Honea Express

Inland was warmth and sunshine and days of summer stretching wearily. The coast, however, was 20 degrees cooler and worked in so many shades of gray.  The sky fell into the sea and the waves rolled across my cold feet before running up the stairs to take their place at the end of the line.  Clouds waited patiently.

The rocks in the ocean were the size of ships, and ships were the size of small birds flying off in the distance.  There was a cave on the beach and in it sat a family around a campfire.  Their dog ran free and happy, a green ball held tightly in its mouth.

She stopped in mid-sentence, her words lost beneath the beat of a tide rolling in.  I hadn’t been listening.  I was writing poems in my head as I am prone to do, and then promptly forgetting them as that requires much less effort than actually writing them down.  Most of them were rubbish, but one may have been damn near perfect.  I watched her watch the ground.  She was brilliant against the sepia shore.

She bent down and picked a drop of red out of the surf-trodden sand. It was a ladybug, caked in grains and left for dead.  Suddenly, the beach was alive with polka-dots in reds and yellows and the polka-dots were, in turn, covered in dots of their own.  We sat on our knees in the sand and dug ladybug after ladybug from their collective coastline grave.  Our shoes, which had long ago left our feet and become something meaningless to hold on to, became the soles of rebirth. It was on the bottom of my left flip-flop that one ladybug found breath and another was once again able to crawl.  It was somewhere opposite where my big toe would be that a ladybug shook the sand from its wings and flew away home.

It seems that they live in the trees that tremble from the side of steep ocean cliffs, and when certain winds blow the way that certain winds do, the ladybugs are pulled from whatever life they have known and dropped without warning over deep waters and hungry fish. Assuming they don’t drown, are not eaten or lost at sea, they are marooned on beaches not 50 feet from the trees on which they started.  But they are pounded with ebbs and flows, and they are forgotten amongst shells and bits of seaweed.  All in all, it’s no way to treat a lady.

And so we gathered those that we could and we carried them on flip-flops covered with newfound meaning to a piece of driftwood just below the tree line. The ladybugs wandered aimlessly and probably thought things about mortality and what to make of second chances.

Every so often one of us would say how much the boys would like this while the other would nod, skip a stone or stare out at the sea. They were on a different beach in a different state looking over the same nothingness and the endless everything. Our day was a glass half hollow, half lined with romance. We played the percentages.

Then we walked back across the beach, our shoes once again empty, our feet still cold and bare.  We passed big rocks, small ships, a family around a fire and a dog with a ball and the constant need to wag.   Our car was waiting for us, and beyond it a green forest and blue skies and something pretty on the radio.

We got sand everywhere.

By the time I reached the Tin Man my heart had already been found, touched and smashed to bits.  It was all lacks of brain and courage.

The morning sky was framed with clouds, the morning ground was wet from rain, and the morning paper was full of ads and sadness. I could save 10% off new releases or I could look an inch to the left and read about a 2-year-old child beaten to death by his father. The man wore his gloves laced tight and placed punch after punch to the head of his son.  He claimed he was trying to teach the boy the art of the sweet science.  It landed like a sour ton of bricks, a haymaker from hell.

The news is page after page of death after death and a baseball team that is gasping for breath.  Also, it’s time for back to school savings.

We are all heroes and victims and fodder for the pressing.  We are all clowns.  We are all crying on the inside.  We are all interested in wines on sale.

My Sunday morning head is full of a Saturday night bottle. My coffee cup seats two comfortably.  There is a bird at the window and he tilts his gaze, knowingly.  Quoth Wonka: We are the music-makers and the dreamers of the dream. We show no signs of slowing.

There was a small article about Jack Haley, the actor who portrayed the Tin Man so many years ago.  He is long since gone.  As I read the piece I felt something stir and a need to stop and listen.  Somewhere Over the Rainbow was playing and the timing was both odd and perfect. I sat there with the paper in my lap, memories of coffee heavy on my breath and a view that included hills and mountains and a bird in the window.  The morning sky was full of countless drops of sunshine falling lazily across stretching fields and flowers slowly waking. The morning sky was full of Blue Angels, rainbows and the birds to fly over them.

I stood there and watched it for as long as I could.

As I mentioned before, I have a stack of things to review and frankly, I’m tired of looking at it. In fact, I think I’m done reviewing stuff unless someone sends me more stuff.

In the meantime, humor me as I keep my word while spreading it at the same time. I know, it’s awesome.

STUFF:

Hasbro was kind enough to send me a new spin on the classic game Mouse Trap. It’s part of their U-Build  series where the players actually build and customize the board. Yes, you read me.

The game has a bunch of U-Build bricks which are exactly like, but are not, another popular building brick that the kids love. It also has a Space Boot(!), some small parts and the trap.  Sadly, the mouse is not included and that actually turned out to be the most difficult, yet most rewarding, part of the game. Do you know how hard it is to catch a mouse with a plastic trap and a bunch of building bricks?  Pretty hard. The sense of accomplishment that my children achieved was worth all of the rabies shots in the world.

