Sean: You know what a good job for Flora would be? Designing coins for the Canadian mint.
Flora: Yeah, that would be pretty cool. I bet I’d be good at that.
Cinder: Please, please, please, if you do get that job, please, please, please design a coin with a penis on it.
Flora: Um… how about if I design a coin with your face on it?
Cinder: No, do one with a penis.
Flora: You’d be more famous if I designed a coin with your face on it.
Cinder: I’d rather be famous for my penis.
Zeus help me.
July 29, 2012
A reading assignment that will change your life:
Those kisses you sent, I found them wandering
around the house. They were acting a little
lost, not knowing exactly where I was.
I was busy upstairs. But now we are all having
tea and talking about you, and wishing you
And they imparted all you intended. They did
One more thing: I have seen you at your best
and at your worst; still you are always welcome
A writing exercise to do instead of being cynical:
Hafiz makes me fall in love with the world, and so, while you’re reading Hafiz this week, I want you to write about loving the world. Through the week, carry a handful of index cards and a pen with you, and whenever you see something you love, whip out a card and write about it.
And when you see someone you love, tell them you love them. And then, write about what it felt like.
(I know, I’m totally going soft. It’s Hafiz…)
This is the eleventh week of my 12-week unplugged AWOL (don’t tell my clients… um or too many of my friends 😉 ). No phones, no wifi… also, no winter! I’m going to be documenting things old school via journals and postcards (if you want a postcard from… well, that place where I’m hiding… email your snail mail address to firstname.lastname@example.org).
The blog’s on auto-pilot with a conversation from the archives, a reading recommendation, a writing assignment (cause I can’t nag any of you in person), and unsolicited advice… er, that is, a re-run post of the kind I don’t write very often anymore.
Biking as a metaphor for life
first published on June 5, 2012
We’re out on our bikes all the time again, and we’re a bit of a gong-show―Ender, Maggie the rat, er, runt Terrier in the biggest bicycle ever (this one), Cinder on his snake bike, Flora on a bike she can barely lift―but needs to ride instead of the little one she can handle because that’s the only way she can keep up with her big brother. Cinder’s usually up ahead, Flora chases him for a while then falls back to ride with me. Ender squeals with delight and Maggie squeals with terror. And I get all sappy, watching them ride, and remembering that it wasn’t that long ago that I had both Cinder and Flora in a trailer behind me… and then Cinder on training wheels… and then Cinder on a little bike…
When Cinder dropped his training wheels and we started going for longer bike rides, I noticed one day how we were usually riding–he in front, setting the pace, going like a madman at first, then slower and slower, and me behind, pulling his sister in the trailer, keeping an eye on the path and possible obstacles, the two of us occasionally stopping to talk, then moving on…
And I was earnestly, sappily, struck with how we biked was so reflective of how I saw parenting and learning and living and all of that. And I got so in love with this metaphor, and started writing it out in more detail in my head and developing it into a huge life-changing thesis that I was going to write up for one of my yahoo groups or an article or maybe an entire book … that I stopped paying attention to the path and the real universe around me and I rode right into a post.
Nope. I’m cycling hard, chasing Cinder, keeping an eye on Flora, restraining Maggie, chatting to Ender, but my mind again turns the moment into a metaphor and a story―and bam!
It might even have been the same lightpost.