Trees

This morning,

dropping the boys off,

I saw little Christmas trees in the garbage.

These trees have been in their rooms each year since the littlest was a baby.

It's a tradition I learned from my mom. Maybe she learned it from hers?

All of us were alarmed, the truck would come soon, we had to get them out of the garbage and into the car. One of the stars was missing, where was it?

Ezra looked inside, I looked in the garbage. We couldn't find it, but at least some of it was saved.

After that, driving to work, I thought about memory. It's not myth. You do feel it in the heart, hard to breathe, like a shock of cold air. My littlest boy, already 9, was in the back seat. At what age does memory get tied up with sadness, the way it is for adults? I thought about this and I remembered how confusing it was as a child, seeing adults cry when they claimed to be happy.

Passing parked cars. A man stepped out with an artificial leg. I thought, memory is like a phantom limb.

Not yet please.

I saw Ezra playing with G.I. Joes last weekend. I wondered if he was blithely enjoying what I, watching, knew to be a last string of his life as a little boy. Or is he aware how quickly he is growing up, and was consciously holding on to this last piece of his childhood: Action figures. Years ago he called it playing with "guys." I secretly pray he will  become a nerd and never completely grow up.

Remember it.

Meredith and Ambrose playing stuffed animals today.

The big drop off

We had a full weekend together, with an extra day since school was closed. Wednesday mornings, this morning, I drop them off with their other parent.

This weekend we put together models and watched Mr. Popper's Penguins. Monday, school was closed for the holiday.

The boys and I went to an MLK event with music and other entertainment, had an African drum lesson, ate soul food. Then four hours of "Laser Tag." Last night we ate reubens at the Jewish deli and then went dowtown, to tour a possible middle school for Ezra.

The school is a fine arts school with a modern building. All colors, not like the institutional schools I remember, with a big green staircase rising past three stories of windows through which you can see the downtown skyline. The classrooms are all open. They have a Mac lab with video and music-editing software.

Ezra commented on much of what we saw and told me he wants to go to school there. This was a good feeling. I've been worried. He asks about middle school a lot, and you can tell he's nervous about the change to multiple teachers and classes. Because of staffing, he and his class had the same teacher three years in a row at his current school, and they got to know each other very closely. That's changing, and he will likely go to a new school with none of those friends where he knows nobody.

After four days of really close time together, lots of exploring and discussing and laughing together at stupid jokes, I dropped them off at school. I won't have them again until Monday. It's coincidental that in the car this morning, Ezra asked me what was the saddest thing that ever happened to me.

I resisted the urge to tell him the obvious, the saddest thing is no longer seeing them every day. I resisted telling the boys about the feeling in the chest that stops your breath, and that a small part of the reason I yelled at them this morning was because I'm angry they have to go away. Today I thought I could write about that feeling here instead. That feeling is not a metaphor, and it's the real reason behind that bullshit expression about a broken heart. I want to plead with somebody for another holiday, today. Please, give us another day together.

I resisted because sometimes kids need to be protected from adult problems. Sometimes they need to know, yes, that I'm vulnerable to loving them, but that they are also safe. Sometimes when Ambrose, the littler one, cries, and tells me he misses me, I have to assume the stature of a compassionate parent, vs. just saying me too, Ambrose, me too. Later they can struggle with the contradiction, why would their parents choose to do something so self-destructive as get divorced? Why didn't the marriage, as divorced parents tell their kids, "work out?" Why couldn't we just have cooperated and used our words and have been respectful, like kids are told to with each other in school. Later they can realize how childish and not-together adults can be, in spite of always telling them, in so many words, to grow up.

Holiday Greetings.

Atheists:            Have a happy godless universe with no rules
Buddhists:          Have nothing
Catholics:           Feel guilty about having something
Protestants:       Feel slightly guilty about having something
Episcopalians:    Have a watered-down version of Catholic Christmas, minus as much of the guilt and even
                         if you are gay
Evangelicals:      Have no shame about having lots of things: God wants you to make lots of money (and
                         I can show you how)
Scientologists:    Have a happy Maiden Voyage Anniversary**
New Agers:        Have a solstice-gathering, or a drum circle, or burn some sage, or whatever you
                         picked out of context from the latest bestseller by "Starhawk"
Occupiers:         Have a drum circle, minus the hair-washing and much sense of a carefully-defined
                         political agenda
Republicans:      Have a good old-fashioned American Christmas goddamnit. What's wrong with a little tradition?
Super Right-
Wing Repub-
licans:                Have a Merry CHRISTMAS. That's CHRIST. MAS. Period.
Democrats:        Have a happy Cultural Exchange Day, fostering dialogue between people-of-faith
                         of diverse traditions in a non-judgmental but slightly patronizing manner
Ultra-Liberal
Left-Wingers:    Same as the Occupiers, but more bathing, and a Prius, which is actually pretty
                        expensive for someone claiming to abhor material wealth,
                        as are those gluten-free organic cookies you got at the co-op
And for
those of
us in
Minnesota:         Have a moderate expression of albeit stoic good cheer, and enjoy the weather

*Each year the annual Maiden Voyage event, commemorating the anniversary of New OT VIII, has come to be one of the most important gatherings of dedicated Scientologists and an opportunity for senior Church officials to meet and work directly with these parishioners to advance their religion. Scientologists who attend this annual spiritual cruise become “OT Ambassadors” and initiate programs to help Scientologists all over the world advance the aims of Scientology and to reach the top of the Bridge at New OT VIII."

