when i come home at night, in the early morning hours after the end of the shift, sometimes she rustles up out of bed and garbles out in the dark, “Dahdee!”
with each crawl, step, gargle and giggle, children mark, and they are the mark of, our mortality .
and i am willing to give myself over to this churning, to this growing, i will finally give myself over to time and let it have its way with me as long as time cares for this one, as long as time makes all the time in the world for her.
he had been there before the time he hadn’t been and although this isn’t the right way to tell it, it had been telling for some time before it could be written.
he had washed ashore on her and although she would regret much of it later, she was amused in the beginning, as all these sort of things. her hair was soft, tickled his neck.
rumpled up into himself, he carried on, knuckles dragging along the wall. he would have bent up if he hadn’t left his spine between Broadway and sometime or another.
there would have more blue, if only it didn’t hurt so much and take away everything.
frankly, i’m not surprised
there’s something really cool about outlaws, especially when you don’t expect much from them.
about this house, it was the first one that we almost bought, coming this close to actually fully executing a contract.
we found it by chance because it was in the same neighborhood as a much less expensive, but albeit worse condition, house similar in style. what we loved about this house was that it’s kitchen and bathrooms were up-to-date, jacuzzi in the master bathroom, that sort of thing. we were enamored with the neighborhood, a shady and secluded nook just off the highway with only one hard to spot road in and out of it.
unfortunately what we didn’t like about the house was its lack of finished basement (which, considering the steep asking price, was a surprise). in addition, it was a fairly small house, with strained closets in the bedrooms. it was also on the edge of the community that we became enamored with, facing a fairly well hidden but noisy highway.
what killed the deal however was that the seller uprooted trees from the property despite the fact that we had threatened to walk away from the deal. the day after we had signed the contract for the property, i wanted to show the house to a family friend only to find that there were already four mature trees removed and shrubs planted in their place.
in hindsight, it’s been for the best, for the reasons above, and now hopefully we’re buying a much bigger house, almost twice the living space but needing a little bit of work, for much less than what were we willing to pay for this one.
i have to admit though, seeing this house still on the market half a year later… i get all warm and gushy inside.
After tooling around with this blog nonsense, both the private one and this one here, decided to go ahead and update the server. oh boy, did fun then ensue.
first apache wouldn’t come back up for nothing. turns out the service pack installs the latest multiprocessor version which the old bastard i have just doesn’t know how to deal with. so i installed the uni-processor version.
after that i completely fubar’d the web interface to our email.
my solution? why, we’ll just apply the latest service pack to that silly thang.
anyway, long story short, 48 hours later i got working blogs.
when had there been a time when all the cliches were new?
when had there been a time when every word we thought was clever and fresh and never spoken before?
prowling the night like cats, lion kings on a quest stalking the streets, hopping trains. children old enough to envision just the edges of a future.
and now, mired in the present, disentangling myself from a future that i no longer look forward to, fearing it, wedging a foot between its chin and neck, holding it at bay.
i look at my daughter and i can see my youth all over again and sometimes, especially when she does one other thing she had never done before, sometimes it’s more than well worth it.
when they’re first born, they’re miracles, needy, noisy fragile little miracles of flesh. nervous and scared to be alive.
then they grow a little, flap their limbs, learn to turn over, listen to the nervous world that is suddenly around them.
soon they start grabbing things and pull themselves along. up they go, up, up and away, knocking down everything in their stumbling path.
little pets they become to whom you teach stupid tricks. clap your hands, say mommy, say daddy, please and thank you, come here, no, no, that’s garbage, that’s daddy’s, that mommy’s and so on and so on.
you chase them just to keep them from growing up any faster.
and i had wanted an end to this, this gnawing of the gums against elbows, this rubbing against the cement.
i had wanted to say, “this was,” and to turn and, pointing again, say “this is”
and for it to be radically beautiful and simple and elegant and final and certainly not this, this turning and turning, pointing and pointing, over and over, “this was, this is, this was, this is, this was, this is….”
testing the limits of my privacy. mz doesn’t want foreign unknown eyes to roam over me, the text, as if they are one and the same, when all this is prepetually different, differing, deferring away from me.