him.
We don't always get along, but somehow he knows I'm looking out for him, even as I tease him about his music teacher (she's cute and he knows it!).
He's good in ways I never was, and sometimes wish he wasn't. On the other hand.. he'll never make the mistakes I did... but I"m helpless to protect him from the mistakes his own brand of choices will produce. It should be fun to watch.
Keep the hugs coming son, and I'll keep cheering for you no matter what you decide to go after.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
My Little Angel
I have two kids... but for now I'll focus on this one.
This is my angel. She's everything a little girl should be, sweet and kind, pretty and cute. She's full of all the seeds of womanhood, smiles and tears, kind words and beguiling lies. I'm afraid she's going to be one hell of a woman someday.
I sure hope so.
She's quite tender with our pets, and often harsh with her brother. She speaks well.. she steals hearts, and she loves anything cute. Every time she makes me mad she breaks my heart with her first tear. She's a lot like her mother that way.
I want her to grow up to be the sort of woman that is beautiful inside and out. The kind that seems fragile but hides a spirit full of strength. I'll love her no matter what she winds up being like though.
Having children taught me the meaning of unconditional love. Through the course of my life I have recieved such love, but never felt it. In almost every case, love comes with strings, with spouses and much more so with friends, there are limits. Things you could do to destroy their love for you, boundaries. Even with my love for my own parents, as a child, there were limits. I loved them because they fed me, sheltered me, cared for me. A child's love is selfish even as it is innocent.
A child learns love from their parents, but ultimately the final test doesn't come until the child becomes a parent.
Once I held my children in my arms... I knew my heart would someday break. I died with the knowledge of that love. All my personal goals and dreams became secondary. I knew in that moment.. what unconditional love is, what my own parents had experienced. I knew then that my own mother loved me more than I loved her. I knew it because at that moment I discovered how deep a parent's love for their children is.
I cried that day.. just like I'm crying now to remember it. In the moment I first felt that love, I also felt the unbearable pain such joy would bring. The pain of separation someday... as they grow and pass beyond their parents lives into their own.
That pain isn't enough to deter me now though... the joy and the love of raising them is worth it.
This is my angel. She's everything a little girl should be, sweet and kind, pretty and cute. She's full of all the seeds of womanhood, smiles and tears, kind words and beguiling lies. I'm afraid she's going to be one hell of a woman someday.
I sure hope so.
She's quite tender with our pets, and often harsh with her brother. She speaks well.. she steals hearts, and she loves anything cute. Every time she makes me mad she breaks my heart with her first tear. She's a lot like her mother that way.
I want her to grow up to be the sort of woman that is beautiful inside and out. The kind that seems fragile but hides a spirit full of strength. I'll love her no matter what she winds up being like though.
Having children taught me the meaning of unconditional love. Through the course of my life I have recieved such love, but never felt it. In almost every case, love comes with strings, with spouses and much more so with friends, there are limits. Things you could do to destroy their love for you, boundaries. Even with my love for my own parents, as a child, there were limits. I loved them because they fed me, sheltered me, cared for me. A child's love is selfish even as it is innocent.
A child learns love from their parents, but ultimately the final test doesn't come until the child becomes a parent.
Once I held my children in my arms... I knew my heart would someday break. I died with the knowledge of that love. All my personal goals and dreams became secondary. I knew in that moment.. what unconditional love is, what my own parents had experienced. I knew then that my own mother loved me more than I loved her. I knew it because at that moment I discovered how deep a parent's love for their children is.
I cried that day.. just like I'm crying now to remember it. In the moment I first felt that love, I also felt the unbearable pain such joy would bring. The pain of separation someday... as they grow and pass beyond their parents lives into their own.
That pain isn't enough to deter me now though... the joy and the love of raising them is worth it.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Lens of the World
Every person you meet has something to teach you.
In my journey through life I often struggle to keep that in mind. Some lessons are not to be sought... some are necessary and unpleasant, and others are a delight.
The lesson here is one I got from R.A. McAvoy, an author who wrote a book... I forget the name of it, but what has stayed with me is the message that he wove into that story.
I'll try to quote him, hopefully he'll forgive me if I misphrase it, but the meaning should be clear.
"You are the lens of the world. You are the only lens through which the world can perceive itself, and conversly, the world is the only mirror in which you may see yourself."
That small paragraph contains two bits of truth, which are one and the same, merely viewed from different angle. The first is this: the world, the universe, the infinity of existence can only know itself through your eyes. Your observation, creates the very thing it is observing, neither exists without the other.
The second is this: The world you experience is entirely within your own head, including your own concept of self and your physical body. The only way you can know anything about yourself... is by observing the world which you are creating within your mind.
Once you wrap your head around that.... the world begins to be full of wonderful and terrifying mystery. Should this alter your purpose, or change your life? Absolutely not.
As a zen master once said of the Tao, "When you are hungry eat, when you are tired sleep."
Some truths are so big.. and so amazing, that they change nothing, and there's nothing we can or should do about them. Learning not to try is the goal.
In my journey through life I often struggle to keep that in mind. Some lessons are not to be sought... some are necessary and unpleasant, and others are a delight.
The lesson here is one I got from R.A. McAvoy, an author who wrote a book... I forget the name of it, but what has stayed with me is the message that he wove into that story.
I'll try to quote him, hopefully he'll forgive me if I misphrase it, but the meaning should be clear.
"You are the lens of the world. You are the only lens through which the world can perceive itself, and conversly, the world is the only mirror in which you may see yourself."
That small paragraph contains two bits of truth, which are one and the same, merely viewed from different angle. The first is this: the world, the universe, the infinity of existence can only know itself through your eyes. Your observation, creates the very thing it is observing, neither exists without the other.
The second is this: The world you experience is entirely within your own head, including your own concept of self and your physical body. The only way you can know anything about yourself... is by observing the world which you are creating within your mind.
Once you wrap your head around that.... the world begins to be full of wonderful and terrifying mystery. Should this alter your purpose, or change your life? Absolutely not.
As a zen master once said of the Tao, "When you are hungry eat, when you are tired sleep."
Some truths are so big.. and so amazing, that they change nothing, and there's nothing we can or should do about them. Learning not to try is the goal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)