Little m Long a

I snapped this photo at the Tate Modern in London just hours prior to hopping on a train at Kings Cross bound for Newcastle.  It’s a Warhol.  I’m not a huge Warhol fan but I thought it was kind of cool.  The entire room was dedicated to Andy and the walls were covered ceiling to floor with these pink cows on a stark yellow background.

Little did I know then that these cows would play such a significant role in my very immediate future.

I hate cows.  Unless of course, they are carved up moderately thick, marinated in Dales and seared to medium rare perfection on an open flame.

In that scenario, I think I could say that cows are pretty cool.

I have just returned from merry old England having walked its width.  The width being roughly 89 miles from Newcastle Upon Tyne (at the North Sea) to Bowness on Solway just past Carlisle to the west and the waters of the Irish Sea.

It hurt.

I followed the path of Hadrian’s Wall or, as it shall be forever remembered by me, The Trail of Poo.  (It could have just as easily, and appropriately so, been renamed the Great Hadrian’s Pub Crawl.)  For six days I trudged the pathways that followed the wall built by the Romans in AD 122 through some of the most beautiful countryside I had seen in quite some time.  And by countryside I specifically mean cow and sheep pastures.  Do not be fooled by lush images of green landscapes and gentle rolling hills.  There’s poo out there and lots of it!

It took me all of two days to say, “Fuck it! I’m not walking around this shit any more!” and just plow straight through.  Yes, I walked in poo.

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“I want to read this book!”  Zander emphatically stated his position to Maura.  “How do you read?”

“Well, Zander.  You have to sound out the letters and put them together.  Ask your brother Zane how he learned to read.”

“Zane, how did you read?” he asked in his most innocent little boy voice.

“Uhm.  Well.. you just…”

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There’s something uplifting about watching a hippie hi-five strangers.  You can’t help but smile, maybe even laugh out loud.  I suppose the end is achieved, at least in their minds, good karma spreads.

Karmic Hi-Five

We went to ComFest yesterday.  Set up camp under a nice shady tree and chilled with about 10 or 12 thousand other people looking to do the same.  About 30 yards from us a small band of merry parked themselves by the sidewalk, a main corridor to all places Fest, and simply hi-fived every single person that passed them by.  For over 2 hours!  It was one of the coolest things I saw all day.

As ComFest stories go, that would have been a sufficient one to bring back with us.  The take-home message being that being good to other people is a good thing to do.  It makes them happy.

The story, however,  will forever pale in comparison to the reason we will always remember this year’s ComFest.

The Andy Shaw Band was performing on the Gazebo Stage in a pretty decent time slot.  We had hung around to see them as my wife is related — cousin?, uncle? — something like that.  Anyway, towards the end of the set Maura and her sister took Zoë and Zane down to the stage for a closer look.  I hung back with my brother-in-law and the rest of my brood.

When the set finished (about 2 songs later) Maura and the kids made their way back to our little camp and Zoë and Zane began regaling us with terms like cool and awesome.  Somewhere in the distance over the PA we heard, maybe a bit muffled, “We’ve got a little boy named Sam and he’s looking for his mommy.  Can Maura please return to the stage.”

I looked at Maura and said, “they just called your name.”  I hadn’t really caught the beginning of the message and thought that maybe her cousin was calling her back to the stage to talk.

Maura responded, “Not me.  Some other idiot has lost their kid.  Mine are all accounted for.  Zoë… Zane… Zella… Zia… —–WHERE’S ZANDER!!!”

The message on the PA repeated quite more clearly this time, “Could Maura please return to the stage to get ZANDER.”

Holy crap, I lost my son!!!!

He literally must have followed Maura to the stage when they left earlier because I never noticed him gone.  I counted Zella and Zia several times but never missed Zander.

I quickly ran through the crowds to the stage where Zander was stood in the middle of about 12 volunteers with the biggest grin I have ever seen on his face, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.  He waved and pointed at me when he saw me and simply said, “hey Dad.”

He was mum on how and when he had actually slipped away revealing only that he was looking for mom.  I’d like to say I was panic stricken and frantic, sick at the thought of my child having vanished during those minutes he was missing.  I’d like to, but the sad reality is that I hadn’t even realized he was gone.  (Those points for Parent of the Year keep piling up, people and I think with this one I’ve clearly outdistanced myself from the rest of the pack.)

As I made my way back through the crowds another announcement was made on the PA.  “It’s OK everyone, Zander’s dad got him.”  I waved as the crowd cheered.

I thought back to earlier in the afternoon, to a hi-five from a hippie and how grateful I now was for the good karma he had spread my way.

Thanks, Man. I Needed That!

The boy sings constantly.

Zander.

He sings Incessantly.  Little tunes he makes up in his head or a phrase he might pick up from a song on the radio that he puts on an endless loop.  He’ll sing, content in his own little world, completely oblivious to what’s going on around him .  Often times he will sing as he’s engaged in other activities completely unaware that he’s doing it.

It’s an endearing trait.  When it’s not totally grating on my nerves, that is.  But mostly, it’s endearing.

