Dad-dad-daddy-o!

I remember the first father's day I celebrated, officially it was totally unofficial I was a dad-to be.  While I had known the news since January-ish it was something that we didn't go about advertising at work.

My family knew, my very close knot of friends (a total of 3) knew, and my boss knew.
That made it all the more interesting when our not-dedicated Admin, came over to my desk and looked at me with a face that said "I'm not sure this is true, it's probably a mistake, please tell me it's a mistake" and gave me the Father's day gift the company had decided to bestow on us.

She even came with three other people just to make matters more interesting:
"Adri, I was told you ... you well to give this to you, it's a >
audible gasp< **father's day** gift".

I looked at her with my best smile and poker face and hugged her, took the gift (a keychain) and said, "Thank you!"

The three women standing across from me looked like they had just been hit with a firehose full of ice cubes.

Stood up, walked away, looked for my main buddy at the time and went to "smoke".
We didn't smoke, we just stood around talking, and had one of the biggest laughs we could.

Afterwards, the girl did come over again and said "I didn't know you were a father", so I did a bit of explaining that my son had yet to be born, but that officially, yes, I was now the responsible party of having shared 23 of my chromosomes with another homo-sapiens and indeed that gave me the title if nothing else.

She was still stunned.  It washed away with a few beers at our favourite watering hole later.

I'm a bit superstitious to be honest, not too much, not heavily, but I'm not one to count my chickens before they hatch.

Eight years from that surprise gifting, I am blessed to have my son with me, and tell stories, do homework, wiped tushies, cleaned up after a sickness and lost my head over him falling down and getting "hurt".

His tears break me down and his smiles make everything worthwhile, every single time.

Children change people, yeah, it's a cliche but it doesn't stop being true.

I'm happy that right now, I get the chance to live my life as a father, as a figurehead and example.

Hearing my son run like crazy upstairs at the hit of 8 o'clock because "he's late!" for his PJs is so fun it's unreal.  I fought kicking and screaming not to go to bed too early.  He is so punctual about it I have to restrain myself not to laugh a bit (we never know how kids will react to the wrongly timed smirk).

So, I'm told that it's late, he needs a story read and we're lagging behind on our Hobbit chapters.

With home work finished, teeth brushed and clean Pjs, I bid you farewell, may your day be as joyful as mine is, may your dreams be complete, and cherish the child inside of all of you while you spend time with children around you.

Hungry for hilarity after a hurtful hiatus.

I've been away for a while, as I don't have an avid reader base, I can honestly say that I don't feel anyone really missed me writing, they probably didn't notice too much, after all, everyone has a life to keep up with, sometimes even their own.

I've been away for a few... months?  Has it really been that much?  Well let's say months, due to the fact that I've started writing in another medium.  I took up a journal, and using pen and paper is in itself therapeutic, due to the fact that I can't just backspace through the writing, it takes a bit longer, its more measured and clearly, quite a bit more effort.

It started as a promise I made to myself a while back, to try and be better everyday by doing something different and more... permanent than just electronic work, in this age of instant gratification at the touch of a button, but with the permanence of sleet at the gates of hell, it does take a lot of effort, but it's been clearly worth it.

I write, and read back, and then write some more.  It is sometimes much more of a pain than an exercise, but once I'm done and look back on a finished page, sometimes with drawings to illustrate a point or a mood I lean back, smile and sip some more wine.

I don't often drink wine while at a computer, partly because I'm afraid I'll just spill it and ruin everything, but also because deep down inside, I still equate computers to work, delivery and being productive, mostly when I'm writing, not so much so when playing video games, have to be honest, but as growing up tends to do, I play less and less.

I talk a lot more with people now, trying to cut back on the faceless/voiceless/toneless conversations SMS give us and in doing so take back my social environment with real experiences and real "moments".

In other words, I'm getting old, and while it comes sooner to some of us than others, I'm confident it will catch up with most of my generation at some point.

I'll try and not take too long between posts, once a week or so sounds reasonable, unless important stuff happens, more than that would probably be near "chore" territory so, I'll keep the simple things to me and my journal, these days a lot of things are going on, and I do need to write them somewhere, preferably paper so the experience feels a lot more everlasting than... well... bits and bytes.

In case you feel like giving it a listen in, click on the link below, her version is simply superb...

 

Not all likes are created equal, and some are more equal than others

In this great time of social media, the one thing that I believe equalizes others, is the "like" button on Facebook.

Show someone a cute picture of a cat looking stupidly out a window -- "like".

Stating that you just graduated from college and are ready to take on the world -- "like".

Posting that your pet was just run over by a motorist and that you need the plate number searched for -- "like".

People seem to think that "liking" something means anything from really liking it to "I totally abhor what happened but I can't really be bothered to comment on it so here's a sympathetic click on your post".

I do believe that has a lot to do with our need to be acknowledged and people just extrapolate this into the ether and social space.

It is funny though, that some of us still clinging to the dictionary definition of "like" seem to be **misusing** it in their eyes.

You know it's evil likeness compels you to click, go ahead....

like²

līk/

verb

verb: like; 3rd person present: likes; past tense: liked; past participle: liked; gerund or present participle: liking

1. 1.

   find agreeable, enjoyable, or satisfactory.

   "I like all Angela Carter's stories"

   synonyms:

   be fond of, be attached to, have a soft spot for, have a liking for, have regard for, think well of, admire, respect, esteem; More

   antonyms:

   hate

   • indicate one's liking or approval of (a web page or posting on a social networking website) by using the site's ‘like’ facility.

     "more than 15,000 Facebook users had liked his page by Monday morning"
2. 2.

   wish for; want.

