Ten years gone. The magma has cooled somewhat, thick curls and billows hardening on the the slopes of my soul. Heat remains in spite of the multitude of solstices observed since the earth opened up and I glimpsed the heart of the universe.
Ten years. A decade of wondering, of myriad attempts to wrap my head around events of great force and stunning majesty. This has been a grand tilting at windmills, I know. The task itself can only be attempted imperfectly, like cutting a diamond that ever reveals one more tiny flaw.
Ten years. My children born in a burst of light and heat, human-shaped supernovas I cradled in my arms. Supernovas do not last, I knew that then. The evidence was borne out as I watched them fade, powerless to stop the inexorable progression of terrible things unleashed by the heavens.
Yet other things were born even as I later watched them pass away. The rough prisms of their souls fell into my hands, my heart, and on the day they were born, and I became a gemcutter.
Ten years of practice, I have had. I study, polish and cut. The memories have hard, sharp edges, it is true. But they are clear, brilliant and beautiful. I remember my son and daughter, diffracted, like diamonds in the heart. It is their birthday. I polish the facets, practicing my new trade as diamantaire of memories potent and raw.
--
In memory of the Bear and the Butterfly.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
16 July 2013
30 October 2012
Heart Achieves Fusion
Bright galactic whorls,
Her fingertips hold my heart,
Lighting up my sky
--
Dedicated to Wee Lass
Her fingertips hold my heart,
Lighting up my sky
--
Dedicated to Wee Lass
10 November 2011
12 November 2010
02 November 2010
It's Not Just Fresh, Its 'Butt' Fresh
Yet another thing I'm surprised consumer products companies haven't made us worry about...
Earlier in the day, the Wee Lass and I watched an episode of 'Brain Surge' on Nickleodeon. The Lass, she likes the burping noises and the references to flatulence. I go along because it is a silly game show, and you actually do have to concentrate and pay attention to detail in order to advance.
Any one who loses a round has to leave the set via a twisty slide called the 'Brain Drain'. It's not just a slide, it's a slide that has been partially filled with some sort of goop. Of course, the poor sap who loses has to slide through the mess du jour, getting covered with shaving cream or Crisco or aerated dish soap, whatever it is the minds behind the show deem fit to use.
Wee Lass, of course, finds it hilarious.
Which brings us to the fast slide at a local amusement parlor for the kiddies. We went to a birthday party there, the same day of Brain Surge. It is one of those places that has all sorts of inflatable bouncy things akin to moon bounces, inflatable slides and obstacle courses, and they rent them out for parties and junior executive team building exercises*. Run around like a maniac for an hour, bouncing (literally) off the walls and each other, then on to pizza or cake and ice cream. It's quite cool, although a bit exhausting to watch. Them tykes have some serious energy reserves.
So there is this slide there, a green plastic half-pipe attached to a small tree fort like structure. At the bottom on the floor is a padded gym mat. This gym mat is a good thing, because that slide was fast like so roads are fast: the kids were hurtling down that thing like they had been strapped to rockets. Kids were crashing into the floor, each other, doing face plants and butt plants, and laughing like bastards the entire time. Wee Lass was having a ball.
Later, she said to me, "Daddy, wouldn't it be funny if they filled the slide up with soap?"
I responded that, yep, I reckon that would have been pretty funny. Then she got this gleam in her eye.
"Daddy, daddy! It would be better if they filled it with toothpaste!"
"Toothpaste?" I asked, puzzled. She was giggling hard, and said "Yeah, 'cause then our butts would smell minty fresh!" and she dissolved in a fit of laughter.
I'm still chuckling over that one myself.
*Just kidding. Although it could happen...
Earlier in the day, the Wee Lass and I watched an episode of 'Brain Surge' on Nickleodeon. The Lass, she likes the burping noises and the references to flatulence. I go along because it is a silly game show, and you actually do have to concentrate and pay attention to detail in order to advance.
Any one who loses a round has to leave the set via a twisty slide called the 'Brain Drain'. It's not just a slide, it's a slide that has been partially filled with some sort of goop. Of course, the poor sap who loses has to slide through the mess du jour, getting covered with shaving cream or Crisco or aerated dish soap, whatever it is the minds behind the show deem fit to use.
Wee Lass, of course, finds it hilarious.
Which brings us to the fast slide at a local amusement parlor for the kiddies. We went to a birthday party there, the same day of Brain Surge. It is one of those places that has all sorts of inflatable bouncy things akin to moon bounces, inflatable slides and obstacle courses, and they rent them out for parties and junior executive team building exercises*. Run around like a maniac for an hour, bouncing (literally) off the walls and each other, then on to pizza or cake and ice cream. It's quite cool, although a bit exhausting to watch. Them tykes have some serious energy reserves.
So there is this slide there, a green plastic half-pipe attached to a small tree fort like structure. At the bottom on the floor is a padded gym mat. This gym mat is a good thing, because that slide was fast like so roads are fast: the kids were hurtling down that thing like they had been strapped to rockets. Kids were crashing into the floor, each other, doing face plants and butt plants, and laughing like bastards the entire time. Wee Lass was having a ball.
Later, she said to me, "Daddy, wouldn't it be funny if they filled the slide up with soap?"
I responded that, yep, I reckon that would have been pretty funny. Then she got this gleam in her eye.
"Daddy, daddy! It would be better if they filled it with toothpaste!"
