Looking Back

I really didn't plan on writing anything today.  Or maybe ever again, for that matter.

What was I supposed to do?  Pick up where I left off?  Play catch up?  No, it's all too much to carry. 

It's like a long distance relationship that's hanging on to that frozen moment.  Holding hands from far away is fruitless attempt.  At a certain point, we all wither and die in each other's minds, only to live on as ghosts of our former selves. And as we meet again, we stare, two ghosts in the night, fumbling about with the hope that our new beings haven't alienated what we once were.  The accelerated gravity of displaced time may become too much to bear.  There is no recipe, no book, or no others that can bring back the dead.  And, therefore, sometimes the past is just best left where it will always reside. Otherwise the cost is too high for the future.

Revisionist history is attainable, but will not be accepted by the witnesses, leaving us at the crossroads.  However, we're presented with a false choice--one can not walk back. Turn around, the road is disappearing until black.  Just like the great-great-great-greats before us whose very names we've forgotten. Whittled down to an abstract reality that we are bound by anything more than dust.

I respect the past for it has the constituents of the present.  But out of this reverence, I stop short of commitment.  For death shows no mercy and ghosts have no future.  They're all left behind.

So here we are. We shall accept the increasingly heavy weight and fading road, and we'll soldier on.

He Was A Peaceful Loving Man

Who?

Not me.  I'm crayyyy.  Yup, some dude bumped his shopping cart into mine and I took his children and sold them on E-Bay.

It's Martin Luther King we're talking about here.  That peaceful loving dude.  I'm not going to wax poetic about the man.  I'll leave that up to my 5-year-old mop-head, EGB.  She's in kindergarten where she's learning real stuff, with real teachers, and how to fight boys.

I asked her what she learned in school and she didn't give me the ol, "nuthin'".  I got real answer that let's you into the psyche of a youngster.  They tell it to you straight.

EGB for President of this whole damn place.

Side note--a few days after this, she started weeping at the dinner table.  I asked her why and she told me she felt "so sad that the brown people were treated the way they were by the white people.  And it was just because they were brown."  She felt it all.  Internalized the pain of history.

Leave it up to a 5-year-old to see and feel the world as it should be--fair.   I know that big heart is going to crush her someday, but it's my hope that she dreams as big as her heart.  If so, we'll all win.

Stay true to your hearts little ones.

Be Afraid. Very Afraid.

I'm coming back with tales from the crypt.

I don't even care that it's the first time in 5,000 years that Hanukah and Thanksgiving fall on the same day.

Hide your babies and mammas. It's about to get medieval up in this mutha.

Whatever you do.  DON'T click on this picture.

Is it Over Yet?

As of today, yes.

For the past 1.5 million years people have been eating meat.  People have been having babies.  People have been interested in fire.   Woman has loved man (but nagged him).  Man has loved woman (even though she nagged him). Man has loved man.  Dog has loved bacon. Woman has loved woman (we all love each other).  And Jay has been in school.  Like the forces of earth, wind, and fire....and school.  It's been there.

Today it ends.

This is a story of triumph, heroism, tragedy, comedy, masochism, and a whole bunch of other adjectives.  I won't bore you with the details, but know this--the protagonist, the mother, my partner in crime, is the baddest superhero this world has ever seen. 

This long road is something that is hard to appreciate until you get to the end, turn around, look back, and say, "damn, that's a long ass road."  Or maybe it's better to think of this as a mountain top. Looking down.  Looking out.  The trail is blurry, the air is clear, the heart is full....and there's a buttload of rocks everywhere.  That's more like it. 

I know that we all have perspective on our journeys and I can't speak for our protagonist, but in my view, this marathon of devotion to a single goal is something that we all can learn from.  Life isn't about one thing.  It's about everything all at once.

I saw beautiful weekends evaporate into anatomy book study sessions.  Days of work for the paycheck. Bravery to learn the things that she didn't know.  Expose herself to be supported by the guidance of those that came before her.  She was always the friend-the kind beacon radiating love. Thinking, doing, and acting for others in the middle of the vortex. I watched her give birth to the two most powerful, loving, diaper-exploding, creatures that have ever walked this earth--EGB and Baby B. And on. And on.

All this in one ball of lint.  Have you ever tried to take apart lint?  Don't.  It's fruitless.  Just like this attempt to unweb the web of experiences of our past.  Just like the view from the mountaintop.  The trail isn't what's important.  It's the view and everything that comes along with emotion of being able to look out, if even only for a brief moment.

From this mountaintop, with messy hair and a less than clean house, I say to you, mother of my children, love of my life, and partner in all things good and bad--I'm proud of you.  I don't know what's in store for us.  None of us do, but I know we can do it together.  That includes the rest of you too.  We couldn't, shouldn't, and wouldn't do any of this without you.

Congrats to you.  Take a moment to think of what we've all accomplished.  It's not a statistic. 

It's survival.

Time Flies

This seems like yesterday.

This was over two years ago.

This was back when I didn't have as much of a bald yarmulke spot.

This was before baby baboon boy hit the scene.

And if this doesn't make you smile, you a cold hearted vampire.  Not like the nice vampires you see on Twilight.  Not that I'd know. Twilight is for prepubescent girls, not manly cavemen like me.

http://youtu.be/njWxgCDFGeE

It's Friday. It's ROI day.

Just been hunkering down at Family ROI Training Camp.

ROI does not stand for "Rock On Islands". Nope, ROI for those not in the in the know stands for "Return On Investment".

There's been no island rocking around here. In fact, it's been more like get-poopie-on-your-hands-and-gouge-your-eyes-with-dull-pencils. Then maybe...just maybe, for a little extra wild excitement,  get an escape to the grocery store to get milk, drink an airline liquor bottle on the way, and aggressively tackle the sample hand out lady.

You see, the plan is to invest in your kids so that you CAN rock on an island. I'm getting close.

Actually, screw it, I'm close enough.

We're leaving for Mexico in 15 minutes.

EGB don't stay up too late and make sure you give Baby B some milk.  See you in a couple of days or weeks.

Call the neighbors if you need a ride to school.

Now get back to work.

http://youtu.be/HxVii4Hj1c8