I dislike 'why' questions between people, except in the rhetorical sense, and prefer the most of the other basic questions—what, when, where, and who questions. However, should an argument be sought I find why questions between people to suit quite well.
I make mistakes and am not afraid to say so. (Currently tending this practice right now.) I actually make a practice of making mistakes with my children. There is no better way to teach them how to recover from takes that missed than to amend mistakes I've made. Also, when I have confused toothpaste and brushes for nose paste and brushes the kids then wanted to show me what those tools were designed for. They always seems to teach me well in my states of confusion....
Some would call me a single dad, but there is nothing single about being a father—the role necessitates an 'other', three others that are children here. I am making a practice for me to work, teach, and write.
Two of my life mentors died this past fall, within weeks of each other, and close to when Jobs died too. (There was some strange interconnection between the three.) Now comes life without standing in their shadows. Now comes life reorganized, made simpler, and with a focus on making, all sorts of making (it, dinner, love, up, bread, a difference...).
football, and ideas that I think without being aware of their sway
over me. I think a lot about my children, but not nearly as much as
I love to play with them. I think about what stories people might
tell of me should I die tonight or some other moment down the road.
It's less macabre than it may seem.
My first philosophy teacher was a Samoyed named Freddie. I began as his student at age five.
I nearly stepped on a stone fish in the coral reef off Guam at ten.
I'm not a Raiders fan because I was born in Oakland; I was born in Oakland because I'm a Raiders fan.
I really geek out over Hillman's work... with autisitic-like enthusiasm.
In high school I got a job so I could eat lunch in the YMCA restaurant, The Potagerie, and hang with the old folks getting out of their pool class or read with a cup of coffee. I made a friend who was 86 and writing his dissertation on comparing James Joyce's Ulysses to Bilbo Baggins from Lord of the Rings. He would rail on me about my positivistic philosophy and youthful idealism. I graduated (supposedly) before I stopped those meals.
I could read music before books, and the latter was after I could legally drive. I used to book gigs to read music and play jazz and then I got jazzed about reading books, which was like playing music.
I know a lot less than I can imagine.
Oh... thing... I once made a coffin for a coal-in-the-rough family member. What is a coal-in-the-rough? Well... it ain't a diamond.
It is not with the lyre of someone in love
that I go seducing people.
The rattle of the leper
is what sings in my hands.
(trans. Jane Kenyon, from Twenty Poems of Anna Akhmatova)