Sunday, August 31, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
So I was on Netflix recently and discovered there's been a documentary made about the band Danielson Famile.
Odd, annoying thing is that the Danielson Famile is really the Smith family. Mine and theirs were childhood mates. Our parents played Kumbya around the campfire back in the day. (I'll admit I'm name dropping but not in a "Carson Daly called me on the phone" kinda way.)
As I was watching the movie, it dawned on me: Megan Smith travelled the world singing and dancing and I moved to Pennsyltucky and made babies with a foot doctor. And that's life. I'll admit, I'm jealous. I am. But just a little. Cause I love the life I lead. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But if I could have a little stardom in Barcelona in addition to my precious domesticity, I wouldn't mind. Come on, Megan. Not fair.
I think their music is totally weird and at times horribly grating and at times very beautiful. I like it though and I believe they made art in every sense of the word. I don't know if they're still together. I guess I could search for a website.
Just did (I pasted it below). So check them out. Or at least watch the movie instantly on Netflix (also below). Especially, if you're one of my siblings and want to be jealous along with me (think about it: our moms made the same hippie homemade bread and wove baskets and crap and the Smiths went and made a cool band and what did we ever do, Jesse, Jenny, Andy, Mary and Tonya???!!! -- huh?! -- order takeout? Have a party when mom and dad were in Hawaii? Go camping??!! LAME!! I tell you!! LAME!! We did our hippie heritage wrong.
I guess I shouldn't moan too much as we still have time. Got that? My house. This Saturday. 2 pm. Bring your tin cans and spoons. Your penny whistles and banjos. We'll set the porch on fire.
On another note in regard to art (I'm done with the angst), I've been reading the second book in Anne Rice's trilogy on Christ. It's excellent. I loved the first one too. She depicts Jesus in his tender humanity while preserving his innocence. I might write more about it when I'm done. In the meantime, read up and give me a call as I'm dying to have someone to talk it over with.
Here's the linkage:
Saturday, August 16, 2008
They say kids grow up quick but this is ridiculous.
A few weeks ago, Pete buzzed off Haven's curls (revealing the most delightful ears on the block) and broke out the size 5 clothes.
My baby is a boy.
Today, I lift a sippy cup in a toast to all your drama (like your mama), your ludicrous bedtime story requests (tell me about "a pizza cutter, a man who is strong but kind, a thing that spins called a 'spinnerit,' a purple suction cup ...."), your kindness, your sensitivity, your warm, pudgy cherub-like shape that has yet to grow long and lanky and too horribly grown up looking.
Today, I toast to you.
A pre-haircut photo with brothers ... still a baby.
And just a few days later ... my big big boy! My big boy who doesn't want his photo taken. I remember this drama. He was mad that he couldn't work the yo-yo and is trying to kick me away from him. Like I said, drama-like-his-mama (and would you check out those ears!)
Happy Birthday, Haven! I love you!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Your parents only took you out to dinner twice when you were growing up.
I asked you about it recently:"Old Country Buffet and Sizzler, right?"
You answered, "OCB and Ponderosa ... And Oh," you paused, "it was great ..."
I could see the aisles of side dishes in your eyes. Creamed corn. Mac and cheese. The big slab of beef under the hot lights ... The soft serve machine! Nirvana for a young boy sustained souly on hearty but homemade casseroles.
I wonder if you ordered a Coke. No. I'm sure it was water. "Nine waters please," your dad must have said a little nervously.
It's the same kind of nervousness you have when we go for walks like we did tonight and I spot an apple tree I had never noticed before and I get so ridiculously excited that I uncontrollably jump for apple after apple while 4 small dogs yip and nip and yap into the calm evening air. Shattering it.
As I caught up I studied your bearded profile and thought that I like how you get embarrassed when I don't. I like that you're sensitive and strong but still seven years old in some ways. Still surveying the big wide world with kind appreciation. Still polite as you were at Ponderosa that special night.