Little m Long a

It should be later.

But it’s not.

It feels later.

Not hours.

Days.

Like maybe Sunday.

But I’d be watching football.

Not sitting here.

Wondering.

Why the week isn’t through.

What we’ve got here….

I’ve used the phrase too many times to count.  My kids can finish it.  They know the movie, though never having seen it.  In a pinch, they could probably give you a brief synopsis of the film and tell you who spoke the line.  With very few exceptions it has been used in jest, a lighthearted addendum to the frustrations that surround any attempt at communicating with small children.

I would prefer to keep the phrase in that context.  Light and playful. Never really having to experience the exasperated futility and frustration as did Strother Martin’s character, Captain.  I’d also like a personal media room or to go the bathroom uninterrupted.  But that ain’t happening.

The phrase stays–as does it’s implications with many of the people I find myself interacting on a regular basis.

The Bar Remains High

Apparently, I was unclear.  You must have
Misunderstood when I used words like
Free spirit and bundle of joy.
Phrases like Full of energy, smart

As a whip, Loves life and
Laughter more.  I know–
Very confusing.
I told you then that your task

Round pegs do not fit into square holes.
And whittling will not be tolerated.

(As always, Sunday sonnets does not adhere to the true form and
structure of a sonnet.  It does not rhyme and may or may not have 14
lines.  I just liked the way it sounded.  Today’s Sunday sonnet was
inspired by a recent telephone conversation.  You may remember this letter.)

I was enjoying one of the best dreams I had had in quite some time.  No, not one of those dreams!  Just the really good kind where you’re in an especially comfortable place with beautiful scenery, good friends and situations not so far fetched so that it’s actually believable.  The kind when you  wake up you attempt to go immediately back to sleep in hopes that it will resume.

I knew that the kids were up but they were playing nicely and I felt another twenty minutes was in order.  Needed!  I guess twenty minutes was too much to ask.
Lost in a Dream

In reverie, the distinct lines between
What is and what is perceived blur.
Intangible assumes texture and
Adopts an audible form.

I am lost and my nose is cold.
Is it the wilderness in which I now find
Myself.  Or is it the unthinkable?
Have my covers slipped?

I ignore the cold and stiffen the collar  
Of the coat I imagine myself wearing
Bracing myself against the wind, now howling.
I can almost discern a language.
Dad!  Help!  I see a form.  Chased.
Oh, Good Lord!  Who let the cat in?!

Today, would have been my mom’s birthday.  Would have been.  Now it’s just the 19th of October.  I’ve stopped believing in would have been.  Inevitably, it tarnishes memories and skews the reality of the present.   Call me a realist.

That morose testament aside, this is the first time in forty three years that I will observe the 19th of October without my mother.  I miss her.  A lot.  Her final years were not easy, especially for my older brother.  He sacrificed everything—literally evrything—so that she may be comfortable.  I am convinced that without him and his efforts my mother would have passed many years earlier and much sadder.

As it was, she lasted and with her the deep gutteral laughter, a true inner joy that I have ever associated with her.  She left it, unknowlingly, to my Zoë.  I am convinced of this.

October 19th–Would Have Been

You would have liked her.  She is so
Incredibly like you.  It’s difficult
And quite often I find myself
Pausing, stunned by the similarities.

She didn’t know you, not really.
She was too young, incapable of
Solidifying the past.  You, too old,
Incapable of incorporating the new.

She laughs and it gives me pause, I hear you.
She is strong, creative, independent…happy.
Quite often I’ll find her lost in thought.
Thoughts about nothing, and I see you.

Your presence is apparent, take comfort
Your peace, your joy, lives on in her.

The silence is numbing, uncomfortable.
I want to speak, to say anything
But I know that words are not sufficient–inadequate.
I fear that too much time has passed.

Insignificant happenstance of lives once shared freely
Have faded, dulled and washed-out like text, sun drenched
And exposed far too long, left forgotten to weather outside.
The text of our lives are becoming brittle, illegible.

Time, the bastard he is, has robbed us……of us.
Distance used not to matter and bonds once strong because
Of proximity have been frayed, worn thin
By the miles that time has placed between us

excuses…
I miss you, man.

