signing up

hyacinthththths, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Some people plant in the spring and leave in the summer. If you're signed up for a season, see it through. You don't have to stay forever, but at least stay until you see it through.

-- Jim Rohn

awol

If you happen to find a wayward keychain wallet-y looking thing that looks sad and lost, will you please give it directions back to my house? It somehow managed to meander away while I was at work tonight and I am already missing it terribly.

You can check all the stuff inside. If my drivers license, social security card, medicare card, foodstamps card and debit card don't provide you enough clues to who I am or where I live, you can try the car and house keys to see if they'll work in my locks.

Feel free to help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. I only ask that you clean up after yourself.

Thank you.

move on

go ahead with your own life, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Seven pounds and eleven ounces of holy cow,
Bald for the first year or so,
Blond ringlets the following few

A meteorological worrier those first five years,
keeping a close eye on dew points and scary lightning,
Managing his world by understanding it

The year or two of getting dragged to Saturday morning rec activities
Because its good for you, that's why.

The odds have regularly been stacked against this one.
Well-behaved. Quiet. Slightly introverted.
Single child in single parent household.
One hundred seventy five percent of fed. poverty level.
Occasionally unstable parent. The other one too.

But loved? Oh my. Yes.
Unto embarrassment, probably, but
what is the point of loving if it cannot be demonstrated?

And now.
Now.
He's moving on, as each kid should do.
First apartment.
This is what provides stomach acids their due process:
the eager sense of no more rules,
churning along with a nervous realization of no more rules.
It's part of the Constitution, the Liturgy,
the ecumenical sense of rightness and order.
The child shall leave the home and cleave to something or another,
but neither mom nor dad nor any others of the loudmouth huggers
can adequately fill this next thing, it has to be the uniquely personal real deal.

On my early morning trek to the bathroom
I paused at his bedroom door this morning.
I don't know what I expected to have happen in that emptying room.
Tap dancing frogs in top hats? A banner reading 'You did everything perfectly, Mom'.
Maybe I didn't expect anything;
maybe I'm trying to make connections the same way he used to with hail and tornadoes.

Outside the window, the sky lumbered under weighty rain clouds.
Cry cry cry, sky.
Go ahead. you know you want to.
Here, let me help you get things started.

My responsibility is officially becoming less a responsibility than an equal.
This is not what I expected.
My empty nest will be far from empty, it is true.

Even so,
This quiet dull morning makes me feel, acutely,
the rending of space and time,
a near-miss narrowly avoided accident that doesn't happen at
the intersection of memory lane and futurama boulevard.
How the fuck did that happen? Was I really that unaware?

Please world, I ask only a few things of you.
In return for this child's full entrance into your Big Club
I ask only that you watch over him.
Treat him gently.
Encourage his curiosity. Engage him.
Keep him thinking.

Show him challenges and give him the tools to accomplish them.
Show him bitterness in doses just small enough to taste on the back of his tongue.
Teach him how to earn others' faith and trust. And their respect.
Demonstrate to others how he has earned theirs.
Show him hard times, but no so hard that he can't get back up.
And give him as much love as you can possibly gather up.
I raised him up to this point.
Now he's yours.

clues

left behind, originally uploaded by McBeth.

Where do babies come from? Don't bother asking adults. They lie like pigs. However, diligent independent research and hours of playground consultation have yielded fruitful, if tentative, results. There are several theories. Near as we can figure out, it has something to do with acting ridiculous in the dark. We believe it is similar to dogs when they act peculiar and ride each other. This is called "making love". Careful study of popular song lyrics, advertising catch-lines, TV sitcoms, movies, and T-Shirt inscriptions offers us significant clues as to its nature. Apparently it makes grown-ups insipid and insane. Some graffiti was once observed that said "sex is good". All available evidence, however, points to the contrary.

-- Matt Groening

return to the soil

progressive recession, originally uploaded by McBeth.

You will die but the carbon will not; its career does not end with you. It will return to the soil, and there a plant may take it up again in time, sending it once more on a cycle of plant and animal life.

-- Jacob Bronowski