4,032 Pages

This is undoubtedly more an exercise in publicity than in publishing, but I still think it's ridiculous. I've always thought the best way to pay tribute to an author would be to encourage their work to be read, actually read, rather than just collected.

Rare Moments of Lucidity

I never used to get sick, not like this, not all-I-want-to-do-is-crawl-into-bed-for-a-few-days sick. Not all that often, anyway. Sure, I'd catch a cold from time to time, sleep buried under several layers of blankets, and feel much better in the morning. These days, though, I seem to be easily laid low by each exotic virus my six-year-old brings home with him.

Ordinarily, I'd be inclined to just lay low for a few days, and hope to feel better — but I've already been doing that for a few days, and I don't seem to feel much better. And I'm tired of staying in bed, and work is piling up, and the house is a shambles, and I'm concerned that my son might catch this — it doesn't seem responsible to wait any longer. Tomorrow morning, I'll see the Doctor.

Soap

Isn't this beautiful? It's a handmade soap. You can't buy one yet, but you'll be able to do so soon.

I think the problem I have with an object this beautiful in soap is that I'd never, ever want to use it — which more or less defeats the purpose, don't you think?

Hermit Crab

I now know more, much more, on the subject of the Hermit Crab than I would have thought possible. My son's first grade class has been studying them for a few months, and as the culmination of that work, he's bringing one home tomorrow. (Or rather, I'm picking one up tomorrow morning before school starts.) I must admit, though, I agreed to this without any real understanding of the depth of the responsibility involved — and the more I read, the more responsibility there seems to be.

But they seem to eat just about anything. That's something.

A small habitat has been set up in the office (setting up the home for a hermit crab — outside of it's shell, that is — can be a surprisingly expensive proposition), and I've promised to buy another to share it with the one that will be coming home from school. (I just hope I have better luck than I did with the Betta.)

Irreplaceable

The first iPod I bought (which was, as it happens, the first iPod) cost (I think) $400. (Or it might have been $500 — I don't remember if I bought the larger model.) When my commuting days ended (and life as a stay-at-home parent began), my wife started using it. Several years later, I bought her an iPod Nano; and in time, I inherited that.

By the time it came my way, it had been scratched up a bit — that model was particularly, irritatingly prone to scratches — and that vexed me, enough that I tried a few different methods of polishing it to remove (or at least reduce) the obvious wear. But nothing ever worked. For a while, I used a case to try to disguise it, but that was more trouble than it was worth, somehow.

I've used this iPod almost every day for as long as I can remember — listening to podcasts, sharing music with my six-year-old, or (when he was younger) or playing something quiet to encourage him to drift off to sleep during a long drive home from wherever we were. I've thought of replacing it, but by now it has far too much history. For me, it represents all those places, all those times.

It fits in my pocket, at times almost unnoticed. Often, these days, with my iPhone (which does have a case), though occasionally with keys, or loose change. It's been dropped once or twice (or more). It creaks a bit if you press hard, the silver paint is wearing off of the "Hold" switch, and it's more scratched up than it ever was. At times, it seems as though it's about to fall apart. But I've given in and learned to embrace the signs of wear. Like the yellowed pages and worn binding of a book, I've come to see them as the sign of an object that has been thoroughly used and appreciated. Even loved.

Chirp!

I told my six-year-old this morning that I had just heard an interesting bird song in the back yard, one I didn't recognize. I described it for him, and without so much as a moment's pause, he knew just what it was — he told me that it was a Wren that was brown with a white face, and that he had heard it in Chirp! on his iPod Touch and he wanted to show me.

He couldn't, because his iPod battery had run out, but I suggested we could look on my iPhone while waiting for the bus.

As it turned out, we didn't have the time (I had let him sleep in this morning), but as soon as he was on the bus, I checked for myself. And he was right — it was a Carolina Wren.

Best $200 I ever spent.

Love

"Daddy, will I fall in love some day?" my six-year-old asked of me.

"Of course you will." I told him. (Several times over, I might have added.)

When I asked what brought the question on, he told me it was the cartoon we were watching with Popeye and Olive Oyl.