Friday at Bull Creek. Cattails.
Scientists.
Philosopher.
Thrill seeker. (Fording the frigid stream in mocassins)
Considering Botox.
2006
It’s New Year’s Eve in Houston, and over the buzzy drone of Chas’ snoring I hear little groups of people hollering one block away, the rat a tatting of firecrackers and guns, and the horn of a freight train downtown. Our house and much of our block is asleep. But if you walk barefoot out onto the front porch, and sit on the swing, you can see Christmas lights smiling at the raucous din of nearby celebration. The turning of a new year unfolds as I swing back and forth in the stillness. The family of gliding squirrels is probably shaking on one of the grand oak boughs above me as bottle rockets whine above them.
Being a homebody on New Year’s eve never felt so luxurious. I think I got over being homebound on New Year’s eve four years ago when we made Ford.
Cheers to that and a new year!
What is it like having a four year old boy?
For starters, you get interrupted quite a bit when you read to them. And it’s not always the “Why?” kind of questions. Sometimes, you have to play dictionary. If you read “The Night Before Christmas” to them, you might get a “What the hell is a sugarplum?!” or a “Bloody Hell! How do you know what the elves know?!” Other times, interruptions are more the result of commentary, which is endless, throughout the day and every day. Try reading the Grimm classic tale, “The Bremen Town Musicians,” as I did the other morning:
A certain man had a donkey, which carried the corn-sacks to the mill indef-
“Nutsack!”
-indefatigably for many a long year; but his strength was going, and he was growing m-
“Nutsack!”
-he was growing more and more unfit for work. Then his master began to consider how he might b-
“Nutsack!”
-He bagan to consider how he might best save his keep; but the donkey, seeing no good wind was blowing
(snickering from Damon across the room, acknowledged)
ran away and set out on the road to Bremen.
“Nutsack!”