in my room...

Ok, boy. Your room's all set up, you're full term and your mother started maternity leave today, so... whenever you're ready you can come on out to play...

Ready yet?

How about now?...

now?...

ok, then... we can wait...

...

now?...

happy thanksgiving...

Many of you lovely people have given us many wonderful baby gifts and for this we are certainly very thankful.

almost falling...

There comes a day in the year as the sun slides further south, as the shadows pull longer across the landscape, right after the clocks belch up an extra hour of sleep one cool Sunday morning, that the whole of the northern hemisphere begins to turn inward in quite introspection. The haze of morning lingers further into the day. The kudzu slows its incessant growing and fades to a paler green.

The trees begin the slow retreat, pulling the essence of life in from the limbs, back down the trunk, to hide away the winter months safe from the chill. As they slide backwards into slumber, they set fire to the raiment of green summer, leaving the brilliant hues of warmer light. The gradient tumbles from green to yellow, golden yellow to orange, brilliant orange to the deepest of reds, until the entire landscape burns like a wildfire.

But the wildfire never burns long. The vivid colors of early autumn are fleeting. Leaves become brittle dry, fade to brown, lose their tenuous grasp, and fall. The cover the green lawns in a thick blanket of somber hues. Twilight comes and all nature slides softly, silently into slumber.

two'fer tuesday : saturday's nature...

Voting has ended.

breaking the silence...

Sorry about being so distant the last few days. I've not been ignoring you and no, I don't think we need to have any sort of talk about our relationship. Don't worry. I still love you. I've just been very tired as of late. I'm not sure if it's the mixture of excitement and nerves here so close to birth day or if it's just the early onset of seasonal affective disorder. Neither excuse is sufficent to explain my absence these past few days. Mea culpa.

I will let you know beforehand that I'll be taking a week or two off from the web when Coleman does arrive. I'll set up a pictures page so you can see him, but I won't be here writing each night for you. To keep your well entertained, however, I have secured a guest writer and I'm working on a couple of guest photographers for Two'fer Tuesday. For the three of you who make this small journal a daily visit, hopefully this is good news.

Also of some note, the first anniversary of the kudzu is fast approaching. Hard to believe another year is gone. Following that is our anniversary, but I'm sure I'll speak more to that next month. Extra points if you can guess which one this will be. (No fair to play if you were there at the wedding...)

Finally, If you'd like to see the actually progress Coleman has made of the last six weeks or so, compare the picture above to the one I posted on Oct. 17 which was taken on Oct 12.

and the band played on...

me, my camera, and i...

can you say landslide?...

As fall rolls in like a fog off the ocean, as the temperature drops into the southern end of the mercury, the farmer works to pull in the harvest from the fields. All year he works to cultivate his fields, tilling the ground, planting seeds, pulling weeds, fixing tractors, trimming, pruning. It's a lot of work. Maybe too much work. It braids muscles into knots, beads sweat upon the brow, bends the spine. It�s the kind of work that makes the young man look old and the old man leather tough.

His work has purpose beyond profit. His work feeds the hungry, delights the children, holds doctors at bay for one more day. It�s filled with long walks in the orchard, praying over the coming harvest, praying for a high yield and high dollar so he can send Johnny Jr. to the state university. Every golden delicious is another bit of change in the fund, another step closer to making a better life for the little apple seed.

It is not the easy life of the playboy, the glamorous life of the rock star, the monkish life of the academic, or the monotonous life of the programmer. It is the life of dirty fingernails, the life of calloused hands, the life of pragmatic joys and measured optimism. It�s a life spent waiting for fall, for the filling of baskets, for the fruits of his labor to manifest. Then comes the winter, and the rest, and the waiting for next harvest.

two'fer tuesday: cornerstone...

You know the deal, folks. Get your votes in by 11PM EST for them to count. You have 23 full hours, so I don't want to hear any excuses about "I was in Malaysia and the time zone's a day and a half ahead" or "I couldn't vote because I didn't know where my polling place was" or "I was too busy playing with my new baby girl to vote..."

say what?!?...

I just found the the following post in a blog. Anyone wanna tell me what they said? Or maybe what language this is? (I hope it's nice.)

Saturday, November 08, 2003

klik!
Cantik betul gambar-gambar dalam http://shaneblake.com. Aku teringin nak tahu kamera jenis apa yang dia pakai, color correction apa yang dia guna... Cantik sangatlah.

[ azman ayob taip @ 1:33 PM ]

how do you title an instrumental?...

I wrote a new instrumental for church this week. Josh recorded it off the soundboard this morning, so I have a live version for those of you not in the 10:00 service at church this morning. I just decided on the title five minutes ago. Hope you like it.

Waiting For Patience (live)

what you lookin' at, fool?...

green water...

a new little friend...

and behind door number one...

Sure, you could ask what's behind the door. Will I tell you? Probably not. No, I'm not trying to be cruel here. It's just that not everything should be known. There is a reason for the lock and key, and it's not so much for the fear of theft. Locks won't stop a thief. Best it can do is slow one down. If someone wants to make your stuff their stuff bad enough, not much you do shy of led shot and powder will be completely effective.