This afternoon as I was straightening up in the living room Zander entered singing one of his little songs.  I couldn’t quite make out what he was singing — nothing unusual — but the tune was catchy.  This one was a bit different though as it seemed a tad forced and he kept stopping and starting over again.

He let out an exasperated little huff and I asked, “What’s wrong, Buddy?”

“I can’t sing it in Spanish,” he replied the frustration clear in his voice.

“Zander,” I said.  “You don’t know Spanish!”

“Oh…,” he said his eyes opening wide with the realization.  “That’s why!”

In the interest of being more environmentally friendly, this post contains no less than 98% recycled content.

The Adventurers

Father’s day.

Dad’s all across the country will be heading out to golf courses and ball parks, lakes and rivers, or just to the living room to veg out in the Lazy Boy (well, the lucky ones have Lazy Boys.  My wife has deemed the chair a God-awful eyesore and refuses to allow one in the house.) with a frosty adult beverage sporting that new paisley necktie because–well it’s dad’s day and that’s what dads get to do on their day, right?

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Food is funny.  Not in the funny ha, ha kind of funny but funny in the way that simple foods or particular food items can open floodgates of memories.

That kind of funny.

Loving life!

I had the pleasure of swimming in such memories this evening.  Continue reading →

I have seen the future.

It’s disturbing.

Actually, it wasn’t the future.

It was the present.

The now.

Today.

The thing about it, it wasn’t even my present.  It certainly was close, though.  It essentially shattered the visions I held within my mind of how the present appears.  At least how I interpret it to appear.  Put a pretty big spin on the past as well.

And now, I’ve got an image stuck in my head and it’s eating away at my insides.  Gnawing at me.  Peeling away the person I perceive myself to be and leaving me feeling a bit exposed.  Worried that I am as starkly changed.

And feeling a bit helpless regardless.

The lifeguard at the pool shared with me a very interesting conversation that she had recently held with Zander. Seems Zander struck up the conversation after noticing her shiny new engagement ring.

Zander:  Ooh, that’s a pretty ring!

LG:  Thank you, Zander.

Zander:  Does that mean you’re getting married?

LG:  Yes I am.

Zander:  My mom and dad got married.  My dad gave my mom a ring.  Then my mom gave my dad a ring.  Then they kissed.

LG:  Really!

Zander:  Yeah, and when they kissed my egg wiggled.      And here I am!

From the mouths of babes.

I’ve had visitors today.  Uninvited visitors.  I’m typically a pretty amicable host and will go out of my way to make sure that my guests are comfortable.  OK, so that may not be entirely true.  I mean, chances are you’re not going to get my last Izze and if for some reason I happen to divide the last steak, my portion will most assuredly be a tad larger than yours.  But you’re not going to starve or die of thirst. Hell, there’s even a pretty good chance you can sit in my chair.  (I don’t really have a chair but if I did, I’d probably let you sit in it.)

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There were no fewer than nine (9) items on my to-do list this morning.  Nine fairly specific things that absolutely had to be completed before 8:00 am.  Why yes, I do tend to procrastinate.  Why do you ask?

To make matters worse, I turned the alarm off rather than hitting the snooze.  I hadn’t even made it out of bed and was already an hour behind schedule!

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I’m not quite sure how to file this little gem.

Parenting fail?  Parenting success?  Oh dear Lord what have I done?  Another reason I should not be fully entrusted with the care and supervision of my children?  Or simply, a proud father moment?

I suppose you could find arguments for all of them.  It warmed my cockles whatever the case.  (And whatever cockles are.)

I mentioned Zia’s Poetry Slam earlier this week.  Well, as per the norm I attended with the raccoons in tow.  Zander and Zella were actually behaving pretty nicely for a change.  We were seated in the school commons area at a table.  Zander to my left and Zella across the table in front of us, her back to us and facing the stage where Zia and her classmates were doing their thing.

They clapped appropriately in the appropriate places and sat quietly in the places where it was appropriate to sit quietly.

About half way through one of the poems Zander leaned toward me and completely out of the blue whispered, “BLUKA!”

I’ll be damned if Zella didn’t immediately turn around and whinny!

BLUKA!!

To their tremendous credit, it was not dubbed a graduation ceremony.  In fact, the certificate each child received mentioned nothing of the finality of the kindergarten era.  It was rather an award, individually created for each child specifically designed with their unique personality in mind.

Zia’s?

I know what you’re thinking, but no.

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Remember when you were a kid?  And on the last days of school instead of doing anything that resembled schoolwork, you took inventory?  And turned in your books?  Played mind numbing games to pass those empty last days and hours?

That’s where I am.

Except I’m not in school.

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Thursdays come and Thursdays go as Thursdays are wont to do.  Yesterday was just such a Thursday.  It has gone now and I’m kicking myself for it. Though surely it will return as my calendar tells me I should expect another Thursday next week and another the next.

But yesterday’s Thursday is gone.

Most days I’ll remember for the things I did.  Accomplishments.  Yesterday will more likely be remembered for what I did not.

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