burn off the haze around the shore
turn off the crazy way I feel...
We are killing time.
Middle is completely recovered.
Oldest waits for phone calls, as does K.
I do my housework and await Chicago.
Youngest reads.
We fill our days.
Some of us worry, others bide our time, it changes all the time.
Sometimes we are tense, sometimes we forget.
Yesterday we went surfing.
Our good friend W taught Youngest the basics.
Carefully timed by wind and weather and waves, W arrived and we strapped his boards to the roof of my car.
We looked so damn cool.
We could see how damn cool we looked through the sunroof.
Youngest did the ritual Tuvaluan Dance Before the Master Of the Surf and they were ready to begin.
Our pal W, to whom we entrusted the life of our heir, towed Youngest out beyond a couple of sets of breakers.
He learned: when to lift over a wave, when to kneel, when to stand (though I have no pictures of this large accomplishment as I was cheering on shore) and when to step off...
It was idyllic.
And, for a couple of hours, we forgot work and doctors and dishwashers.
For a couple of hours we looked at the sky and the surf and watched Youngest process something new and wonderful.
Youngest came in to get warm while his teacher took some waves on his own.
I wrapped him in one of my dad's old shirts and he told us all about it.
A few last runs and then W came in to warm up too.
There was cold beer waiting for us in the parking lot.
We are killing time.
Middle is completely recovered.
Oldest waits for phone calls, as does K.
I do my housework and await Chicago.
Youngest reads.
We fill our days.
Some of us worry, others bide our time, it changes all the time.
Sometimes we are tense, sometimes we forget.
Yesterday we went surfing.
Our good friend W taught Youngest the basics.
Carefully timed by wind and weather and waves, W arrived and we strapped his boards to the roof of my car.
We looked so damn cool.
We could see how damn cool we looked through the sunroof.
Youngest did the ritual Tuvaluan Dance Before the Master Of the Surf and they were ready to begin.
Our pal W, to whom we entrusted the life of our heir, towed Youngest out beyond a couple of sets of breakers.
He learned: when to lift over a wave, when to kneel, when to stand (though I have no pictures of this large accomplishment as I was cheering on shore) and when to step off...
It was idyllic.
And, for a couple of hours, we forgot work and doctors and dishwashers.
For a couple of hours we looked at the sky and the surf and watched Youngest process something new and wonderful.
Youngest came in to get warm while his teacher took some waves on his own.
I wrapped him in one of my dad's old shirts and he told us all about it.
A few last runs and then W came in to warm up too.
There was cold beer waiting for us in the parking lot.
Comments
Lastly, your male all seem to have these gorgeous attractive fingers/hands. That is one helluva great thing.
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness,
birds in the wilderness,
birds in the wilderness.
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness,waiting for you to come.
Waiting for you to come,
waiting for you to come.
Here we sit like birds in the wilderness waiting for you to come!
How annoying is that?
Don't start singing it or you'll be humming it all day.
I've had that hazy feeling of waiting. I don't like it much.
It reminds me of "Waiting for Godot," which drove me nuts.
This too shall pass.
(repeat)
Hey, Youngest has quite a nice tan, eh?
Son #1 learnt to surf last year, on a cold cold spring day. He had a ball.
(Youngest has your hands!)
Is that inappropriate?