"Toothpaste?" I asked, puzzled. She was giggling hard, and said "Yeah, 'cause then our butts would smell minty fresh!" and she dissolved in a fit of laughter.
I'm still chuckling over that one myself.
*Just kidding. Although it could happen...
10 November 2008
Sinbad and Mackenzie Phillips
Hey everyone, guess whose birthday it is? Go ahead, guess!
HA! It's MINE! Wooo-hooo, Gogumboityabirthday, Whoot thereitizz, woop!
(The sound of a needle scraping across the record)
It has been brought to my attention that I share a birthday with Sinbad and Mackenzie Phillips. As The Spouse put it so cheerily this morning at breakfast, "You share a birthday with a washed-up comedian and a drug addict! Great company!"
Gee. Thanks. No self-esteem crisis here. No sir. And I am not OLD.
HA! It's MINE! Wooo-hooo, Gogumboityabirthday, Whoot thereitizz, woop!
(The sound of a needle scraping across the record)
It has been brought to my attention that I share a birthday with Sinbad and Mackenzie Phillips. As The Spouse put it so cheerily this morning at breakfast, "You share a birthday with a washed-up comedian and a drug addict! Great company!"
Gee. Thanks. No self-esteem crisis here. No sir. And I am not OLD.
It really would have looked like a brush fire. Don't let two candles fool you.
On the other hand, the Wee Lass presented me with my first present of the day while I was eating breakfast. "Happy Birthday, daddy" she said hands behind her back, "Here's your present!" It was a brand new iPod Classic, black and silver. She's a good kid.
Now I'm going to go play with my new toy. DJ Gumbo is in the house!
19 October 2008
Flea is 46!
Reading the paper earlier this week, I came across one of those little columns where they list famous people and their birthdays. I haven't paid much attention to them for a while, just another timesuck, I guess. Although a few years ago, I was bemused to see that The Spouse shares a birthday with Benito Mussolini. No resemblance, whatsoever! (She told me to say that. I never disobey Our Exalted Leader). But this week, one name in particular stood out. I had to laugh when I saw it.
"Rock musician Flea, 46."
That's right. Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea is 46. 46. Wooo! Suddenly, I didn't feel so unsettled by my impending 43rd. This is a guy who as recently as 1999 played shows NAKED. This is a guy in a band whose earliest memory I have is a photograph in Creem(?) magazine, showing them onstage wearing sneakers and tube socks while playing. Nothing else, just sneakers and socks. The socks were on their feet and their, er, junk.
For me it was a defining moment in my late teens and early adulthood, and the music I was listening to. The Chili Peppers' version of "Higher Ground" (the Stevie Wonder tune) was a revelation to me. I really, really dug the funky bass groove. As a shy dork with no musical talent, but with secret musical ambitions, that kind of stuff was powerful. Years later, I heard a quote, attributed to Flea where he said something like "You gotta play bass like you got a big dick." I could never really conceive of being able to play bass guitar (or any instrument for that matter) with that kind of energy and abandon. And as to the size of certain things that could give ones' playing a boost, let's just say I would have made a modest bass player. Of course, I should have listened carefully at the time: it was "play like" you have a big one. So, in that case, dear readers, I would have been the All-Universe Prime Overlord Bassist! Really! (Thonk,thonk,bowmpa,bowmpa,bowpma...)
Flea is 46. Ha. I read that he has recently started taking music classes at USC. Encouraging that he is still looking to learn, gain some knowledge. This is great. I hope to learn to play bass sometime; it might happen. Who knows? Someday, SOMEDAY, even if only in my head, I'll get my chance to play bass on stage, in front of a crowd, wearing nothing but Chuck Taylors and a tube sock on my unit.
Happy Birthday, Flea!
"Rock musician Flea, 46."
That's right. Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea is 46. 46. Wooo! Suddenly, I didn't feel so unsettled by my impending 43rd. This is a guy who as recently as 1999 played shows NAKED. This is a guy in a band whose earliest memory I have is a photograph in Creem(?) magazine, showing them onstage wearing sneakers and tube socks while playing. Nothing else, just sneakers and socks. The socks were on their feet and their, er, junk.
For me it was a defining moment in my late teens and early adulthood, and the music I was listening to. The Chili Peppers' version of "Higher Ground" (the Stevie Wonder tune) was a revelation to me. I really, really dug the funky bass groove. As a shy dork with no musical talent, but with secret musical ambitions, that kind of stuff was powerful. Years later, I heard a quote, attributed to Flea where he said something like "You gotta play bass like you got a big dick." I could never really conceive of being able to play bass guitar (or any instrument for that matter) with that kind of energy and abandon. And as to the size of certain things that could give ones' playing a boost, let's just say I would have made a modest bass player. Of course, I should have listened carefully at the time: it was "play like" you have a big one. So, in that case, dear readers, I would have been the All-Universe Prime Overlord Bassist! Really! (Thonk,thonk,bowmpa,bowmpa,bowpma...)
Flea is 46. Ha. I read that he has recently started taking music classes at USC. Encouraging that he is still looking to learn, gain some knowledge. This is great. I hope to learn to play bass sometime; it might happen. Who knows? Someday, SOMEDAY, even if only in my head, I'll get my chance to play bass on stage, in front of a crowd, wearing nothing but Chuck Taylors and a tube sock on my unit.
Happy Birthday, Flea!
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