fathering gold

What’s that they say about a man’s home being his castle? It’s true – I’ll tell you now. As I sit here, the final bits of daylight streaking Wednesday’s cloudy sky, I’m all alone (save for the cat and the pasta on the stove, if they count). Sharaun’s with Keaton at church. I, an occasional heathen, chose not to go. I know, I know, I shouldn’t forgo it, but… I did. So I sit here once again, with the windows open wide to catch the failing sun before it’s gone, Radiohead’s new LP loud on the speakers, and some bachelor-style pasta aboil on the stove. I can put an ‘a’ before “boil” and make it a fancier verb, right? I think you can do that with any verb, technically, if archaically at that. Anyway, I’m’a do it and you’re’a read it… and that’s about it, K? Let’s do this thang.

Seriously though, I’ve explored the theme of how much I love my “home” before on this blog, but moreso lately the whole theme keeps replaying in my head. Pretty sure it has to do with the fact that, during these last few days of sabbatical “downtime,” I’ve not strayed far from the comforts of the place. Cloistered tight within the walls, satisfied to waste the wonderful days reading and listening to music and lounging. I know, you’re saying, how many dang times can I write about “being lazy and listening to music?” A lot, apparently. For reals, though, I am having a truly good time… even if I do have a slight tinge of guilt about wasting so many fine outdoor hours. I feel I’ve earned some time to atrophy and watch the dust motes drift, I just do. In fact, the way I feel right about now, nothing could pry the smile from the corners of my mouth – I just feel good; happy; contented; in clover.

Speaking of Radiohead’s new album… What? Oh, I wasn’t? Hmmm…. well, shutup then. Speaking of Radiohead’s new album, I find it fantastic. And I’m confident that, with the two-plus hours of unadulterated listening time I have before me now, of which, by the way, I’m already taking full advantage, the thing will continue to grow on me. Man, I hope the comma/clause thing I have going on in that sentence is valid. You should get this album. It’s free, what do you care? Seriously… go and download it from anywhere… it’s all over the internetsites out there. If you have trouble finding it, this link should help. Good listening to ya.

Before I leave the subject, though, and because the message boards I frequently lurk on are alive with Radiohead chatter this day, I wanted to just pass along a hilarious quote from a looong thread about In Rainbows. This quote, I’m afraid, holds Nostradamus-esque signs and portents for how my own listening party will likely tonight, mere minutes from now, I’ll wager:

Well, after an evening of Radiohead holiday, reality slaps me in the face as my girlfriend walks in, politely listens to “15 Step” and “Bodysnatchers,” and then asks me to turn it off so she can watch that reality show about the restaurants that suck until the one guy comes in and makes them not suck, while making people cry.

Seeya tomorrow, Radiohead.

Moving on.

One of the fondest memories I have from my days as a kid is throwing a bottle to sea. A note I’d written, with help from dad, rolled tight and tucked inside, I can remember rearing back and tossing it off the end of the pier with all my might into the breakwater. My dad suggested both my brother and I do it, something to do together for fun. I don’t know what it is, but there is something distinctly “manly” feeling about throwing a message in a bottle into the surf. I suppose it evokes the survivalist archetype ingrained in the male psyche, or somesuch Jungian nonsense… Regardless, as activities for young boys to do with their dads go, it ranks up near the top to me. We used the resealable clamp/stopper-type bottles, you know, the ones with the ceramic/rubber stopper on the metal hinge thing you push down against the neck for the tension seal.

Even though I don’t remember the exact contents of the notes us young castaways tossed asea that day, I do remember including our addresses and an admonishment to any potential finders that we’d love to hear from them. I remember walking to the very tippy-top of the pier and chucking the thing into the coming waves, watching them bob in place for a bit before losing sight of them in the wash, hoping they’d make their way out to the deeper waters and maybe catch a swell that’d carry them to some foreign land. Man, what a great “bonding” thing to do with your kids, eh? Kudos, pop – that was fathering gold right there. Never did get a response from those bottles, I suppose. Likely they ended up in tidepool on the beach near the pier, never really going anywhere – but, that didn’t matter to me. I’m gonna do that with my own kid(s) one day… I promise. Way cool.

Awww crap, I thought it sounded familiar… last paragraph here. Three and a half years ago… must be running out of memories.

‘Fore I go, I was randomly reading posts again… here’s another bit I found funny and had forgotten writing altogether. Third paragraph into this one. A piece of string… still laughing.


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One Reply to “fathering gold”

  1. What’s funny is, not only did you forget about writing about throwing the bottle into the ocean, I was going to comment and tell my balloon story again. That is until I read your older entry and saw my previous comment. Dang.
    Enjoy the rest of your sabbatical, it goes by fast!

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