From the Table
This leaf found its way here (I like the textures together).
The sun did the same (I like the lines).
Avocados
If We buy avocados that are not quite ripe, We set them in the sun. To speed ripen them. This one caught My eye so I did a bit more with it. Also, I love shooting on this little bistro table in the summer. It’s so weathered it always comes out black and white.
Something about these photos still seems a bit off to Me, but I wanted to let them be. No filters, no editing. Nothing but the photo.
Already Left for a Bit
So, I wrote this a month ago intending to post it and explain the silence. I procrastinated so much that it’s just now going up. I view four weeks of procrastination as an accomplishment.
Over the last six months, I’ve spread Myself thin. If it weren’t for My midsection, I’d be thin in every aspect. Outside of work (a thinly spread challenge all its own at the moment) I’ve started so many projects for myself that I can’t even keep track. This blog has been going for three years now, I think, and it is one of those projects. There are at least half a dozen others. At least.
That has always been My style. Always have something going. And there is a strategy to that. If something ever drops, there are other things to take the place of the fallen idea. It’s like having an array of backup plans at the ready at all times. I guess it’s more a method than a strategy. But that method is not working.
I have so much going that I’m not able to devote enough time to get any one of those things off the ground, off the page, or off My desk. I need to drop something. And right now I think that something needs to be this blog. So that’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take a month off. I may still post from time to time, but I need to take this off the burner for a while so I’m not beating Myself up for neglecting it. I’m working on a novella that I’d like to give a fight chance, I’ve got a children’s book in the works, and I’m finally allowing myself to spend a bit of time with my camera. So that’s what I’m going to do for a while. Edit, pester MY illustrator, and shoot.
It will feel good to lessen the load. Even if these three things fail, at least I’ll be able to look at them and know that I gave them the time they needed. That will be a successful failure and if failure is how any or all of them need to end, then so be it. But I’ll fight.
But I’m back (I’m starting to feel like one of those athletes who goes in and out of retirement and whose name escapes Me because I know less about sports than any other topic ever created). I want to start posting more photos but I’m bad at resizing them and arranging them like I see them in My head and this theme is bad at doing anything correctly. I’m thinking about going back to Blogger. It’s a great service and there are a lot of good people on it. And I’ll always own this domain. I’m not fully decided, though. I guess it will depend on how easily I’m able to post and arrange photos as I see fit this weekend.
Could Mario be my brother?
This month He’ll turn 8, a significant milestone for the pre-10s (like the 18 of single digits, maybe?), and on that day I will have been in His life for 82 months, or 6 5/6 years. But He still doesn’t know that there was ever a time during which I wasn’t His dad, because We haven’t told him.
Pause. Let Me save you a bit of time: Yes, We’re awful people. And We’ve now destroyed everything. And He’ll need therapy. And We’re failing parents. And I’m a bastard. And She’s an awful mother. And We really screwed up. And Springer (is he still on?) would love Us.
But I also know that that’s not the case.
This situation bothers Me. It’s almost haunting. It’s something We’ve always thought about without ever really thinking about it. It’s always been there. We didn’t expect it to go away, but it wasn’t an active thought because I’ve always been His dad. Me. Not some other guy He doesn’t know.
Those of you who’ve adopted or are/were in My position (not yet having officially adopted) and have already told your kids are probably rolling your eyes and that’s fine. In fact, that’s good. Roll them like crazy because that will at least let Me know that it’s not as big a deal as I’m making it. Unless you’re rolling them because We’re stupid for waiting, or I’m wrong for not adopting yet, or We’re screwed because He’s passed the ideal age and Our only way out is by taking a guilt-induced trip to Disney. Because We don’t need to hear that.
I know the difference between a father and a dad in the sense that “any man can be a father but it takes a real man to be dad” and I believe that, but I’m not the one that needs to believe it or hear it. I also know that I am His real father because, aside from the biology, I’ve been everything a father is for Him and He doesn’t know His biological father (Click here for a bit more information). But We’re stuck trying to decide when We should tell Him. Oh, and how to tell Him. And where and who else We should tell and how to prepare for the questions and how to answer the questions and how we’re going to pay for college and retirement and Christmas gifts for the grandkids. So We heap a bit. But just a bit. And now We’re staring at this mountain of intimidating questions and We fear that if We handle one incorrectly the whole thing will come collapsing on Us and He’ll be caught in the storm.
Then two days ago He asks, casually, “Can Mario be my brother?”
Brief tangent: He’s into Nintendo. We’ve managed to keep Him away from the super hero craze, the Pokemon fetish, and just about everything else We dislike, but Nintendo snuck its way in. Or, to be specific, Mario did. It started with Wii, then transitioned to SNES (I know, totally awesome), and now to a DS. I still have mixed feelings on it.
So, can Mario be His brother? Well, not exactly. It would be hard for a Japanese-born Italian plumber who’s probably now in his mid to late fifties to be the brother of a 8-year-old american Midwesterner (but it would make a great politically correct greeting card). So She says, being the first thing that comes to mind, “No, I would need to have a baby for you to have a brother.” And I thought, sure, that explanation makes sense. Then it hit Me! Time to get a foot (or at lease My little toe) in the door!
