Honea Express

Posts Tagged ‘parenting’

Popular thought suggests that there is a spark inside all of us. Personal experience is that some shine brighter than others. That doesn’t devalue anyone. It just is. Accept it or change it. It’s your spark.

Mine twists like a lighthouse in a windstorm. It is either lost through waves of bourbon or cutting through so much fog to find you like a spotlight. When I shine I want you to shine with me. It is lonely at the top.

We live in a land of opportunity. The cobblestones are plated gold. The dust a blend of pixie. But dreams are not granted to the masses. We must walk uphill in every way, knocking on doors and selling our wares and what passes for awareness. Don’t sell yours short. The highest bid is often the most careless.

And there are dark doors that figuratively represent whatever you need them to. Literally they are but hinged barriers to the path ahead. The light from the other side glows like a burning picture frame. It is an invitation. It is a warning. It has a handle that only needs to be turned.

Opening doors is why steps are taken.

It may require pause. New paths are hard to start and old paths end too quickly. The scene from the doorstep is of rolling hills and promise. My feet are tired and anxious. There is a stack of shoes in the foyer, each covered in potential and glowing with dust (the smaller shoes shine the brightest). The surrounding floor grows sterile and absent as it stretches down the hallway. I cannot remember if I am coming or going. I am paused, and I am wondering where to put my foot down.

Some look to the heavens when they have nowhere else to turn. Some look there first. I look up and I see stars that stretch forever. I find more perspective than answers.

Perhaps it is the time of year. Perhaps it is the wind in your hair. Life is a dance of wonder and melancholy, and each step brings a gasp, each spin leaves a smile. We are tussled and chapped, and the deeper the dip the more we feel alive.

Perhaps decisions are best made when we don’t know that we are making them. We are lost in the movement. We are paused before doorways. We are always looking for a better place.

That is what I am doing here, writing in circles and wasting language best spent on documents and deadlines — thirsty words wandering from waterhole to wonder and always with the stars in their eyes, always with the day’s dust behind them.

Popular thought suggests that there is a spark inside all of us. Mine is helping to keep us warm, and perhaps that is enough of a wonder for anyone.

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Photo by ImaRawkStar

The day left brown oak leaves littered across the orange brickwork like a dried and forgotten fire. Their shadows twisted and turned as they flirted with the lamplight and teased my tongue with longings of pumpkin, nutmeg, and the slightest hint of cinnamon. Then the rain fell and they curled up to reach it, the last grasp of an autumn laid dying. For that is fall, life going out in a blaze of glory through coffee steam and a lightly-frosted window.

My children are warm, and their bellies full. That is more than many may claim, but more often than naught it does not seem enough. We are spoiled by billboards and jingles. We want in waves, and going without turns desire as barren as winter. The tide swallows our footprints and we spend our lives walking in sand-washed circles.

Spring is a song I heard today. I danced despite myself and even hummed a few bars when only a memory lingered. It had a good beat and was as catchy as a firefly. I keep it in a jar in the back of my mind.

I know a man that lives his life in nothing but happiness. He has had one wife, eleven children, and a guitar shaped like the midday sun that twangs in echoes from every direction. He shines like summer on a postcard.

A sentiment of seasons rolls through me for but a moment, and then dreams become distorted by so much reality. The threat is this, all would blur into constant motion if not for the things we hitch ourselves to. For instance, when I tuck my children into their beds my kisses are many and each a soft anchor. They may float like parade balloons in the night, but they are safe from wind and fears. I am tethered tightly upon the curves of their smile, and I have no intention of ever letting go.

The thing about winning a major award without any sort of advanced notice is that you’re often caught with your virtual pants down and something difficult to explain in your hand. Seriously, have you ever tried to explain the perfect glass of bourbon? It’s not easy.

So it was that I received an email announcing that I, or rather this site, was ranked in Babble’s Top 50 Dad Blogs, while Honea Express was sitting here neglected, loading funny, and covered in reviews.

Still is.

However, being listed is pretty nice, especially since I haven’t been posting here nearly enough. It happens.

I’d like to say thanks to Babble, and more importantly, thanks to you. If it wasn’t for you nobody would give a crap what I did in this space, and I appreciate that every day.