Alligator!

Now the trip is truly complete. And yet we have another whole day.

Incongruous

On the same day we hiked through a nature preserve and saw two alligators sunning themselves, we walked through historic Charleston SC and saw perfectly preserved colonial homes lining narrow streets, cannons, and battleships. Wherever we are there's the smell of the sea always hinting.

And yesterday we saw dolphins.

Savannah

Assorted shots, a few with captions.

Courtyard of a house converted to a museum. There were slave quarters in another section.

I was overwhelmed with opportunities to take pictures of architectural details. They won't translate into film. In person, there's something to see almost at every turn.

The seemingly quieter, residential streets are stacked closely to busier districts with taller buildings. The city is compressed. So you have tall buildings like this around the corner from a tree-shaded street. Even the tall buildings are interesting. There were few examples of boring cold-war architecture.

Lots of ghosts when you visit certain parts of the South, ghosts and voodoo. I'm in heaven. Or, purgatory?

There are Christmas decorations and music everywhere. I think people in hot climates overcompensate a bit. It's a bit incongruous and beautiful: many of the stately homes had lights twinkling in the windows.

This was a very narrow block of buildings and shops lined up in a row by the river. The previous picture was of an inn on this row. The whole city reminds me of Europe, but especially this bit for some reason.

These apartment dwellers have a carousel horse stuck to their terrace, and I like that.

The doors of a historic church. My lady expressing cuteness of historic proportions.

This Spanish Moss overhangs everything. It ages everything you see. It softens all the edges.

This house was green.

This was in the colonial graveyard. I will say more about graveyards later.

I tried hard to take pictures capturing the feeling of this street and failed. The town homes are very tall, and the streets very narrow, and the Live Oaks and Spanish Moss hang over everything, so the streets are very dark and quiet. The lights in windows make you wonder what kind of interesting rich people live inside. Note this house looks a lot like the Mercer house from Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. We will go back and see that actual house soon. We watched that movie again by the way, in between two visits to Savannah. The second visit was changed by having seen the movie again.

A little courtyard next to someone's house.

This building (the picture above is another angle) is pink.

In the same neighborhood is the Crystal Beer Parlor. A friend told me she had the best hamburger of her life there. I concur. On the left bottom you will see a glass of sweet tea. I have spent this entire trip completely jacked on this beverage. It is so much more than adding sugar to ice tea, where it never really dissolves. I think they also add baking soda to give it a smooth experience going down. This restaurant has been around since the '30s. All old wood, lots of old pictures, our waiter had the best Georgia accent yet. We had fried green tomatoes and the "Famous" burger, and onion rings.

I don't really get the finger that often, so take this more as a depiction of the goofy camaraderie we're sharing on this trip. As always, there is humor, and much of it foul. I love you babe!

Bluff

Today I am learning about what's true or not. Palmetto Bluff: Behind a fake plantation we found a real cemetery.

(They are all dogs).

When we showed up at the place where we're staying (Coral Sands Resort in Hilton Head) there was a problem with the water in the unit that had been reserved for us... We're sorry, they said. We'll have to upgrade you. I am now sitting in a full-sized living room with sliding doors opening on a terrace overlooking the pool. I had brie for breakfast, and if you knew what I paid for this trip, you would punch me right in the throat. Somebody special hooked us up big time.

I'm back... But I got to go.

Getting on a plane to Savannah, GA with my lady. Plan to update soon with details of this week-long trip, and then get in the habit of updating again in general.

Hollywood: Is this some kind of game?

I'm very excited, because the producers of Real Steel have announced pre-production of a Hungry Hungry Hippos adaptation! There's also rumor of a Connect Four spinoff, which I hear is really a family drama about sibling rivalry. Don't take your kids to the upcoming Twister though. That one is a porn.

What's on your list?

Everyone deserves a second chance

Hi guys, remember this? I ran that half marathon for kids in Africa. I know those of you that didn't get a chance to contribute felt just awful about it.

It's not too late!.

I'm running a full marathon now, for the same charity, WorldVision. If you want to go and give $1 to $5 to $50 visit my page here: http://support.worldvision.org/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?px=1178465&pg=personal&fr_id=1431

So you've got a second chance to give someone else a second chance. It only takes $50 to provide clean water to a human being for the rest of his or her life.....

OK! No more fundraising.