“Or We could adopt a baby!” He stared and She stared and then I spent the next several minutes explaining that We are NOT in fact going to adopt but that a baby does not have to come from someone (BIRDS BEES BIRDS BEES STORKS) to be their child or someones brother or sister. If a man and a woman have a baby, I explain, and they aren’t able to keep the baby because they aren’t ready (I was at a loss for reasons), then someone else could adopt the baby and it would be their son or daughter, brother or sister.
Did He get it? Did I explain it in a way that wasn’t completely messed up? I don’t know. But it got Me thinking again. A lot. And now I’ve gone back to discussions between Her and I and to a few quick chats with both Her parents and Mine and I decided to recap what We decided on:
-Telling Him sooner rather than later is best because He will find out and We want to be the ones to tell Him.
-Tell everyone in the family that We told Him so everyone relays the same message if confronted.
-Tell His teacher, who’s probably one of the single most amazing k-12 teachers I’ve met in the last decade, so she can be prepared if any questions arise.
-Don’t be negative about His biological father when We tell Him . . . even though We both think He’s a raving, worthless asshole . . . so yeah, this one will be hard.
-Be okay with questions.
-Make sure He knows that I am, I always have been, and I always will be His dad (this one is obvious, but it’s also the most important . . . and potentially the most difficult).
We had all of that in line, noted, and ready, but We still couldn’t figure out the when or the how. But We need to figure it out. Quickly. This is Our journey today and it will remain Our journey for the rest of Our life. Now, slather it all with Her crippling fear that He will someday want to meet His biological father and there you have Us. Trapped in a corner of confusion, trying desperately not to have Our heap destroy Us.
Searching for the Perfect Melt
Every time I’m home for lunch and have an extra minute, I make a tuna melt. I love tuna melts and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
Wheat bread, Tuna (very easy on the mayo), sharp cheddar, tomato, dill (if available). The best lunch possible. But I have yet to perfect it. It’s overdone, underdone, under crispy, over melty. One side is toasted, one side is not. I can’t seem to do it. So this is a request for advice: How do I make the perfect melt? Read: cheese is just melted, bread is lightly browned on both sides, tuna is warm, taste is perfect.
I broil. Is that wrong? Do I toast and then broil? I know I could probably Google this and get millions of opinions on how to do it right and some would contain onion or pickles or something else that I don’t want (I could add pepper) but why use Google when I can consult right here?
Exactly. My next lunch could depend on your suggestions.
(This is My recent attempt: Good, but not fully toasty and not as warm as I would like.)
Taken with Instagram
Three Things I’ll Never Be Able to Do
I may have mentioned one of these in the past, in passing, but it’s time to come clean. Flat out.
1. Make a Mix Tape/CD/Playlist
This will never happen successfully. I love music. It’s a huge part of My life and I both respect and appreciate a well composed list of tracks. But I can’t make a well composed list. For anything. Workout, chill out, space out, commute, work, write. It doesn’t matter what the desired venue of such a mix would be. I can’t assemble one.
I had a radio show in college. Not sure what I was thinking, but I took the plunge with a friend of mine. Luckily, she had a mastery of mix tapes (CDs, actually) unlike anything I’d ever seen. I suggested a few songs, she filled in the remainder of the two hours with what made sense. It was beautiful. The show I did without her that one time? Absolute crap. A mishmash of jam acoustics, indie rock, random CDs from the shelf, and embarrassment.
I tucked this failure away a couple weeks back when Dear Leila released her January mix and I was again hit with the reality of My shortcoming.
Bottom line: Some can do it, some can’t. Those who can have a gift. Those who are Me should stop trying all together.
2. Cook
I know I’ve gone over this before in one way or another (and it will come up again because it haunts Me), but I need to just say it: I can’t cook. I can eat, I can enjoy, and I can pick out the tasty nuances of a dish, but I can’t put those nuances into a dish. I can’t put anything into a dish that makes it enjoyable. She says “just taste it and add this and some of this” and screw that. I can’t do it.
I’ve thrown away too many pans full of food, or what was once food, to pretend any longer. I have many endearing qualities and cooking is not one of them.
3. Get my oil changed without feeling like an idiot.
Never going to happen. I don’t understand cars, I don’t understand filters, and I don’t understand why a transmission flush is required every so-many-thousand miles. I don’t even know what it means when they say “flush” in regards to a transmission. All I try to do is get in and get out for the least amount of money.
The 5W30 conventional, My wipers are fine, I’ll replace the license-plate lights (hell if I know how), and no, My tires are not in need of rotation. They rotate every time I drive.
I should understand these things. I should know when things are due, how much they’ll cost, if I can do them on My own (that’s just wishful thinking). I shouldn’t know these things because I’m a guy, I should know them because I own a car. But I don’t know them. And I won’t know them. I’m so disinterest in anything mechanical that I can’t bear to think about spending time to figure it out. Meaning I prefer to look like an idiot every 3000-5000 miles instead of educating Myself.