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Monthly Archives: November 2018

…and a partridge in a Dar tree

November 29, 2018, 4:28 pm

Are we doing enough for Dar? This question haunts us. Now that the year is coming to a close, I can’t help but look back and ask, what were we doing in 2018 when we might have been helping Dar? Does everyone ask themselves this? Should everyone? I wonder. Despite (because of?) all the overscheduling of these 21st-century kids, I wonder how much of their upbringing is delegated to the schools while we parents pursue our own muses. We tell
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…and be thankful for a never ending story

November 22, 2018, 10:58 am

  I am thankful that my life is rather amazing despite Dar. I mean, other than him, my life is kind of everything I wanted and worked for. How bonkers is that? And how does it affect his life? Maybe no one has the life they pictured. Occasionally I’ll have a Sliding Doors moment, a bit ofMan in the High Castle, where I seem to flash on the life I thought I wanted. That happened the other day at our hotel,
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Buhhhh

November 15, 2018, 8:53 pm

I’m going to make this blog post very short, and just a little sweet. I’m anticipating Thanksgiving, and I’m thankful for the five seconds that I’m about to describe. First, a set-up. Almost every night, I put Dar to bed. (On the other nights, wifey puts him to bed.) I walk him upstairs and walk him right into his bed. I literally tuck him in. I kiss his head. Then I say “night.” Very rarely, he might try to answer
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Canvassing for my kids’ future

November 9, 2018, 11:26 am

“I’m doing this for my kids. I’m not some kind of doctrinaire Democrat or anything, it’s just that I want my kids to have a future.” These are words I spoke many times over the last weekend to strangers. They have the virtue of being true. Of course, it’s also true that if wifey and I remain in California, which just elected another big-old-government Democrat to the governorship, there’s a good chance that California will make sure that Dar will
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Before the Breaking of the World

November 1, 2018, 4:49 am

As I start to type this blog post, it’s exactly 3am on November 1, the Day of the Dead. The Dead Tired, that is. I woke up maybe 40 minutes ago, like James Brown, in a cold sweat. How’s that for candor? The T-shirt in which I’d been sleeping was soaked, as was the sheet under me. I arose, trying not to wake wifey. In my bedroom closet hang all my large T-shirts for moments just like these – no
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