I stand in the doorway to the kitchen. My boys curl around the corner wielding two sawed-off nerf shotguns, each loaded with 8 deadly projectiles. They smile at me. I remain nonplussed.
I look over their heads towards the front of our apartment. I tilt my head, raise my arm, and point towards the windows. They both turn their little bodies away from me and look.
I close the kitchen door, locking them in the other room, because they are dumb dumbs and I am and merely dumb.
Playing with Light
The boys and I live in an apartment that is filled with light. I am grateful for the architect, whoever they were 100 years ago, that added so many windows to the unit.
We don’t own the building, which is fine but also a bummer because I am always looking for ways to modify whatever space I’m in, be it a cubicle, metal shop, or home. If I own a space then I can add, move, remove, or leave alone any of the structure. And when I don’t own a space then my options are not necessarily limited so much as they are different, and it’s up to me to be curious about what I can do and then make moves.
Ok. Back to light.
I cannot add or remove any of the windows, but I can play with how the light dances with the room. This takes my mind to Tadao Ando, a Japanese architect that is very thoughtful about light and shadow.
Isn’t that wild? Feels cold, austere, like a myth from the future. Here’s a collage of how light and shadow show up in Ando’s buildings:
My friend Steve pointed me towards Ando. I saw a few photos then took a week-long adventure into whatever I could find, a path that led to me thinking about my apartment with the boys, our windows, and light as a material.
So I started to play.
It’s a good start. I like the direction. I’m working on leaving any analyzation at the door — just make the work as it feels right, put it up, live with it, make 10 more variations if it seems like something is there.
You were wondering about the zinnias. Me too. I looked and took a photo. Now we are each updated.
A guy barged into the AA meeting last night — drunk, 30 minutes after it had started. He said, “This is what an alcoholic looks like! I want you all to see it!”
Everyone looked up at him without saying anything. It takes a lot to truly disrupt a bunch of sober drunks who work the first step which is all about letting go of control. We are all very familiar with disruption
A woman, someone with quite a few sober days under her belt, looked up at the guy and said quietly, “We know,” with a smile. “We all know.”
I thought to myself There I am! He’s a mirror into our pasts and our present. We all see ourselves.
My pal Joe gave me these two nails. He said they came out of an old church that was destroyed by a fire. It’s good for me to keep symbols around of going into then out of the ashes.
With Kit, Age 7, at the Beach
by William Stafford
We would climb the highest dune,
From there to gaze and come down:
The ocean was performing;
We contributed our climb.
Waves leapfrogged and came
Straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.
Standing on such a hill,
What would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
The waves raced far, and cold.
‘How far could you swim, Daddy,
In such a storm?’
‘As far as was needed,’ I said,
And as I talked, I swam.
Stories are storehouses. Truth silos. Let us be caught by stories. Take them in. Analyzing comes later. First, simply experience. Understanding comes later.
This is a freedom for me. When I’m reading a book or a poem or looking at a painting or a sculpture, often a thought of, “I don’t understand,” comes in, then a thought and a feeling that I’m stupid or that the book/art is stupid. That’s the wall. That’s my mind closing the door.
Instead, if I can, I can say no thank you not right now to those thoughts, then I can take in the story and let it work. No need to understand. No need to analyze. Ahhhh now I can breathe. All I need to do is take it in. Read it through the book. Sit with the sculpture. Let my body feel what it feels. That’s it.
Zinnia seeds are in the window planter — hopefully they will welcome the hummingbirds.
Stay tuned to this station for all of your big hummingbird energy news.
🚨Hummingbird Migration Update🚨
The ruby-throated ones are about to cross into the great states of Illinois and Indiana.
There it is. Linseed oil soaked in for a day. There’s something of magic and mystery in that oak.
White oak bed frame progress —
dry fit before sanding and pre-drilling
Torching the wood for a shou sugi ban finish. After burning I wire-brushed the charred oak then drenched it in boiled linseed oil. Last steps will be to apply a few coats of conversion varnish to fully seal it.
Waits, who is 7, had his first jiu jitsu class last weekend, which was also his first organized sports thing. We are generally not a sports family. Nothing against sports at all (I’ve actually become a genuine Cleveland Guardians fan within the last year and listen to a lot of baseball podcasts and games on the radio).
