Category Archive

Calder: “you do that stinky gas, daddy?” Daddy: “No. That was Tillman.” Calder: “Tillman, you go sit on the potty.”

Back when I was studying geology at UGA, the geeky, inside-joke bumper sticker among the geodudes read “Reunite Gondwanaland!” accompanied by the de rigueur lefty power fist. (This recent example sadly lacks the fist. Apparently the designers aren’t down with the struggle.)   If you don’t know, Gondwanaland was the southern supercontinent that included South America, Africa, Antartica and Australia. Given the bumper context, most people thought it was some esoteric leftist political movement which hadn’t quite reached the mainstream of Che shirts and Tibetan bumper stickers. You still see these occasionally, usually plastered across a freak-mobile and accompanied by a thousand other bumper stickers. I started thinking about reuniting Gondwanaland when Walker discovered this tiny tectonic convergence in the parking lot at Stone Mountain.

Ouch! Puccini just stepped on my tentacles.

K: “While you’re out, would you stop at Walgreen’s and get us some hats and tooters for New Year’s Eve?” Till, pointing at his behind: “You mean THIS kind of tooter!?!?”

Here then, for one night only, each home throughout the English-speaking world should be a brightly lighted island of happiness and peace. Let the children have their night of fun and laughter. Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play. Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again to the stern tasks and formidable year that lie before us. Resolved that by our sacrifice and daring these same children shall not be robbed of their inheritance or denied their right to live in a free and decent world. And so, in God’s mercy, a happy Christmas to you all. – Winston Churchill’s Christmas Eve address, Washington, 1941

I think Santa has diabetes. – Walker

When I bite, I get what I want. – anonymous portrait client

Passing the Steak and Shake: Till: “That’s where I barfed down the Frisco Melt.” Walker: “It’s ‘scarfed down,’ Tillman…” Till: “That’s where I scarfed down the Frisco Melt.”

Something you will never hear a girl say: “When I was at Miss Ali’s, I took a square pretzel and chewed it into the shape of a gun.”

It’s been an exquisite day here in Atlanta, mid-80s, no humidity, sky as blue as the Greek Islands. I’m really starting to enjoy this Global Warming thing. After this morning’s portrait sessions, I took the boys to the Dekalb Farmer’s Market, which has long been one of my favorite places in town. We went for a few things for tonight’s dinner and ended up spending an hour there. Calder took a liking to my coffee and drank it; Walker and Tillman hogged up the basket, grabbing samples off every table, demanding every treat in the bakery as if they could eat them all. Tonight’s dinner was another fabulous recipe courtesy of Cooks Illustrated, Char Siu, or Chinese Barbeque Pork, with some wokked bok choy and Jasmine Rice. YDFM mascarpone fruit tart for dessert. After dinner, I got the boys off to bed and enjoyed the beautiful evening out on the patio while Kristin read trashy magazines. Tonight’s companion was a Bolivar Habana torpedo — a #2, I think — given to me about two years ago by a friend (thanks, Dwight!). It was perfectly aged in my humidor and utterly enjoyable to the very end. I know this is all Twittery micro-blogging, the quotidian details of the day, like how I tied my shoes and cooked breakfast, had a tasty cup of coffee and worked and played. Twitter is just a headache. I couldn’t care less what Ashton Kutcher has to say about Nikon cameras or politics or his old lady. Granted, there are a few interesting Tweeters here and there, but most of it is just atomized nonsense, the exultation of ennui. My point is this: Happiness is elusive. We all search so hard for meaning in life. We buy self help books and try to actualize and watch Oprah and find some feeling in the world. We all do this on some level. Some make it a hobby. Some make it a career. And what if it’s all right in front of you? Your son laughs about a pretzel, your wife smiles and gives you a little smack on your butt, the baby throws up on your shirt, the dog eats a meatball and farts. The night is cool. The crickets chirp. Sinatra is on the radio. There is so much beauty in the world, so many people to know, so much music and art, so many dogs, so many babies, so many reasons to be happy. So why do so many of us seek to be unhappy? As Father Patrick once said at midnight mass, “Let’s all try to grow up a bit, shall we?” Yes, let’s.