Neptune’s Yellow Sands

J find that to be one of the funnier lines I’ve heard, moving to free up space among these crazies.  The piercings and hair and goth look.  Realizing how different from you these two boys are going to be, what experiences will end up shaping them, the transition into full-time daycare the sign of things to come.  No, not a sign but the start of the next phase, no going back. The child entering the world outside his parents’ protection, full-time. Let go.  And enjoy watching.  The broad trajectory of your life has been run.  Not likely to change jobs, just need to stay alive to provide for the future.  Some adventures to come, but the focus geared to the next generation.  What remains is to write up the fulcrum, the culmination of points on which everything hangs.  This weekend is the chance to make the start.  The hideous beard.  Every subsequent decision in the second half of your life flowing from that one point.  The creatio...

Out of nowhere, a line in the darkness in the middle of the night becomes an “accusation” that brings up all the old familiar complaints.  You see how things can end, fall apart, without empathy.  Understanding.  Successive efforts and alternative approaches always end in failure.  “I can see why you feel this way,” the only way forward.  Learn how not to feel threatened and down, despite being the cause/trigger.   Daycare starts soon, and with it hopefully a new routine.  Sparking a return even to the gym?   Lockdown with the newborn will be a whole new life again… did you do the 16 months apart on purpose?  Haha. Trying to remember all of the ways you keep messing up what should be simple, held back by the inability to undo the past.  It will be fine, the mantra remains.  Faith, because what else is there.

The past, rushing back with celerity.  Time on the Helix on this Natal Day weekend, as the big man adapts to the headbump and the 15th month birthday and the screen time.  Hard to put into words, this little holiday Monday afternoon escape into the past.  Looking at that cast of characters onboard. Thinking of the run at Bishops, paired with the early days on the SBTS Board.  Floating in the habitual spot of McNab’s as a passenger, the young J. on board, never a haircut yet, York Redoubt from the water.   Once upon a time.   All the different ways your life could go (could have gone).  And now, soon, boys (plural) of thine own.   It’s such a miracle, as everything is, and the constant lesson of learning to let go, let things break, fix anew.  Nothing needs to go as planned.  Relax.  Love.  Stop what you are doing and breathe. Thanks Finbar.  Will see this table again.  On Mondays, Ja.

The failing phone had the old blog password and so this August 1st we start anew, just before the chimes of midnight.  Sable yesterday followed by IWK yesternight, the mocking of fortune as the Black Tot spectacularity required its penance.  Poor big man bearing the brunt, and yet again the hormones harp upon the old familiars to disrupt the merry scenes. We have much to do before the little man JB arrives.  Alas, the cries come from the next room.  The Elmo Bocelli tonight was grand, as was the meal, as was the neighbour assistance in recharging the car and sharing the truck on arrival from Gateway, as was the news from the doc when it eventually came in the wee hours of this 3rd engagement anniversary. So much still to learn, so much to be thankful for, so much to attempt to improve.  Try you must.  Record the foibles and follies here.  Be better.  I long to see what the future holds, but the bucket list has checked another box with Sable and th...