Sunday Sonnets–September 21, 2008.  Without question the single most significant day in my life for without today–there would be no you.
Today is..

As days go, today would be most ordinary,
Should be–most ordinary.
Filler in a month.
A spacial division between yesterday and tomorrow.

But today is special, at least to me.
For on this day there was you
And therefore
I have purpose and joy.

Today is special to all of us
Because of you we have yesterday–and happiness.
Because of you we have tomorrow–and peace.
Because of you we have family–and love.

Today is yours most extraordinary
But to us so much more.

Happy Birthday, Honey!  You are loved!

I offer again, Sunday Sonnets with little intro or background inspiration this morning for my children are in dire need of an arbitrator, a peace keeper.

What they really need is to have their little whiny, arguing hides tanned and I need some coffee!

I Was Happy Then

I was happy then, smiling .
Hugs and kisses were exchanged
And laughter filled the air.
Serenity, though but a dream.

Thuds and screaming.  Doors slammed.
“I want it!”  “No I want it!”
Battle lines drawn.  Warriors engaged.
Chaos. Calamity–this is real!

Why do we have to fight
And argue over every little thing?
There’s at least a thousand toys
And you all want the same one?

Just let me go back to sleep….
I was happy then.

It’s been another whirlwind week: resuming school,  impending storms, conventions, bizarre announcements and college football!  Life is surely a coaster ride.  I’ve found it’s a lot more enjoyable when you are able to loose your grip from the safety bar and raise your arms carefree.  Maybe even emitting a little–WAHOO!!! for good measure.

But don’t close your eyes.  Things are happening fast.  Very fast.  And should you let your guard down just a little, chances are you will miss something very, very important.This week’s Sunday Sonnet was inspired by what I can only determine to be the truest testament reflecting how those that are or wish to be in power actually regard me.

Thanks, John

What tiny faction of enlighted souls
Could have possibly thought this prudent?
So tightly controlled.  Calculated.
Almost sinister.

Haughty posturing and self
serving idealisms conveyed.
As if you really cared.
Definitely sinister.

Surprising still, is the narrowing chasm.
The margins reduced as we
Continue our fleecing.
Bitter pills, indeed.

And now, Sarah Palin?
Thanks John–we needed that!

In just over two months, every single one of you (of proper age, of course) will have an opportunity.  An opportunity to speak your mind, to have your voice heard.  Think hard about what you wish to say.  Study.  Prepare.  When your turn comes, do you wish to sound well prepared and intelligent?  Or like an idiot!

It’s been a few weeks.  I bet you thought I had forgotten.  I bet you wish I had forgotten.  Sunday Sonnets have returned, at least for this week.  And no, I have not gotten any better at composing sonnets.  I’m not studying sonnets or reading sonnets for inspiration.  Fact of the matter is, I really don’t even know what a sonnet is!  I know it’s supposed to have 14 lines but I think the lines are supposed to have some sort of meter and quite possibly rhyme.

I’ve got 14 lines.  That’s about it.  I just picked the moniker because I thought it sounded good.  I  could have just as easily called the series–Hey Look, I Wrote a Poem!  But it’s not really poetry either.

So, anyway.  It’s been quite a long week full of activity, last minute school preparations, end of sumer blowout family fun days, kittens, and more.  Yet somehow, this weeks Sunday Sonnet was inspired by a fairly traumatic personal experience for me where in I replaced my wallet, my companion, of some twenty years.  The replacement wallet came from a little Amish leather shop we had visited on Tuesday.

It lasted 3 days!

You Never Had a Chance

It’s not your fault, believe me.
You had no control over how this would play out.
It’s not you, it’s me.
Really.

You tried.  You gave it a go.
I tried you also, but my heart was never in it.
Don’t get me wrong, I like you.
I do.

But you’re not the same.
You never will be.  You never could be.
We had a history.  A lifetime.
You had three days.

I gave you a chance, but you never really had one.
Twenty years is just too much to overcome.

(Last night, I pulled out my sewing machine and repaired my dear old wallet.  The way I see it, it could last another couple of years.  Maybe then, I’ll be ready for a replacement.)

