PoetasterSalad - M e l o d i o u s T h u n k !

Having passed the one year anniversary of our new place I realize that here, just like before the project list is endless.  Big difference is that for the first time all our projects are within walking distance of each other.  Last month we had a friend helping clear brush and he got a bit overzealous on the blackberry thicket - taking it all the way back to the fence.  While our late summer blackberry harvest was decimated, a huge amount of new flat space appeared between the goat shed and the fence. 

 

The new vista inspired in me a desire to design and build a sleeping porch back there and to remove the marginally useful goat shed.  I envision a raised, covered deck about 10-12 feet wide and about 30 feet long with a set of stairs at each end.  The deck would have a closed back and be covered by a sloped shed roof to protect it from the rain.  About every 5-6 feet would be a round support post.  Each of these posts would host eyebolts from which would hang a nylon sleeping hammock (About $30 at the local hardware store). 

 

I have seen films of South American tribes who use hammocks as their only furniture - laying crossways functions like a lounger.  Great way to entertain or relax. 

Part of the plan for moving farther out into the country included selling the old SAAB of joy and buying a new, more reliable motorcycle for commuting purposes.  Motorcycles get priority loading on the ferries, can use the carpool lanes and have better gas mileage.  Thus for commuting purposes (went from 14mi to nearly 30mi one way) a motorcycle is the way to go - at least in the summer months.

Picked up a 2004 Moto Guzzi V11 Ballabio with 200mi on the clock.  Have been driving it for about a month now and like it so much have been considering getting rid of the BMW.  Fun bike to ride, stable and not too many tweaks necessary.  More upgrades and ride analysis minutia later.  For now, here's the pix:

In my family I frequently find myself playing infrastructure support roles.  Making sure the car is unloaded, the washing machine is still running, picking up and cleaning off the lawn tools - all the things that pile up if you don't stay on top of them.   Since there is always more to do, I frequently find myself getting distracted - I start moving some stuff out to the shed and before you know it I am loading the truck for a dump run or hanging a coat rack.  From my families perspective I seem to periodically disappear. "Where's Daddy" is a refrain my wife has taught the boys to remind me that not everything needs to be done *right* now.

 

I come from a long line of savers and I don't move often.  These can be a paralyzing combination as I tend to amass projects and boxes which follow me around and whisper enticingly for endless organization.  Of course much of this stuff is priceless treasure or something my kids would find waaaay cool...if I could find it.  Too many times now my older boy has said something along the lines of "I'd like to fly a kite/read this book/have a compass etc." and my response has been "Oh, I have one of those...it's in a box somewhere".  This has been a consistent enough refrain that I have sketched out a whole series of children's books based upon the idea of a son and father finding cool things in the garage that dad has squirreled away.  Unfortunately the caretaking of my collection has pre-empted any efforts at writing or illustrating said books so far.

 

This week my youngest came up with a refrain my wife decided will go on my headstone should I pass before her.  I came back inside from some crucial sojurn to the shed to my wife and son playing the following game:

 

Wife: "Where's Daddy?"

Son: "He's in a box!"

 

I think I'll clean out the storage shed this weekend.

My heart is filled with sorrow tonight.  A dear friend fell victim tonight to a speeding car.  I was back at the old house packing up crates for moving when my wife called to tell me that she and the boys came upon the still warm body of our beloved cat Zipper in the road outside our new house.  She had a presentation earlier in the evening and the boys had gone to help her while I was moving furniture.  I closed up and headed home - a nearly two hour journey due to an accident on the viaduct and a long ferry wait.

 

I made it home after 11pm and the family were all curled up in bed.  The boys were asleep, my wife still waiting up.  She filled me in on the details and how everyone was doing.  My eldest, who had picked Zipper out from a friend who runs a rescue colony, was distraught.  I'm happy he got to hold his cat for awhile to say goodbye.  Our youngest was sad too but a little perplexed I don't know he understands yet that Zipper won't wake up.

 

I am left with a hole much larger than you would think an eight pound cat could leave behind.  Even as a kitten Zipper was an exceptional cat.  Fully a member of the family from the first, he prefered sleeping with each member of the family every night and he would make the rounds - putting our eldest to bed and then tucking himself in behind my knees later in the evening.  Zipper was amazingly trusting for a rescue cat - he would roll on his back to have his belly or chin scratched and would wrestle with my feet in the kitchen when I cooked or did dishes.  When my wife was pregnant with our youngest, Zipper napped on her every day to keep her company and he continued the tradition with the baby nearly every afternoon for the past two years.  Zipper and I would frequently box with him holding a place of advantage from the upper bunk and he would let me know his food dish was empty by stretching himself to his full length up my leg or with the loudest meow in the world.

 

I'll miss Zipper's head-bonk greetings, slow-blink kitty kisses, playing happy paws and purring while he's scratched. 

 

Goodbye my friend.

Rereading my last post I was initially dismayed to think I have slipped into the age where physical aliments become conversational gambits.  As a young man, l am now ashamed to say I was scornful when hearing my elders discussing their various health problems.  When you are young, biology is embarassing, other people's complaints are annoying and there are infinately many more interesting things to talk about.

 

I now realize that conversation topics function to strengthen the social connections of the conversers.  What is beyond the pale in some communities is de rigeur in others.  Swapping health problem stories is merely another way of searching for bonds of commonality (or fostering competition through one-upsmanship) upon which further connection can be built.  When I was 15 the analogue was music.  What bands do you like or not like was the first question out of my mouth when meeting a new kid at school, family event or out in the world.  How we answered helped identify our identities to strangers but also was the language of building a connection and establishing status heirarchy.

 

The crux of human conversation is a search for commonality.  I have a vivid memory from years back of watching two strangers on a plane fumble about with with topic gambits until one mentioned their favorite Seinfeld episode.  Immediately their seatmate brightened and the rest of their trip passed with a very animated conversation recounting characters in their shared Seinfeld universe. 

 

Incidentally my back is better but I am happy to have recognized a whole new world of connection possibilities now that I too can participate in my elders' common language.  I just need to remember the music stuff too so I can stay in touch with my 12-year old as well.