My Son is Weird

Ezra H, age 10, lies on the couch, benchpressing watermelons, and then makes you feel his arms---swearing his muscles have grown already.

Ezra decided to break the world record for fastest clapping. The practicing is torture.

Ezra also practices card tricks. He's pretty good, but even good magicians are always a bit off, aren't they?

I passed two of the hardest parts of that acupuncture test, and I failed two. (I have a chance to take those over). In the middle, it was turning out to be so hard. I really thought I was failing all of it. I got onto the floor and started cursing at, whoever it was. Some spirits. The Taoist Immortals I imagine floating around my head with giant fingernails and long black hair pulled into top knots; waist-length fu manchu mustaches. The assholes that I ask for help. I'll be honest, I kind of... cried. Abject, airy, keening gasps. But I passed that part of that test.

This is happening a lot lately, bad things turning out good. E.g., I was all sick thinking I was going to lose $500 today (long story) and I didn't. Because somebody nice bent the rules for me. Apple replaced my phone even though my warrantee was up; the button was sticking. It was awful. My thumb hurts. Now I know it will get better.

But the test, I feel like I'm getting closer. I can almost see it. Not just to practicing something I've been abstractly studying for four years. But more generally, getting closer to a working life that seems real and relevant vs. happening at an awful and ugly desk surrounded by nasty assholes. Little things: I just found out I am hired to teach my first Tai Chi for Arthritis class through St. Paul community ed, and they are interested in having me teach some other classes I pitched, including a class for kids and a meditation class. These things don't pay shit, but, the idea of getting paid anything to talk about things I like seems like movement in a bigger direction. Patience.

Also today I found a good pair of shoes (if I said "the perfect pair of shoes" it would be time to hang it up, heterosexuality) for only $40. And I don't have to go into an office tomorrow.

That's me. More importantly, my lady got asked by two different companies today to interview for jobs. I keep remembering my good news is only as good as hers. Keep your fingers crossed, light one of your Santeria candles, swing some chickens' feet on a string at midnight, whatever you do. Bow down and ask the Gods of Kung Fu to subtly manipulate time and space on her behalf (that's not really how they work, but the asking counts). Pray my good luck will also help my lady. But we both know it's not really luck. It's magic.

I'm taking this test tomorrow --- the one I've been studying for for weeks --- I have to tell you, at this point it's a gamble.  It's mostly guessing, so I'm focusing on the sections I can guess smartest about.

This has been a summer of small accomplishments, so hopefully the luck, persistence, whatever, will continue to pay off tomorrow.

I'll let you know.

State Fair

Seed Art

More Seed Art

Sky Ride

View from Sky Ride

Menu:

• Deep fried cheese curds
• Deep fried pickles
• Sweet corn
• "Pronto Pup" (Minnesota State Fair version of a corn dog)
• Chocolate Milk (freshly pasteurized by the U of AM Agriculture students)
• Beer
• Diet Coke
• Fresh baked cookies and coffee

I like my lady's blog post today.

365 Blog Posts, Bitches

I did it...

I cheated a few times, retroactively posting for a day I forgot, but I'm counting it. "It" was a commitment to just-write, no matter what.

A lot of crap resulted, and some days, as I said a year ago, it would just be one word. Once it was a period.

But that's part of it.

Learned a few things over the year:

• I have a tendency to crave drama
• Sometimes, the most important things that happen are just the things that happen, going to the beach with some kids, vs. big realizations and seemingly earthtweaking events
• In spite of that, it's hard to find the motivation to document those daily things sometimes
• I tend to enjoy reading those types of posts over again and experience less cringing when I do
• I believe those posts also truly make up the substance of memory. Remembering simple instances says more about a relationship, or a time in one's life, then lengthy analysis of relationships or times in one's life
• (e.g., I am studying for a pre-clinical exam which I'm taking on Tuesday. If I fail, it will kind of fuck up my situation. I'm very preoccupied with it, every minute. For some reason I'm not writing about that)
• You can like the way you say things, but be embarrased about the way you write them. A lot of times, rereading posts, they felt corny and unsophisticated, where, in person, I would've said them with characteristic eloquence and rapist wit
• People like Kelly, Elly, Tom, Pearl, my mom, "dbs," (and of course, my lady), are quality humans I count among my friends. Your comments make me happy, and I'm sorry if I forgot someone
• I am, overall, a pretty decent human myself
• There's something humble about writing, even though it would seem, in fact, to be the opposite
• I'm still learning to use commas (see last sentence for example)
• The dogs are far more important to our lives than they deserve

What's next? I have some ideas... I'm worried about my financial future. Paying off my student loans. Having a retirement. So I'm brainstorming about some kind of book I can write. I don't think my life is more interesting than anyone else's, and I'm not trolling for a complement in saying I'm also not a particularly talented writer (I'm just a talker with a keyboard, really). It's just a business thing. If I have any ideas I'll pitch them to you.

So thank you for reading my stuff and dog bless.