Little m Long a

My kids get frightened during thunderstorms.  The lightning startles them and the claps of thunder elicit screams.  I could watch it rain all night.  I love the way night time is broken by momentary flashes of brilliant white light and I could listen to the rolling thunder on an endless replay loop.  Raindrops on a metal surface somehow soothe me.  And nothing compares to the exhilaration of watching a storm cross a body of water making its way to the screened porch where you safely can absorb it’s power and beauty.

It rained last Wednesday night.  A good rain, hard with plenty of lightning and rolling thunder.  I sat, alone in my living room as the family slept and I enjoyed every bit of it.  Images of my youth flashed with each bolt of lightning and the booming thunder turned the pages as I watched the storm.  And I listened.  It was pretty cool.

This week’s Sunday Sonnet was inspired by last Wednesday’s thunderstorm.

A Refreshing Shower

There’s something soothing, calming
About watching a springtime thunderstorm.
Lightning flashes and I count…
One, two, three, four.

And the crash of thunder lets me know
The center of the storm is not far.
The rain pelts the air conditioner.
My clogged gutters are useless.

As the water pours down I take solace
Knowing that one more chore has been done
My plants won’t need the hose tomorrow
And it’ll be far to wet to mow.

And bonus:  the car is getting a free rinse….

Oh, Crap!  I left the windows down!

Dad!  We’re all up.  Come on!

Coffee.

Da-aadd!

Zoë, I need coffee.

I’ve got to admire her spunk.  For some crazy reason we look forward to this weekend all year long.  Comfest.  The name says it all, doesn’t it?  What?  It doesn’t?  How about Community Festival?  Better?  As far as Zoë is concerned, anything that deems itself worthy of the name festival demands her presence.  The girl likes to party!

And so it shall be.  We are preparing ourselves this morning for the 8th consecutive trek to Comfest.  Damn the weather reports.  There’s a festival happening out there and we’re off to be festive.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  Until then, why don’t you read about last year’s Comfest.  Rather than link it (I know, we get lazy and hate to click a link) I’ll just repost.  Enjoy, and hope your weekend is as festive as ours.

Jam On, You Hippie Freaks!  (originally posted June 24, 2007)

The streak is still alive, seven years and counting.  In an otherwise quiet park located just north of the arena district downtown every June  for the past 35 years a three day festival is held.  I heard somewhere that it is the oldest free music festival in the country.  Is that true?  I don’t know.  But Zoë, at the ripe old age of six has just celebrated her seventh Comfest.  She was 5 months old that first time.

Now a seasoned veteran, mere mention of Comfest and she excitedly exclaims, “New tie-dye!”  She even helps weave through the hordes of festival go-ers to find the tie-dye booth.  This year she helped pick new outfits for the entire family.  I got a little teary-eyed just watching her.  Wait, that was from the smoke billowing over from the rib kiosk, which we also patronized.

The festival is billed as a family friendly place where you can just kick back and soak up the “vibe of an enviable exercise in participatory democracy.”  Loosely translated, I think that means you get to drink lots of cheap beer, share a bong with your buddies (or a stranger) and paint your bare breasts like something that vagely resembles a holly leaf and berries and amble through the park half naked walking your unleashed, frequently crapping irish wolfhound as your stoned entourage plays hackey sack and flings frisbees all the while listening to your favorite local bands from every genre you can imagine and even some you can’t.  Hint…should anyone ever mention to you, “Let’s go check out that chick that does the sweet uke wailing”, punch them very hard for even suggesting it and run away.

I’m not sure if the festival has changed all that much over these past seven years or just me.  Maybe now that Zoë is noticing more of the world around her I, too am starting to take notice.  Don’t get me wrong here, I love the festival.  I’m just not sure how much longer we can really bill this thing as family friendly.  I’m not trying to shelter my kids from the reality of the world around them but I have to stop and ask myself, “At what point in my children’s lives do I want them to realize that there are people in this world who are even more crazy than their dad?”

So, is the streak over?  Will we make it eight years in a row?  I’m not so sure.  My overall resolve to make the yearly trek was in all honesty dampened this year not by the looming clouds but the reality that my little girl is getting older and I’m not going to be able to shelter her from the rest of the world forever.  Maybe I’m just trying to hang on a bit.

I’ve never been a big coddler and I’m a horrible liar.  When she asks me questions, big questions, I just can’t seem to help myself.  I’ve got to be honest.  Case in point:

Zoë:  Is she allowed to take her shirt off?  (refferring to the girl with the painted breasts in the port-a-john line two people in front of us)
Me:  Allowed?  (Pausing) Unfortunately, yes she is allowed.
Zoë: Oh.  (a standard Zoë response)
Me:  Should she?  Absolutely not.  (the list is long and sorted and far be it from me to mash anyone’s mellow so I’ll suffice it to say–”Bad paint job!”)