I suppose this is kind of a lame post to have up on the blog now that I’m getting ones and ones of extra traffic, but I’m tired, Tom Waits is on the radio, and I’m thinking about drinking in the dark until the night takes me home.

This is what winning looks like, people.

I don’t think any of my other parent/professional blogging was taken into consideration for the list, but that’s what pays the bills, so if you have a moment please click below:

Kids Should Skip School (The Stir)

In Defense of Boys (DadCentric)

Occupy Childhood: Invest in Futures (BabyCenter)

Parenting on a Budget (BabyCenter)

Halloween and Other Scary Things (BabyCenter)

 Top 5 Superhero Movies of ALL TIME (JoeShopping)

Maker of “Word With Friends” to Launch Gaming for Acquaintances (Insert Eyeroll)

Thanks for all that voodoo you do, so well.

There is a story there, beneath the fallen tree. Perhaps it sings like wind or runs deep like roots.

There is a story there, in the bright, green sea. It is full of trash and imagination.

The world keeps spinning and the stories blur between lives lived and souls squandered. There are those that do nothing but care, and those that do everything but. They all have their reasons. My job is to show it fairly and explain it just. Mine is not to justify.

I have hands held tightly in mine, and they are small and trusting. There are eyes on mine and they are sharp and watching. I find it hard to expand upon the ignorance and meaningless of it all.

The good comes easily enough, and we only need walk a moment before we find the wonder. It is the sunlight between the branches, the rain against our feet, a sky deep in all directions and the smile that should always be there.

Innocence is only fleeting because we choose to let it go.

The journey is not starting and it is not ending. It is a notch on a timeline filled with risks and careless stumbles, safety nets and milestones. The peaks are mirrored by so many valleys, each staggered with steps that sink and spiral, and the timeline folds and crumbles upon our back. We watch for rocks accordingly.

The peaks give to bend, but never break. From a distance the valley is a hammock swinging lazily, and the sweat beneath it pools and glimmers like an oasis. We have no choice but to kneel and drink. The salted waters taste of lessons and the sea.

The night is short on hours and long on longing. We have walked far and seen much and their world is as big as it is contained. I tell them what I can and strive to show them more. Most stories are never told, and mine are told too often.

Then there is proud and there is humbled and there are dances around the awe.

There is a story here, and I do not know if I am the hero, the villain, the reader or the writer, but we are all the characters, every one.

People often ask me what it is I like to do in my free time. To which I say, mind your own freaking business. If I wanted you to know about it I would put it on the blog. Or Twitter. Or Facebook. But probably not Google Plus.

But then it dawned on me that I do not have a moment of free time, hence my inability to answer. Sure, some might say that writing a blog post is “free time” and I get that, but I’m just taking a break from writing something for money. That’s a job, people. Some smoke on their breaks, I blog. Also, pornography.

Basically, I wanted to touch base with you, the reader(s), and let each and every single one one of you know that I truly appreciate your kindness in what was (and continues to be) a very tough time for us. But we’re making due and getting by, and the good (deity of your choice) willing, maybe we’ll win a few games.

I’ve been keeping busy. Limey Yank Productions is a full-time job without all the hassle of benefits or paychecks, and I’ve been posting random bits of parenting woes and whoas all over the designated play area of the Internet. I’m also trying something new: humor. It’s like funny.

My wife is enjoying her new job, the boys like their new school (the youngest started kindergarten last week!) and the dogs seem happy to be happy. I don’t know what the hell the cats are up to.

And in the meantime life is bits of love and leisure wrapped tightly between inboxes and deadlines. We spend our days working and our nights trying to catch up. The boys bounce barefoot from beach to branch, leaving a trail of sand-covered Magnolias in their wake.  The days fly by us like we’re standing still, but we are moving fast in all directions.

The wind is a chorus of whispers and promise. Free time is but a kite in the distance.

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Thank you for reading.

And here are the links I couldn’t fit into the paragraphs above. You’re welcome:

Atticus and the Lion King 3D Premiere (video)

Public schools outlawing peanuts

Disney’s D23 Expo recaps, Day 1 and Day 2