The U-Build spin on an already fun game pays off. It’s like two games in one: the building game where my kids fight and scream over how the board will look and the Mouse Trap game where my kids fight and scream over the first aid kit.  Of course, neither of those last two sentences are true. However, the part about it being two games in one is an actual fact based on my opinion as well as those of the people at Hasbro, and they’re right.

If U-Build it the fun will come. Also, rodents.

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The Idle Parent by  author Tom Hodgkinson looks like a nice book. It has a reddish-orange cover that I’m tempted to call a burnt sienna, but it could be the light in here — or the 4 months of dust that the book has accumulated. This is not the fault of the book or Mr. Hodgkinson, who also wrote How to Be Idle and The Freedom Manifesto.  No, it is the fault of time and my lack of it.

The book is subtitled, “Why Laid-back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids,” which is a statement I’m inclined to agree with.  The kids on the cover look happy enough and their dad is totally napping on the couch. And he’s wearing Vans.  If that doesn’t scream laid-back then I don’t know what does.

I think the book weighs about a pound and a half. Give or take. It has 251 pages.

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I really dropped the ball on a review that I was supposed to write for All About Beer Magazine and my fellow DadCentricite, Greg, by losing a copy of a book they sent me called Beer Across Texas. Here’s the thing, Texas is huge and the book isn’t, which leads me to believe that the authors only discussed the good beers across Texas and not every crappy can of suds they came upon.  In the industry we call this attention to “quality” and we like it. My most sincere apologies to All About Beer, Greg and the authors of Beer Across Texas. Also, smaller books are apparently easier to lose.

Seriously, I can’t find it anywhere.

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Candlewick Press was kind enough to send a collection of summer reading over for my boys. The titles include:

It’s Vacation Time by Lerryn Korda, which is a really cute book that my 4-year-old loves. It’s about, wait for it, vacation time! The story is big on using your imagination and we’re big on that.

Maisy Goes to the Museum by Lucy Cousins is about Maisy the mouse and frankly, I can’t read it without hearing the narrators voice from the TV show. And what’s up with Charley?
But I digress. This book is for preschool kids and my preschool kid thinks it’s great and he doesn’t care how many times Charley has been dropped on his head.

Flanimals Pop-Up, which was written by Ricky Gervais, yes, that Ricky Gervais, and illustrated by Rob Steen. With a name like Flanimals Pop-Up, it’s exactly what you’d expect, but with a writer like Ricky Gervais it’s like nothing you could ever imagine. Within reason. It’s good fun.

Judy Moody’s Way Wacky Uber Awesome Book of More Fun Stuff to Do, The Oceanology Handbook – A Course For Underwater Explorers and Show Off – How to Do Absolutely Everything are big hits with my 7-year-old for all the reasons clearly stated in each book’s respective title. He likes wacky, uber, awesome, underwater exploring and doing absolutely everything. It’s like they were made for him.

Where’s Waldo? The Ultimate Travel Collection by Martin Handford is billed as the essential travel companion, and after it kept my kids quiet on an airplane for two hours I’m inclined to agree.

I still don’t know where Waldo is, but I think he stole my beer book.

All of the Candlewick Press books listed above have been big hits with my kids and for that I’m thankful. Thanks, Candlewick Press!

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And now for something completely different.

Scholastic sent me two new books, Max Spaniel: Funny Lunch and Firehouse! that my boys love.

They’re both about dogs and they are loads of fun. I’m supposed to write a review on them, but I don’t want to spoil the plot(s). Besides, this post is already longer than both books combined.

Here’s the fun part, I’m giving away 3 sets of the books! Yes, now you can own your very own copies of these entertaining books and all you have to do to win is leave a comment stating that you would like the books! I’ll send the books to three(3) random entries. The contest is only open to residents of the U.S. and P.O. boxes are not allowed. My apologies to other countries and anyone that rents a mailbox.

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And on that note, my pile of items to review is gone! Literally, I’ve been moving each item out of my office as I go and whoa, carpet!

Please note, I really do appreciate the items sent to me for review (which are all of the items listed in this post) and I wouldn’t include them here if I didn’t think people would enjoy them.  Stuff that sucks doesn’t make the page, man. Honea don’t play that.

Peace out.

And when the weight was heaviest the longest breaths were drawn and savored and exhaled like the spit of a thirsty man. The pressure was on the chest and maybe a knee to the stomach. It was a dance between two partners with one oblivious. It was the weight of the waiting and the lack of air left me drunk and grasping for distraction.

Things are in the mail and whispered in the dark and you know what they are. They are knives across my tongue and a mouthful of salt and vinegar.

It is a courtship. It is the wooing. This is high school and college and nights by phones when phones couldn’t follow you everywhere.  These are nights of songs replayed and too many notes soaked with sweat and a spray of Obsession. These are the nights we’ll laugh about when our ship comes in, and the stars will be the brightest they have ever been.

I need sleep. I need coffee.  I need to sign on a dotted line and throw my head back in tears and laughter. The waiting is the hardest part and the weight will find me sore come morning.