I float like a butterfly, bumble like a bee

Play: I find myself increasingly embracing, and becoming more confident in, my many inabilities, failings and near-complete lack of skills. This statement in Slate's "the paradox of play" article frames what I'm talking about nicely: the modern father's ineptitude when it comes to building a treehouse or a go-kart, not to mention playing marbles, could prove a godsend. Instead of a fussy facilitator, he can be a fellow bumbler, feeling his way and having fun.

Though Fergus thinks I'm a pretty good mechanic since I usually am able to change the batteries in his Thomas trains, really I'm not all that handy. And this lends itself well to the fact that our best moments as a family at play are when we discover things together and learn from each other. The member of our family who did not inherit poor DiY genes (ie: not me) may have researched how to build a treehouse exhaustively and purchased the necessary power tools, but still our treehouse, that we all contributed to "building", remains a nail-free pile of specially selected branches carefully leaned up against a wind blown tree. That seems to work fine.

Also... its really cool to have your daughter unconsciously teach you some trampoline maneuvers (maneuvers that would have given a certain grade 9 student with a once intense fear of heights a passing mark in gymnastics). I'm oh-so-thankful that we can discover all this together. Bumble, bumble, bumble...

Then, Then and Now

We once cut Fergus' hair (my idea). Auntie Jamesie made us sign a release. I forgot to get Gillian to sign one for me and have been paying for it ever since. He's gone from "what's your daughter's name" to "he's such a boy!" and back again. Oh what a bore life would be without the banal quotes of the uninformed. He's totally cool with it and nothing else much matters. He's on the right path, though, in becoming the son and heir of nothing in particular cause I'm the least recognized/ remembered person I know. My friend Wendy thinks its her but do her co-workers re-introduce themselves on a semi-annual basis? Last weekend I tried flagging down my Mom from the side of the road as she drove past at a mere 20 km/hr. "oh, I saw someone flailing about but didn't know it was you". Overall, I think its great and get perverse enjoyment out of it but just once I'd like Maurizio and Massimo at the Italian deli to at least greet me with a "hey guy-who-comes-in-here-once-a-week, what can I get you today, we have some of those roasted peppers you like" rather than "hi sir. whatta you like". Maybe my current one-haircut-a-year mantra, courtesy of my sister-in-law deserting town a few years back, has something to do with it.

Woe is me

This is what Youtube told me after I signed up. Oh, and apparently my listenable playlist is showing up now over on the right. Do me a favour? If its working, listen to "bird girl" by Antony... and weep.

Circa 1995

Here's the image from the front of one of our wedding cassettes. Apparently I was 12 when I got married (that would make Tiki 13). We (or rather, "FIL") paid a guy many, many dollars to literally stand behind some shrubbery and flip pre-organized tapes in a machine. And then he made off with my originals! The pic shows what we were heavily into at the time: ourselves, our dog, Canada Day, the Pogues (Fiesta), James (the daisy; the lyrics) and Morrissey (actually I'm alone in worshipping at the shrine of our Mozzer). The first four songs at our wedding, i think, were: find the river (REM) :: fiesta (the Pogues) :: sometimes (James) :: throw your arms around me (Hunters & Collectors).

Purpose

To smooth out the furrowed brow. To transform sneer to smile... or whatever.
Family :: Music :: Videos ::

Start

Here's a somewhat recent family photo. I'm suffering a bit from hat-head, but hey - at least Fergus is wearing pants!