I contributed to art once. I rescued Kate Rusby from a cyberjacking. I visited her Myspace page to listen to her music and noticed that her site had changed dramaticlly for the worse. Some punk had hijacked her site and changed all of her information and music. I alerted the web master. A week later I recieved a thank you from them. The corrections had been made.
Kate is a beautiful person. We all like her. If I was her poet I would spend my life celebrating her charm. I would sing loudly; foolishly. I would be accused of madness, but a limited madness as my songs of praise would begin with her eye brows. A more expansive adulation would be meaningless babel. As a man may have only one muse, I reserve my madness for my one Love.
When Tamara and I were wed, it was one of the best days of my life. A dream come true. I awoke early with the sun and sat on a bench with hummingbirds darting around me. Later, I ironed my shirt and my brother’s too. I made coffee. I visited with a few friends and assured them that, indeed, I was not nervous. I do not know the theological meaning of hummingbirds on a wedding day, but was confident in their message. Were I to have attended Beit Midrash Elul in Jerusalem, I might have grasped the peshat, or remez meaning of their visit.
If I had attended midrash I might have known to let my bride throw the bouquet. Apparently our Western tradition would have the bride toss the bouquet to the nearest virgin. Well, this is my first marriage, I didn’t know. Not only did I toss the bouquet, but I tied wrenches to it; you know symbolism–love heals, fixes… Unfortunately the rose and wrench bouquet hit Grandpa in the face and knocked him back in his chair. Grandma screamed something in Yiddish, a curse that only ancient gods would remember. I have had a rash ever since.
We have been married for six years, ten months. We have a child. My son has ham legs, legs meant for manly sports like ruggby and grappling. We recently recieved a recruiting letter from English footballers, Manchester United:
Oi, we heard yer son has mighty legs. Tell ’em he’ll be play’n fer Manchester, or we’ll be f***n break’n yours!
(Gasp.) I was flattered. My son playing football for one of the top leagues in England. I thought he might attend university, as a man of science and literature. No, a footballer’s life for my son. Cheers!
I have been thinking a lot about science lately. Can you really catch a bird by sprinkling salt on it’s tail? I tried. I wasn’t very interesting, so I tried it on my cat. That wasn’t very interesting, so I threw it in his eyes. That was interesting.
But what do I know.
Masculine epistemology is incomplete without feminine patience. I bought a new bag for my lunch at work. It is army green canvas with beige suede. It’s actually for fly fishing. It has dozens of pockets, and pockets with pockets inside. There is a water proof map case, cargo netting and loops for cargo clips. I thought it was the perfect tactical lunch bag for my twelve hour shifts in security. My comrades remarked, what a great military bag; lots of pockets… My wife asked me why I was taking a diaper bag to work. Diaper bag? Damn. I wondered why there was a “Gerber” tag inside.
While I was at Gymboree returning the fly fishing bag I noticed two men trying to fold a stroller. They were both older than me. I over heard one say that he wanted to use it to carry rifles. In Colorado that is not so odd. But these two guys could not figure out how to fold it. My wife showed me how to fold ours, so I went over to help. After fifteen minutes we gave up. My wife can fold a stroller with her smile. I once saw a plumb tree blossom in winter as she walked by. I think it was the cheerfulness of her scarf and matching mittens. Maybe the purity of her joy. I’ve melted chocolate with a mere thought of her. I’ve made S’mores after a kiss.
Rabbi says when he thinks I’m ready, he’ll send me to midrash in Jerusalem. I’m forty years old now, and he doesn’t mention it much anymore. I don’t think I’ll be going. There are better students. But I have my family and there are S’mores to be made. Shalom.
ten things… You decide.