No, the real purpose of locks is to keep secrets. Humans are curious, nosey, ravenously inquisitive. We are all little god wannabe's, seeking to extend our omniscience into the private lives of those around us. But we cannot control the planets, or change the laws of gravity, or speed the process of gestation. So much of nature out of our control. Therefore our omnipotence depends on the power we can weld over our peers. Knowledge is that power.

We know this. We understand the rules, and as we go digging for dirt, we recognize the need to protect our own secrets. So we hide them in drawers, behind locked doors, bury them in jars in the back yard, whatever it takes to shield them from the eyes of the world.

But there is a truth we sometimes forget. There is power in being vulnerable. There is strength in weakness. There is a time to insert the key, turn the handle, and give the world a little peek inside. You know this. I know this. And I have this locked door right here before us. I could open up and let you see. But, then again, maybe some secrets are better left unspoken...

two'fer tuesday: post-revolution...

Ok folks, it's Tuesday again. You know what to do. Remember that you have until 11PM EST to get your vote cast.

And yes, I've now seen Matrix: Revolutions. And yes, I did like it. And oh heck yeah, especially liked the ending. Sure, those movies have plot holes big enough to fly a hover ship through, but so what? Ok, so there are a few dangling plot threads at the end. But who cares? They're movies. You laugh, cry, cheer, yell, raise your left eyebrow in puzzled bemusement. They're entertainment, not repositories of theology. There is no spiritual enlightenment to be gleaned from them. And, most importantly, there's no pop quiz at the end.

So come. Join me by the water cooler and we'll waste our fifteen minutes arguing over what we thought we saw.

welcome to the stage...

Our new friend Emily Anne Dreifuss entered the world stage this morning weighing in at 7lb 7oz. Drop by her daddy's blog and drop a congradulatory comment.

truth in advertising...

The nature of writing (be it novel, journal, blog, whatever) is, at it's very base, an egotistical act of self fulfillment. In writing, you make yourself the center of attention. In writing, you can tell your story, speak your mind without the annoyance of interruption or fear of confrontation. It is the ability to speak with your most reasoned voice, with your most elequent vocabulary. You make an audience of the page or screen and perform for a captivated, gracious and patient audience. After all, what is the purpose of the page but to receive the fruits of your intellect? What purpose has WordPerfect if not to contain your perfect words? What purpose has the internet but to be the brick wall for so much self-aggrandizing graffiti?

after a long day at work...

i waited 24 hours for this?...

So I've been staring at that darn goat for the past two days thinking to myself "I don't know nothin 'bout no goats. What am I gonna write about a %#&@ goat?!?" Sure. I grew up in the south, but the closest I'd ever been to goats where confined to a petting zoo. Sure. Jennifer wanted a goat for a pet when she was young, but her grandfather said she couldn"t have one. Something about them being too dirty, or too much trouble, or too redneck. His memory as to why must have grown rather hazy as he purchased three goats last year. He was rather upset when the feral dogs killed two of them. I can understand why. They were rather cute. Certainly wish I could have found the pictures of those three that I took last time we were out there. (The two goats in Tuesday's picture belonged to the neighbor, in case you were wondering.)

Jennifer once had a run in with a petting zoo goat once. Little dear decided the flowers on her favorite dress looked real enough to eat. So he did. He ate them. Great big hole in her favorite sun dress just above her knees. Too funny. Ok, so not nearly as funny as the time she sat on the electric fence and burned a hole in each cheek of the jumper she was wearing. We weren't dating at the time, so I wasn't there to see her expression at that exact moment, but I can imagine it was funny. She sure did turn red when her grandmother showed me the outfit with the burned holes. Anyone want to guess what expression she'll have when she reads this in the morning? { Hi sweety! }

So what have we learned tonight? That being from the southern states doesn't mean you have personal knowledge of livestock. That urinating on an electric fence might not kill you, but sitting on an electric fence can cause spontaneous urination. That some nights I can't keep my eyes open past 11 PM and others I'm still rambling on well past midnight.

So "coming soon" is going to be later than sooner. Can't be helped. Sorry.

In the mean in between, go get yourself a pirate name. Arr...

Mad Morty Kidd
Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

[story coming soon...]

two'fer tuesday: end of a county road...

Showing off some of the wife's photography today. Let her know which you like better in the comments and, as always, I'll write about that photo for tomorrow's post.

return of the list...

26 Things is back for November. I'm kind of excited. I had a lot of fun with the previous list and look forward to finding photos of the new items. Let the digital scavenging begin!

26 Things : 2
high point
familiar
too much
2PM
the end
layered
three
contemplation
warning
electric
sharp
red
reflection
movement
soft
cold
close up
new old
team
oversized
intimidating
culture
energy
famous
community
shadows

waiting for the joy...

Am I trying to equate having a baby with the effort it takes to make a good cup of coffee? Is this photo some attempt at an extended metaphor About using the best ingredients? The proper vessel? Waiting an approximate, yet exact amount of time? About how the joys of anticipation and longing rival the joy of a desire realized?

Maybe...