Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
The days.
June 20, Bangor.
There will be no missing the dreaded heavy New Jersey commute traffic on the morning jump. This morning was as bad as they come, along Route 18 then Route 622 then highway 287 and I-80, jam-packed with rushing cars.
I remembered the lot we are on today as we drove in, the steam engine skeletons the kids climbed on to last year, and last year seems so far away in their eyes.
The days go fast now, they swirl, the drives, school in the morning, often we start late because I hate to wake up the boys when it's summer after all and they've worked so hard, and still do, and so we're late, as this morning, and there is hardly time to eat before heading to practice, and then there are the errands, sometimes more school, always something or other, when Fridman is not busy fixing somebody's problem or ours, the leaks, the bikes, always something or other, and the pictures always, and soon it's show time and getting Dylan, and now Nicolas, ready for it, walking them and watching them and walking back and undressing them as they struggle to race to their newest craze, video games, but only for an hour because they are nothing more than a drug and I don't like them one bit but here we are, the video game craze is on already, an hour, and soon enough it's the second show and the same dance and it's time for a shower and dinner and reading a book or two or three and crash, the day is gone.
We'll do the same tomorrow, if all goes well.
There will be no missing the dreaded heavy New Jersey commute traffic on the morning jump. This morning was as bad as they come, along Route 18 then Route 622 then highway 287 and I-80, jam-packed with rushing cars.
I remembered the lot we are on today as we drove in, the steam engine skeletons the kids climbed on to last year, and last year seems so far away in their eyes.
The days go fast now, they swirl, the drives, school in the morning, often we start late because I hate to wake up the boys when it's summer after all and they've worked so hard, and still do, and so we're late, as this morning, and there is hardly time to eat before heading to practice, and then there are the errands, sometimes more school, always something or other, when Fridman is not busy fixing somebody's problem or ours, the leaks, the bikes, always something or other, and the pictures always, and soon it's show time and getting Dylan, and now Nicolas, ready for it, walking them and watching them and walking back and undressing them as they struggle to race to their newest craze, video games, but only for an hour because they are nothing more than a drug and I don't like them one bit but here we are, the video game craze is on already, an hour, and soon enough it's the second show and the same dance and it's time for a shower and dinner and reading a book or two or three and crash, the day is gone.
We'll do the same tomorrow, if all goes well.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Nicolas' debut.
Nicolas' turn to make his debut in the big top, and we were just as nervous as with Dylan, if not more.
He didn't want to do it, at first, he was afraid of the balloon popping, but as the days went on and he saw how much fun his brother was having (and how much attention his brother was getting,) my little big man faced his fear, stepped up, and did fine.
There they are, my not-so-big boys, skippety-skipping into their life in the limelight with fearless steps.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
The rain.
Fridman carried Dylan all the way backstage because of the rain, the rain, the rain.
The water.
We headed for the beach after school and practice. Driving along the bridge to Long Beach Island everything became white with fog. We enjoyed about ten minutes of watching a strong surf lost in the fog and the kids dodging it, the sound of sirens from invisible vessels at sea slightly sinister, before it started raining.
It's near intermission in the second show and it hasn't stopped. The entrance got so flooded it had to be moved to another point of the tent. The first show was halfway empty but the second one is full.
The remains of the day (leaving New Oxford.)
June 17, Lakehurst.
Leaving New Oxford, Pennsylvania, two weeks ago, there was the trace of the ring on the ground, and nothing else. The field was empty, it was raining and everything was bathed in quiet darkness, and in the forlorn morning the shavings were all that was and is not anymore, the trace of Time etched on the gravel as if by a disconcerted artist, who upped and left its work not even begun, just traced.
I took the picture leaving the lot, asking the guys to wait a bit on our way out, and forgot about it. I don't know why I remembered last night, and went digging for it.
I took the picture leaving the lot, asking the guys to wait a bit on our way out, and forgot about it. I don't know why I remembered last night, and went digging for it.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
