GRIZZLY PEAR
She unraveled his construction.
A black string woven through bars of the baby gate.
I hadn’t seen it yet.
The boy was devastated.
She didn’t realize it was important.
Really?
The whole house is a mess.
Why start with this?
䷡䷲
a goat butts against a hedge
and gets its horns entangled
The park was empty.
The sun nestled behind the hills.
The kids ran around the playground.
The golden hour enveloped us.
The only family in the world.
䷫䷧
under heaven, wind
the image of coming to meet.
If brands are an emotional connection, this one grabbed me while laying buttery blacks on ED11A drawings during my freshman year at Berkeley.
A few months ago, my mom returned old pencils that I left with them after college. That night, my daughter was using this round burgundy pencil with a thick graphite core in the living room.
In spite of the two decade hiatus, a warm fuzzy feeling swept over me. I was surprised at the strength of the reaction.
It’s just a pencil.
What a fine pencil!
Unfortunately, Berol is no more.
What will be the nostalgia brands for our kids? 2056 is just around the corner.
䷇䷯
March closed with a finance book.
April started with epic spreadsheet for retirement.
Numbers led to more spreadsheets.
Research the perfect investment strategy.
Websites, forums, emails, articles, podcasts, videos, books.
Update the spreadsheets, again.
April is closing.
Time to decide.
Enough.
May is for living.
䷌䷘
under heaven thunder rolls:
all things attain the natural state of innocence.
They laid a grey flannel blanket on the floor.
Piled on toys and pillows.
Set a red chair on one end.
Taped a sign on its back.
“The Chocolate Racer”
䷯䷭
in the well there is a clear cold spring
Two nights ago, my wife made porridge.
Aged cheddar, black pepper, sea salt, and leftover rice.
Righteous.
She made it again.
The kids devoured it before I came downstairs for lunch.
I scraped the pot before doing the dishes.
Less quantity, less guilt.
A moderate luxury.
䷜䷯
the town maybe changed, but the well cannot be changed.
He’s got a crew neck; mine is a v-neck. Same difference.
The boy is wearing a white T this morning.
I like white T’s. It’s what I wear.
There’s nothing as cute as a little man dressed like 爸爸. Especially when you’re 爸爸.
(Actually, wrong. It was cuter when he was a baby in his sister’s pink onesies. Poor guy didn’t know any better while defying gender norms.)
He’s starting to get picky about his clothes. When he grows up, he’ll dress better than his daddy.
But for now, I’ll take him dressing like me.
“We’re good at warehousing.”
(at the youth center)
“They have no vision.”
About our capital
(and the kids)
䷮䷰
a man permits himself to be oppressed by stone,
and leans on thorns and thistles.
She built a pet park.
A monumental arch led to a pond and a dog run.
Dali, Roofie, Little Roofie, Tiny Roofie, Chocolate, and Molang (the bunny).
The brown and black dogs (and white bunny) chased each other on the verdant lawn.
The green baseplate formerly undergird a house.
She built that with mom, a one bedroom tract home, not unlike our first house.
Alas, creative destruction.
䷫䷃
a melon covered in willow leaves.
hidden lines.
then it drops down to one from heaven.
One blue smudge on the sheet.
Annother on the ping pong paddle.
Wash his hands.
What? More!
On the bed, the dresser, the laptop.
His arms, her shirt.
The wall.
His face.
Eureka!
The leaky pen.
My hands.
䷩
It furthers one to cross the great water.