“Let the child do his own living–please!” ~Susan Schaeffer Macaulay

Drummer is an accomplished guitarist, drummer and composer. He’s also a great swordsman.

If I were choosing his long-term career goal, I’d choose music. Maybe because it so moves me. Maybe because it’s the universal language and breaks down barriers. Or maybe because if he were to become a rock star he could support his mama in her not-that-old-yet age (just trying to be honest here).

Continue reading ““Let the child do his own living–please!” ~Susan Schaeffer Macaulay”

Over the weekend

  • Ikuni, Drummer and I saw a production of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged). We’d seen it on video years ago but had never seen it live. We chortled and snickered with the rest of the audience, well, except for a few who sat stone-faced throughout the first half and promptly left during intermission. We figured they either didn’t know what they were in for and were offended by all the crudity (which, personally, we thought would’ve tickled our beloved, dirty-minded Bard) or maybe they’d recently had abdominal surgery and couldn’t laugh without pain. Too bad, though, because they missed one of my favorite parts, where all the historical plays are performed as a football game.

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25 minutes that make it all worthwhile

I’m sitting at the computer, finishing my bowl of chicken stew while surfing the web. Drummer is in the basement playing the bass (he started learning a few weeks ago). He plays completely by ear. Can’t read a note of music yet.

As Drummer improvises downstairs and I read a friend’s blog upstairs, I detect the beginning notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Then I hear, “Mom, can you open the door?” I do, and Drummer’s at the bottom of the steps.

He plays the first four notes–BUM, BUM, BUM, bum. “How does it go after that?” I la-la-la-la the measure. “Hold on.” He searches for the next note. I hold it out till he finds it.

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There and back

Driving to pick up Ikuni:

  • Followed a manic little bird as I ascended the curvy ramp to the expressway. Flapping wildly, he maintained the lead most of the way.
  • Rediscovered how much I love driving on a straight stretch of road with no other vehicles in my path–listening to a rock song, speeding past trees, feeling like I’m flying.
  • At one point, the setting sun behind me was brilliantly reflected in both the inside and outside rearview mirrors. For a few seconds there were two suns in the sky.

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“I don’t give a dandelion.”

Over the years, my children have created a number of, how shall I put it, imaginative phrases. “Holy shish kabob” and “A pain in the asphalt” come to mind.

Tonight, Gamer invented another one: “Son of an obituary.”

P.S. Ikuni has said that if she ever does have children, the only reason she would limit their swearing when young would be to encourage their linguistic creativity.

“The true measure of life is not length, but honesty.” ~John Lyly

Not long ago Ikuni and I drove downtown to pick up Drummer. When we started out, the sky was overcast and a light drizzle was falling.

We hadn’t gone too far when Wordsmith called and told us a tornado warning was in effect for the county below us, but he thought the worst of the storm would stay to the south of where we were.

Almost as soon as I hung up, though, the drizzle turned to rain then a blinding downpour. The sky darkened, gusts of wind blew leaves and plastic bags past our windshield, and vehicles slowed to a crawl.

Continue reading ““The true measure of life is not length, but honesty.” ~John Lyly”

This post was supposed to be titled what U2 means to me

I was going to come home last night and blog about how Rattle and Hum awakened me from a fifteen year rock music hibernation, but instead Wordsmith and Ikuni decided yesterday was the day to deal with a decade of problems between them and then in talking about that, Wordsmith and I had our own issues to address, so everyone, with the exception of Gamer who was soundly sleeping in his room, was up till past two in the morning, arguing, discussing, crying, until we finally had a breakthrough, with much thanks to Drummer who I’m convinced is Buddha reincarnated, and now we’ll be traveling bleary-eyed to St. Louis.

U2, here we come.

Poetic justice

I watched Ringu 0 with Ikuni yesterday (the penalty for disrupting the final scene during her first viewing of the movie).

Sitting on the floor in her room, my legs pulled up close to me, I watched in silence as the film slowly built in suspense. The horrific ending loomed nearer. Screams were heard. Gunshots. Then…knock, knock, knock. Agh! Ikuni angrily hit the pause button, and Drummer opened the door.

After he asked his question and left, Ikuni and I looked at each other.

“Wow,” I said, “that really was a punishment.”

The punishment has been determined

I was notified last night that the penalty for my crime of interrupting a critical scene in a movie is to sit down with Ikuni and watch Ringu 0 from beginning to end…and in complete silence.

The sentence will be carried out this weekend. I am awaiting my fate with quiet resignation.

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