Waxing Gibbous

The waxing gibbous moon
gathers and reflects
the Sun’s love
sharing much with us; 
but—perhaps
still prideful of
her recent display of power—
she holds back just a bit 
for now.  

She wants us 
to ask nicely if we want
to see the rest.  

She's a lady,
and just want's a little
respect.

Tips are welcome.

Object Permanence

I know the sky is calling.  Angel, let me help you with your wings. 

From the moment we cut the umbilical cord, our role as parents is to help our children develop into independent, confident, happy adults.  We play peekaboo to teach them object permanence – the confidence that when we cover our eyes with our hands, we are still there.  We hold their hands as they take their first steps; hold the back of the seat, then run alongside, as they take their first bike ride.  When they skin their knees, or bump their heads, we are there to kiss it and make it better – to hold them as they cry.  Through our constancy, they learn to venture further afield; learning independence, knowing that we will be there for them at the end of their adventure.   

Then, when it is time for them to fledge, we watch, with a mixture of love and longing – knowing that the wind they follow will be of their own choosing – an expression of the independence and confidence we hope to have helped nurture. 

We so love their company that we would ask them to stay if we could.  But to keep them in the nest at this point would be as stifling as if we had glued the egg closed, so it could not hatch. 

Now it’s our turn, as parents, to trust in object permanence.  Our part is to remain constant, as always, so they know that wherever life takes them, open arms, a warm meal, and a made bed await them any time they wish to come home.    

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ng5-VUDcjJ8

   

Bulwer-Lytton Contest - Horror Category Win

Former United States poet laureate William Stafford is noted for saying that the best response to writer’s block is to ‘lower your standards, and keep going.’

If one iterates this process enough times, their standards may descend to a level that makes them competitive in the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.
Anyway, I’ve apparently attained that distinction, and thanks to our local paper, my fifteen minutes of fame begins this morning. Not sure which makes me prouder – the win, or being referred to as ‘Hazel Dell man’.

And I have no idea what to say about the picture, except that I don't know whether I'll ever be able to unsee it.  

http://www.columbian.com/news/2017/aug/20/the-imagery-of-infamy-hazel-dell-man-writes-his-way-into-acclaim/

Maddie's Eighteenth Birthday

Dear Maddie, 

The first time your Mom and I ever heard the term ‘old soul’ was at a parent-teacher conference with Mrs. Thornton-Anderson.  Though we didn’t know the term, we were very familiar with the concept.

I knew I would love being your father, but I couldn’t have known how much, and really had no idea what I was in for.  I went into fatherhood hoping to fill a waiting, empty vessel with my abundance of wisdom; but what we found was so different.  From the beginning, you were a child of intense self-determination, and of your own innate wisdom, the source of which I cannot even speculate.  At some point, I think we realized that the wisest course we could take in your upbringing was to feed and shelter you—and love you, of course—but also to know when to stand back and watch in wonder as you have taken on the roles for which you were destined.  

It has been, and remains, our incredible privilege to be your mentors, but in so many ways, you have been our teacher along the way.  We love you to the Moon and back, over and over again, and are so optimistic for the chapters to come.   

Happy eighteenth birthday, Maddie!  

Love, 
Dad

Sausage

 “I looked up at her breathless ‘hello’, and knew I could never un-see her Bride of Frankenstein makeup, or the way she filled her clothes; which must have looked good form-fitting a younger, svelter her, but now resembled a sausage skin strained to its limits by a failure of the emergency stop on the filling machine; perhaps a developing grub, whose skin failed to molt, or a Michelin Woman, as imagined by Salvador Dali on acid.”   

Moonlight Graham

I chatted with an older gentleman at the store this evening.  On the walk out to our cars, I asked if people had ever told him that he resembled Burt Lancaster.  He said no, but that his father had, and that he considered it a compliment. 

We spoke for a minute about Burt Lancaster movies, and I mentioned Field of Dreams, where Lancaster portrays ‘Moonlight Graham’, a subplot about a real baseball player who played only one inning in the majors, and was on deck when the game ended – preventing him from living his dream of batting in the majors.  It is such a beautiful scene in such a beautiful movie.  As we split up, I looked up to the west, and enjoyed the light of tonight’s incredible full moon in our cloudless sky.  

I love the way things connect sometimes.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9yrupye7B0   

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6bD23vEigE  

Love 'em While You've Got 'em

If you are lucky enough to have a dozen or so childhood friends who will put up with you for a long weekend in the woods each year, don’t pass up the chance.  

And if most of what you do in camp is waste time; just shooting the shit about old times, swimming, fishing, drinking too much, eating more than your share of foods you’ve been warned to avoid, and telling jokes too gross or inappropriate to even laugh at in more civilized surroundings – just do it.  You can make up for these venial sins with acts of goodness, kindness, and fitness when you get home.  

And if these guys, and your annual gathering, come to mean a lot to you, don’t be bashful; tell them that you love them.  If those three words are a little hard to say all on their own, you can tag on ‘man’, or ‘bro’, whatever; it’s all good; your meaning will come across

Nothing lasts forever – don’t let the opportunity slip away unused.