Also, my boys and I aren’t around other families who sport. I assumed that when Waits started school two years ago that I’d meet parent’s of Waits’ friends that I would 1. become friends with myself and 2. would eventually jump into the tee-ball league with Waits and those other families. But, as you know, making friends as an adult does not come with ease, and none of Waits’ friends (that I’m aware of) are doing organized sports.
Which brings us to martial arts. I wanted to find something for Waits that was body-centric as well as confidence/skill building. Of my two boys, Waits is less likely to jump off of, say, a coffee table. Murphy, who is 5, may very well be on the roof of his preschool at this moment, alone, enjoying some candy that he snuck into school in his tiny pants pockets. Waits would never sneak something into school. I’ve tried to get him to do it (I am serious). “Buddy put this toy car in your pocket,” I’ll say as we get ready to leave the house. “Dad - no. That’s breaking the rules,” he says.”
One other example that accurately describes this kid is this spelling assignment he did last week in his first grade class:
That’s pure Waits.
In thinking about what kind of group activity Waits could dip his toe into, I thought through what sorts of things involved the whole body, develop confidence, a growing sense of self, and maybe some good John Wick energy. I knew (and still do not know) much of anything about martial arts, but I remember reading that jiu jitsu seems to be less about attack and more about control, or something along those lines.
After showing Waits a few jiu jitsu videos on my phone, I asked if he wanted to try it.
“Yeah — as long as you stay with me and if we can leave if I don’t like it.”
“You bet, pal.”
I encouraged him to do his best to get through the first one-hour class, that he could do all of it even if he didn’t like parts of it. “But if you absolutely hate it, then we can leave. BUT - I think you can make it through the full first class.”
Dipping our toes, testing the waters.
We got to the gym and he was excited, which excited me. Everything was new — the clothes, the room, the people. There’s a boxing ring next to the martial arts space and a weight room which was clean and looked like you have to know what you’re doing to use it. Championship belts and medals lined the walls. Everyone was fit. I felt like me: a 40 year old dad who makes furniture. Waits and Murph asked a bunch of questions about all of yhe equipment and I just kept saying, “Man I have no idea about any of this, but we’ll find out.”
The first ten minutes of the class were all about stretching, jumping-jacks, kid cartwheels and push-ups. Waits was the only new kid and the youngest, both very evident. My dad-heart was aching. I wanted to jump in, help him with the movements, encourage him as he fumbled along with the other kids who knew the drills. Even writing that sentence stirs up the longing to save him.
During those ten minutes he looked over at me and gave me the thumbs down. His face downcast. I couldn’t tell if he was crying. I gave him the thumbs up, forced a smile, and said “Keep going my man! You’re doing great!” And he was.
The warmups ended and they transitioned to watching the teachers slowly walk through that day’s grappling moves, explaining each step with every reach and turn. These teachers are absurdly flexible and fit. I watched, felt fat. So it goes.
The kids then paired up to try out the positions. I learned at the end of class that they pair new students with experienced ones so that the new kids don’t get hurt. Waits was with a kid who had a grey belt (Waits’ belt was white). The kid was shorter than Waits but was probably two years older.
When they began to practice the grappling moves, and Waits’ face glowed.
My face shone even brighter. I was and am absolutely tickled.
For 40 minutes they ran through the positions with teachers coming alongside them to adjust their hands and feet. Waits’ grappling partner was patient and kind. I watched him help my boy along the way with more maturity than I’d ever expect in a 9 year old. I don’t know his name, and Waits forgot to ask, so we just call him Grey Belt.
After the class was over Waits ran to me and asked when we could come back. I asked him if he had the money for the class and the uniform, he said he didn’t, and I said oh ok I guess I’ll cover it this time.
🚨HUMMINGBIRD MIGRATION UPDATE: KENTUCKY HAS BEEN BREACHED.🚨
Here come the ruby-throated hummingbirds.
I’ve been tracking hummingbird migrations daily for a month, watching them follow the nectar as the flowers bloom. I was tickled when they started heading East from Texas along the gulf coast. Enamored at the crossing of Tennessee, beginning a trek north. And last night, dear reader, hummingbirdcentral.com updated their map as a good citizen reported a sighting near Bowling Green.
“3/27/2023 — Male Ruby-throated Hummingbird sighted. Singular at front porch feeder 9 am. On-time arrival.”
I’ve been researching to purchase a new feeder for our home. I’ll report back with findings and procurements.
