Sister's An Artist Too

Little sister gets in on the art game too, as shown. My mom showed her the trick where the kid lies down on a big piece of paper and lets you trace him or her. Last night she kept wandering the area near my chair, placing the paper on the floor, and then lying on it at various angles, until no daddy in the world could have resisted the urge to trace that little girl. Her toes came out the cutest because I ran the crayon around each one with the feet pressed flat to the floor. We had great fun drawing with chalk on unplaced hexagonal pavers in the back yard the other day too. And who could forget the fun we've had with modelling clay - the tools they give one to work clay with these days, snakes and boulders incredible. I'm tellin' you, kids know how to party right, all night, every night, so we get along swell.

Two nights ago the kids were tearing around the yard looking for goblins in the dark corners. Sister got bored of that and climbed into the wagon, wanting to be pulled around. I pulled them both over terrain 98% of adults would consider impassable with a Radio-Flyer. These moves would have added more value than dollar-Budweisers to the thrill of any monster truck mud bog dirtbike jumping alcohol burning funny car stuntfest, with only minor screaming involved. When we were all finished up and inside getting ready for bed I found a large black beetle deep inside poor Gumba's rainbow stretch-pants. Surprised me. Must have crawled up there during the the wagon adventure. The boy said that it stank. I took his word for it.

All My Friends Are Artists

The boy amazes me with his art. I drew some similar stuff at that age, but his work often more resembles my art from two or three years older. That's a snake, not a worm, by the way. The starry night takes me places difficult to describe. And the "horn trying to blow the sun away" offers just a glimpse into what he must be thinking about. I mean, this is something I never in my whole life considered, me of the giant guitar-car ideas, lover of Tesla and sound demolitions, sonic weaponry and stereo wars. Much thanks to mama and both grandmamas for encouraging the art angle.

Iron Goddess

Claudia gave me the figurine on the left for my birthday, and a coworker gave me the box of tea on the right because she knows I'm a tea junkie, and it was just moldering away on her shelf anyway. Introduction to the Iron Goddess goes on, one leg tucked in to represent constant meditation, and the other ready to launch the body into action to help those in need. A female representation of Buddha. The tea (Ti Kwan Yin) drank down real delicious and invigorating too, superfine. These forms have drawn me to them, inspired heartfelt peace and aspirations of growth. I like the story of Buddha where she lets ants build a hill on her as she meditates. Life force control, it's the shiznits.

Another storm on the way. It kneads me and needs me. Just a few blue patches left in a darkening sky, no turning back, nothing to say or do (other than drag all my crap getting ruined in the rain into the garage).

Storms-A-Comin'

Accordion skies contort, invert, and weep young widows' insanity laughter. The muffled shrieks follow me as sudden pressure changes, send icy fingers through my open window. Some would call it a storm, but I take it for a gray harbinger of clockwork death driving mindless dust devils to engage fallen leaves and relapse victims, cutting out the dead wood, cleaning up the cities and poisoning the bay. The rain falls on Mt. Tamelpais, I can see it now, but not here yet. The rain calls me, texts me, clogs my inbox with invitations, knocks on windows at odd hours, asks if we would join the dogs of weather that rule the sky, text messages of the wild just a short vibration on my hip, again, again, persistent canine questioning. This storms-a-gonna wash me right down the stormdrain to the bay, and from there into the wide Pacific, just what Dr. Feelgreat ordered.

17-Months of Soul Instruction

Seventeen months old now and growing fast. Peed in the potty for the first time last weekend. Twenty-nine pounds now, well on her way to catching up with her 40-lb brother. The line between walking and running blurs as she passes. Last night she passed me and I thought she was her big brother because she moved and sounded so much like him. She doesn't cry when I put her to sleep in her crib anymore, just lets me tuck the blankets in around her while singing the goodnight I love you song, so sweet.