Round and Round

I taught Simon how to ride a two-wheel bike today. All he needed was for me to get him started, and away he went winding through the alleys in our neighborhood. I jogged behind him as a new world began for him. I tried to keep up, but he kept going faster. I watched as my new world unfolded. I'm not needed quite so much. My children's beginnings become my endings. I guess that's the way it's supposed to be.

Droppin' dimes

A student walked into class today after missing a week and a half of class. Since a super-majority of students has attended class regularly since the first day, it didn't so much bother me that he had been absent. Besides, he was the student on the first day who made it clear that he had to be the smartest student in the room. (I don't much care for that type of student.) Needless to say, I didn't miss him a whole lot.

The student pulls me aside and apologizes for missing class. Further he goes on to tell me that he meant no disrespect, and that his absence were due to a very sick relative. He looked at me with tear scarred eyes. I paused, and told him that he didn't need to apologize to me; he only had to hold himself accountable. I quit teaching high school 5 years ago because I don't want students droppin' dimes about their lives to pad excuses.

Chasing shadows

Simon turned four on Sunday. I hope he can always find wonder in the small things

The Pick and Choosen One

I'm tired of buddha. I don't know the man; I kinda know the myth, but I have no idea about the dogma. I'm tired of buddha not because he's done anything to me, but I'm not sure I trust the newly converted. These now semi-devout buddha mediatationist will rail against the born-again christians whose social-conversative-moralistic-homogenic politics are short-sighted. But wait, didn't these new openned-minded practitioners of the eight-fold path become born again. They embrace suffering and say we should as well. They say this with an aloof smile and a rolled-up name-brand yoga matt tucked between their arms and torso. Hell if they want to suffer, they could spend an afternoon with me.

Frame(d)

After sitting around and reading the New Yorker, I said I needed to do something active. I imagined escaping to the mountains, or starting boating as a hobby. I wanted to join the ranks of the glossy. An activity where I could drink micro-brews afterward and talk about how gnarly or epic of a day I had. Instead, I took the girl to soccer practice, dumped (I mean donated) items at ARC, had a long conversation with a neighbor, and took the dog for a long walk. Nothing for posterity, just another day. Even the mundane deserves a picture frame.

Pushing Back

I have an intense fascination with online personas. Maybe it's because I never felt comfortable in my own skin. Strangely, I feel even more awkward disembodied online. I write simply. I live simply. Yet, it is the simplicity that leaves room for interpretation, conjecture.

Nerve Endings

Family (however you wish to define it) never ceases to amaze me. They are ever present yet hardly noticeable. Sometimes the slightest movement or comment can send the entire nervous system into a complete spasm that sends one flailing. But I am greatful.

light as rhetoric

Everything's an argument; at least that's what I've come to believe, or better yet I've been convinced. So, I'm curious how does the way I see the world through the photographs I take make an argument for both my existence and world view.