Zoë and her mother spent the better part of last evening looking at dresses.  They oohed and ahhed over each new find noting differences and similarities in the ones that they liked.  An innocuous exercise on the surface yet shockingly harsh in it’s reality.  Painful  in it’s intents as I came to realize that try as I may, I am powerless.  I attempt to control, to steer, to guide, to shape, and to mold the lives of my children with a vision of what I believe to be good and honorable.  I instruct and chastise, comfort and soothe.  As a parent, I am provider and a source.

Yesterday I came to realize the infinitesimally small amount of control that I actually have.  Time has far more power and I am defenseless to it.  Whether or not I am ready, my children are growing up.  You see, yesterday evening Zoë and her mother spent the better part of two hours looking for a First Communion Dress.  The harsh realities of the situation humbled me.  It has also inspired this week’s Sunday Sonnets.

I Seek Simplicity

Like it or else, time does wait.
Our children grow though we resist.
Their minds ever expanding as the world
In which they live continues to grow smaller

Objects become concepts and pat
Answers are no longer acceptable as
Explanation of the ordinary.
My kids are growing up.

Haughty, my spirit is lifted as once
Impossible tasks are now ordinary.
Rudimentary conversation is replaced
With provocation and depth.

Time matures us, teaches and molds, not me.
I long for the comfort of simplicity.

There’s something to be said for Sleep Late Sundays.  The kids anticipate it’s arrival almost as eagerly as I.  A lazy day with no schedule.  No practices or agendas.  Just sleep in and go where the day leads us.  We normally begin our day with my now world famous from scratch pancakes.  It’s kind of morphed into a whole experience.

The kids will often help with the ingredients and pancake mixing.  Sausage sizzles and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lifts everyone’s spirits.  Jazz plays softly in the background.  It has become one of my favorite family experiences.  Ah yes.  Sleep Late Sunday.

Today’s Sunday Sonnet (penned just moments ago) was inspired by the unexpected.  I really slept in this morning.  It felt good.

Waking in a Dream

Something surreal about sleeping in,
Like waking in a time warp, groggy.
Stumbling towards the bedroom door
Hesitant, unsure of what lies beyond.

It’s quiet.  Did the kids sleep, too?
Giggles.  Footsteps.  Twins are up.
Laughter and squeals and warm
Good morning hugs.  Nothing compares.

But three are missing.  Beds are empty
(Unmade, of course, but empty)
Silence.  No sign of them upstairs.
I hear them, voices calm, agreeable.

In the living room.  Playing chess?
Surreal indeed!

*As I typed this, the calm agreeable voices of children that appear to love each other and get along transformed into the screaming, crying, arguing children that normally dwell in this place.  That’s more like it.

Sleepy time is over!

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!

In an effort to stimulate stagnating brain cells and hopefully spawn some creativity, I am working on a little thing I think I shall call SUNDAY SONNETS.  Essentially, Sunday Sonnets will be a brief collection, quite random, of events or happenings around here in a loose verse form.  And no, I will not adhere to the truest definition of a sonnet as being a verse or song of 14 lines of iambic pentameter.  I’m not a poet–hell, I’m not even a writer–but then again you already know that, don’t you.  My initial offering, though not labeled as such, would have to be last week’s “That’ll Teach Em“.

This week’s Sonnet addresses the ever dwindling rodent population around Casa de Ed.  For discussion purposes let’s just assume that rabbits are rodents, OK?  I’m a dad not a zoologist.  Though zoo keeper would not be too far from an apt job description.

RODENTS BEWARE

Rodents, beware.
Though extremely cute and cuddly, your safety
Can not be assured in this place.

Yesterday’s offering
By our feline warriors was a most
Adorable (and assuredly dead) bunny.

The kids cringed
With horror and repulsion at the feasting
Yet would not look away.

Then Rusty
Availed himself
To the spoils.

And the feline feast was done.

Note to self:  Get cat food!

I’ve got a bird in my attic.
Damn thing flew in there
Couldn’t find his way out.
He died.

I left him there
As a warning
To any other birds
Wanting in……..

I’ve got flies in my attic……

And a rotting bird carcass.