No one really knows

About three years ago, Jack discovered Rent. He either heard some songs or read about it and became somewhat fixated.
For his Rite of passage ceremony when he was thirteen, I arranged to have a friend who is a professional vocalist sing his favorite song from the show. As soon as she started I was a watery lumpy throated mess. It meant so much to him on a deep level.
I've wanted to be cognizant of that so I have bought him tickets to see the show whenever it's been in town, and subsequently, he has never seen it.
The first time, two years ago, we had a massive snow storm blizzard and couldn't even get on the highway. The second, Gus took him and they got the the community theater where it was showing and it was sold out. The third time he was actually in California and had to leave the day of the first performance.
Lastly, today; I had purchased tickets for a performance at a local college a mile from our house. I managed to corral some of the last seats available and there is no inclement weather in sight.
Jack woke up with a fever.

There's no one to blame

Rage is ever present in our lives. I think it lives mostly in the youthful days, and then slowly manifests itself differently as we age. Why do we want to hurt something so badly, including and often ourselves?
Okay, it's an eternal question and bigger than us, unsolvable for the most part. There are parts of the quandary that are obvious as in when we're young, things are harder to sort out, clarity is tenuous and eventually for most of us things gel and we manage to make space in our psyche for the unknown and the ambiguous. Or, it just doesn't matter as much. We soften or become more resigned to the obvious flow of life.
Either way, it separates us, women often turn it inward, men seem to become sullen and though the anger is less sharp and focused, it remains, waiting expectantly.

Show them what you're worth

Last night I was watching a movie about a Polish woman that saved half of the Jews left alive in her small town during WWII by hiding most of them in a loft above a pigsty and some in a dug-out below her kitchen, for almost two years. There had been six thousand living there, by the start of the war there were thirty left.
It was not so much just the story of the people cramped into tiny places for all that time,who subsequently could not stand straight or talk above a whisper for months after their liberation, but how under the enormous pressures of prying neighbors, poverty and the promise of execution if she was caught, this woman and her daughter managed to provide humanity in a barren place.
I know with these stories the notion of the experience is what we take away. But Eamon and I were talking about the movie, I thought about the every day. They probably did not change their clothes, they had to hand down their waste to Francisca Halamajowa to mix with her pig poop in order to hide it.
I needed some perspective this week, though I didn't know to what extent, but I got a good whack in the head of what a sense of suffering can be and what a little discomfort feels like.

By the garden

I love Steven Seagal and I'm not afraid to admit it. It's not a romantic thing, it's the perfect combination of cheesy action adventure, martial arts and pseudo mysticism that bring it all together.
As a kid, I used to see martial arts movies with my Dad. It was one of the things we shared, but more so, that expanded to an interest in Eastern philosophies, karate and of course Bruce Lee.

I've always admired the level of discipline and commitment it takes to become a master at anything, and that's because I don't seem to have either of those things.
Last week I ordered a ukulele with plans to start a new journey of discovery. It arrived and and I took it out of the box, worked on some chords and practiced on and off for awhile. Of course it sounded as if I was a novice, that's to be expected.
Gus came home a few hours after that and picked up the instrument and began to play it as if he'd been doing it his entire life. And, there was little or no pausing between chords, he just went to town on it. I gave it to him because really what other choice did I have. I'll get another one, they are not expensive. I expect to play it, but not necessarily well.

Into tiny grains of sand

And the weekend started off with a bang. Gus came in for some unknown reason. Jake went to pick him up in Columbus and they were home for about fifteen minutes and one of them said "lets go." I asked where and why, in that they had just gotten here. After some discussion they took my car to go to Melt.
At about midnight, due to my restless nature compounded by whatever hormonal mash up is occurring I was awake and went downstairs to walk around and look out the window.
I found a note from Jake to his dad fessing up to knocking off his side view mirror with his car as they were moving it to put mine in the garage.
I went outside to take a look at the glory, and Jake was out there taping (or not actually), the mirror back on. He looked over at me with a grin that was not unlike the last expression I think of when I picture Heath Ledger. I kind of stored that one, and then at the same time noticed that his car doesn't even reach the height of the side view, so in that second I knew that Gus had hit it with my car.
The subsequent screaming, finger pointing, and gnashing of teeth resulted in Eamon coming out of our room as I was approaching. This is what I had been dreading, his reaction, after over a week of illness, a huge expensive car repair from a previous good deed, and my trying to please the fellows by agreeing to the use of the car for an outing in 8 degree weather. His comment; "Hey if it's drivable it's no big deal." All right then, let's get on with it shall we.

Everything is fine

You know that in-between dream place when your not quite sure what's awake or what's sleeping? And then, that nightmare, bad dream sort of awake feverish place.
Well, living with a not quite adult, not a teenager, but still dependent enough that the parents have to deal with benefits, insurers, and the legal system place, is where I find myself more than I'd like to lately.
Jake is an adult, especially to the people affiliated with any organization that holds the key to information regarding some form or account number that is necessary to find out in order to have some closure to a problem that's been going on since July, or to finish his taxes which he can't do because he's really still three years old!
This is not enabling, I would leave it all alone if it didn't affect us in a financial or credibility spectrum. I wouldn't even know if he was covered, due for a return or a member of the Bilderberg group.