It’s been a while since I’ve ushered you guys away from here.  I don’t like to do it for a number of reasons.  First, I’m not very good at self promotion.  Oh, I’ve done it but it’s uncomfortable and not really who I am.  I prefer that people come here to see what my children have done and the crazy spin I may have been able to put on their daily adventures.  I don’t sell anything and there are no ads to click on my blog.  There was a time and I’m not saying there won’t be again, but for now I like it this way.  I like the fact that if you come to me you get me.  Not a pitch.

I truly appreciate every one who takes of their time to visit here and even more so, leave a comment.  I think people in the blog world call it validation.  Me?  I just enjoy your company.  I really, really do.

That being said, I’m gonna send you away today.  Over to Quirkee.com.  You may have noticed the link in the sidebar referring to my column at Quirkee, World-Colored Glasses.  Well, I’ve been pretty remiss about submitting lately but I added a new one this week.  (It’ll be published if I submitted in time.)  But don’t just go for me.  Quirkee has a stellar line-up of writers in the Quirkee Voices section: Laura Normand (Will You Be My Guru?), Eric Broder (Great Indoors), Matt Sadler(Guy Walks Into a Bar), Leigh Anne Jasheway-Bryant (Accidental Comic), JR Brow (A thousand Miles From Nowhere), James Grayson (Because I Said So) and the newly added Piper of Love (From the Mouths of Babes), but that’s just the tip of it.  There’s pictures, a new Quirkee Quirky Photo Group on Flickr, Interviews, Reviews and oh so much more.  There’s a new issue every Thursday morning, so stop by and check it out.  Visit often and don’t forget who sent you.

P.S.  Ann, if you go to Quirkee, I’m only kidding.  I promise.  You’re the best!

Stop it, Naer.  (That’s how Zella refers to her twin brother, Zander.  Naer.  It’s pronounced something like NAIR but with more of an emphasis on an e sound as opposed to what the short i does to air.  Nay-er with less of a y.  Try it.  Naer.  Naer.  Oh forget it.  By the time you figure out how she does it she will have mastered the next phonetic phase in her development and the word will be lost forever.)

Stop it Naer.

I wan dat.  I WAN daaatt!!

Naer, no!!!  (Crying ensues and more arguing.  More words are exchanged but quite honestly it’s hard enough to decipher when they are speaking without tears and whining.)

There’s no real point to the argument.  Is there ever really when two year olds are involved?  I suppose my point in relaying is that the scene above is repeated daily at least three or four times, often more but seldom less.  It would seem that I am forever engaged in a struggle to keep the peace around here.  A task made more difficult by the fact that I find myself having to yell so loud to be heard above their screaming that my message becomes clearly–incongruous when considered with the tone of my delivery.

But every once in a while, when the planets align just so, there is peace.  Be it ever so fleeting, there is peace.  I was looking for a picture I had taken several months back–(I didn’t have to look too hard for I’ve got pictures on my camera from January that I’ve yet to download.  Maybe you remember that post.)  Anyway, I stumbled upon this picture that will surely be displayed prominently at family gatherings, first dates, prom nights, graduation nights, weddings and all manner of noteworthy occasions for years to come.

Yeah.  Every once in a while there is peace.

Boys will be boys.  How many times have I heard or used that phrase in my lifetime?  Exponentially more so as a parent.  Little boys like mud, bugs, animals, teasing little girls, sports, tackling things, kicking things—the list goes on.  Just yesterday Zoë ran into the house to let me know about the mouse in the yard. They had tried in vain to get Ariel, the cat,  interested in chasing the thing but she wouldn’t.  The mouse was just sitting there.

I came outside just in time to stop Zane’s outstretched arm from picking up the–not mouse but–huge rat that somehow found it’s way into the yard and had decided to park itself under the bird feeder as it was providing a ready source of food.

Dear Lord, Zane!  Don’t grab that!  That thing will gnaw your arm off!

It was huge!   Half the size of Ariel.  No wonder she wasn’t interested.  She was scared to death!

Suffice it to say that Mr. Rat has supped for the last time at our bird feeder.  Zoë was repulsed at the rat’s demise.  Zane thought it was cool.   Boys will be boys.

And just today…..

Zander, whatever you do…..don’t drink out of this cup.  (Zane to his little brother.)  I just peed in it.

What?? I yelled from the other room.

Zane enters the living room holding the aforementioned cup in his hand, clearly the vision of a boy who has done wrong and knows it–only for he has been caught.

Zane!

Yes.

You peed in a cup?

Yes.

You peed in a cup you picked up off of the floor in the basement?

Yes.

You peed in a cup you picked up off of the floor in the basement that was lying 3 feet in front of the toilet?

Yes.

If I ask you why, will you be able to give me an answer?

I don’t think so.

Well, at least he warned his brother.  It could have been worse.  Much worse.

I think you know what I’m talking about.