I'm sorry that things didn't work out the way we all thought they did. Ha-ha, that's funny, isn't it? Yeah. Well. I know it can be tough, being something that a lot of people don't like to believe in. Maybe we can talk about it another time, over cappucino?
Listen, two trips to the hospital in as many days is just...well it's a bit much. It was bad enough having to wait with a sick and sweaty, tired four year old in a strange hospital in a down we don't know at all. But six hours in an emergency room to get three stitches?
I know I'm complaining. I shouldn't. Just...maybe...I wonder if maybe we could work something out between us - just you and me - as friends?
I'm pretty sure Stitchface would appreciate it. He's totally done with hospitals and doctors now. Really. Done.
Tuck-in time, with songs three songs; you're sick. I stroked your hair back off your hot, damp forehead, And caught a glimpse of the man you will become. Be good to others; if you have a good heart goodness will follow you. Ask many questions love often, and well.
Along with introducing The Captain and The Nipper to the Clash and Joy Division, it's important to me that they both have a healthy dose of folk music and protest songs. So this past couple of weeks have been Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Peter Paul and Mary, and yes, even some Joan Baez. So we were watching some videos tonight before bed ("If I Had a Hammer" has been one of the nightly songs for the last two weeks), and we watched the following version of that same song. As the video began, The Nipper, who usually only has eyes full of watching, points his still-chubby pointy-finger at the screen and says: "Hey look! They're singing in cheese!"
I just thought that was pretty awesome, and I figured you'd want to share the awesome. So here you have it: Peter, Paul, and Mary with "If I Had A Hammer" in a cheese:
And no, that does not mean the music is cheesy. It means they don't make stage props like they used to.
I've been listening to protest songs and all the peacenik, commune-loving hippie music I can get my hands on (it all started two days ago with the 'anarchist' bookstore purchases ("Turning the Tide" bookstore in Saskatoon has all kinds of interesting things), and then yesterday with the celebration of Pete Seeger's music, which pretty much had me slamming my hands against the steering wheel on the way home, cross with myself for having allowed my disgust for armed conflict to weaken over the past ten years.
Yes, it's true...I *am* the filthy hippie - that's what my friend Jenn's husband Ian calls me. I'm not sure if he thinks of it as a derogatory nickname or not, but it really isn't. I'm going to go make some granola, turn up the Peter, Paul, and Mary, and I'm going to wander around the house today wearing as little as possible. I'm'a do my best to commune with the earth and think derisive thoughts about governments' military policies.
I'm going to go and think and dream about how I can make the world a Better Place (I know, and you can just save the comments about how not being a tree-hugging communist will be a good start). Right now, The Nipper and I are sharing a pot of Vanilla Tulsi tea while I attempt to get rid of the sick that Saskatoon gave me.
We drove down a squiggly road that wound beside a squiggly river. We took the long cuts instead of the shortcuts. We walked along the side of the road and found treasures: a blue thing, a red reflective deer, and pocketsful of rocks. We knocked on the doors of every gopher hole we found (we found a lot) but none of the gophers were home. We heard them trilling out in the field. We walked along the berm We took a detour onto the train bridge. We tossed rocks in the swollen river. A beaver swam by, then trudged up the river, then swam away. We jumped in puddles and squolked in mud There were slides down six slides, and on the way home, We found a stick.
The laundry is flapping on the line, and our sun-warmed faces beam huge smiles.
That noise The Nipper makes when a skateboard, helicopter, truck, spaceship, boat, or other transportative device is going a particular speed through a particular environment.
It is often accompanied by the noise he makes for rapid-fire machine guns.
And is sometimes followed by the death throes and screaming, lashing about from the passengers/enemies/passers-by.
The long, long, long, long and involved explanation of what is *actually* happening, *actually*, since he is not permitted to play with guns. Those noises are *actually* lasers, not *actually* rapid-fire machine guns or howitzers.
The Nipper's rosebud mouth and very precise articulate speech, and the tender hugs and kisses he offers as recompense for breaking the 'no guns' rule.
I look at The Nipper's feet, which are *considerably* smaller than The Captain's were, and I think about the first day I met him. He was wrinkly and covered in vernix, and he had the world's most confused look on his face. His face was all smooshed up (so was yours when you made that, the shortest, and most important journey of your life...you can travel all over the world, deep under the sea, even into space, and you will never again make a journey like that one. You'll never travel such a great distance in so short of a space ever again) and he was Very Concerned.
I held his tiny hand, and smiled at his tiny feet, with his wee toes all splayed out. I said, "hello, baby." He said, "NNngggggeeeiiiiiiuuuuuaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"
I said, "We've been waiting an awfully long time to meet you."
He said, "guh, guh, guh, nnnnnggeeeuiiiiieeeuuugaaaaaahhhhh!!!"
Welcome to the centre of the universe. This bournal (yes, weB jOURNAL) is authored by cenobyte, a writer, editor, and general miscreant ne'er-do-well from Saskatchewan, Canada. Stay awhile, and enjoy.