   "would you like a cup of coffee?"

   synonyms:

   choose, please, wish, want, see fit, think fit, care to, will More

   • used as a polite formula.

     "we would like to apologize for the late running of this service"
   • feel reluctant to do something.

     "I don't like leaving her on her own too long"
   • choose to have (something); prefer.

     "how do you like your coffee?"

     synonyms:

     choose, please, wish, want, see fit, think fit, care to, will More

   • feel about or regard (something).

     "how would you like it if it happened to you?"

     synonyms:

     feel about, regard, think about, consider More

I want to be able to tell people "I really like this bar" not "I feel that this place is agreeable and probably will keep looking into updates from its site for no reason whatsoever".

I like Ice cream, but I don't believe I need to tell Facebook and the world that, so that they can cater ice cream ads for me (while fun, a lot of these I can't get at my location).  I like BMW, but I honestly don't care about their Facebook presence, and honestly if you believe that BMW will give a 5 series away for liking and sharing a picture, well, I have a bridge I want to sell to you...

Liking something should be a gut feeling, not a reflex.  I like certain people while I find others invariably dull.

Admit it, he's quite the bad-ass

While I'll gladly follow Neil deGrasse Tyson on Facebook, and I LIKE his science communicator status, I don't like him as a person.  I don't KNOW him so I can't really say I like him.  I find him funny, I find him engaging, I find him a fountain of knowledge that I look up to and respect, and yet, I can't say I like him, because I don't have a personal bond with him in any way.

The same way I will NOT accept invitations to be "friends" with people I met once, at a party, through a friend, while inebriated; I will not just "like something" you send my way unless, I really DO genuinely like it.

If, what you want is my >click< so that your new page becomes synthetically popular, do feel free to let me know, as if this is an endeavor that your heart honestly desires, I'll gladly show my support for in some way, probably by sharing the page with others and TELLING them this is something you really feel strongly about, and how it could potentially enrich their lives >because reasons<.

But, I will not just blindly like it.

Descent into Memories and expectations of future past...

I've steered cleared from blogging for a while, as much as I enjoy setting thoughts, ideas, probable "thought universes" and stories in writing, it seems I also enjoy using a journal (paper, pen, and pencil drawings) quite a deal more.

It is obviously a different audience, a Blog, even one as seldom visited as this one, is inherently public to the "internet", my journal, unless peeked upon is quite more private.

And Private thoughts is what I have been setting on it's pages lately.  A good friend of mine recommended it as a therapeutic tool to deal with Grief, and I felt that, I would do as he said, but Blogging.

Piglet helps the writing process. Don't knock it.

If you've never really done a Journal, let me tell you, it's really almost totally unlike blogging; or at least to me it was.

The way I uses it, is as IF I am telling myself things through letters, or, recounting the main highlights of the day, opinion pieces (like I've had a few here) are seldom written there.

It's a more raw approach to "me".

But, that's hardly here or there, the reason I came back today, was that I actually was going to come back a week ago, but still didn't have my thoughts properly aligned.

A week ago today, it was the one year anniversary of the last day I spent with my mom.

Pretty heavy.

About a week ago, Driving down to my Aunt's

You know when people are sympathetic to you because they feel that the one year anniversary of someone's death is really hard on you?

Well, in my case, the hardest part was remembering the last day we held each other, we said our good nights and we were able to share our daily toil and troubles.

The fact that she passed away in the middle of the night with me by her side, is probably the cause of this, but; having her anniversary come up, was the tip of the iceberg when compared to "the last time we were able to talk".

That's the anniversary that will haunt me.

So, with that in mind, I had made the decision that while memory is fleeting and, considering the history of possible memory deterioration in my family, I'd go for a very permanent reminder, and memorial art.

I went ahead and got a tattoo.

Dun dun duuuuun....

It's important to me, as while I love the art form, I had NOTHING so far that I felt merited the breaking of the skin, sure, lots of important things have happened in my life over the years, but one as determining and final as this one.

It's a work in progress so far, and the idea is to build on it as more things happen, to me and my family.

I went for a Polynesian style tattoo, done by a very talented local artist, the way we went about it, was that I told him everything, my story, my mom's story, the type of mother/son relationship we had, and he sat down and used pictographs to convey the meaning that I wanted.

I love it, I will probably do a piece (writing) of ONLY this process as I seriously felt it was therapeutic and grand.

So, that's the new story, that's the message.

I still miss my mother a lot, but she's never stopped being a part of my life and if this post came in a week late, it was mostly due to the fact that yes, I just couldn't put everything into the right words.



"I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all

Still my guitar gently weeps"

The tale of the Donkey and the Little maiden Death

I've been straying away from the Blog for the last couple of weeks, more to the point, I've been trying to do this same thing offline.  Writing, but more of a journal and less of a blog.

Today though, I decided to try a bit of creative writing too, not just journal, this is a bit of a story, a "fable" from my land, here, I share it with you all:

In the land of long ago, past the rolling green hills of emeralds and not yet reaching the timeless sea of Peace, was born a donkey.

Unbeknownst to many around him, the fact of the matter was this was indeed no ordinary simple donkey, made for a life of toil and tilling, of reaping the ground under a heavy load, or traversing the towns with wares on his back.

This donkey was not only born for more, but indeed decided that his life was his own to do as he pleased.

Although he kept forgetting about it constantly.

Many are the stories of the wandering donkey, facing the endless stream of faceless harpies, merging into a shapeless song of grief and pain, that left deep scars on the donkey's hide, but this is not the place to tell those stories, this is in fact, the song of the Crowning of the Donkey, and how he came to bear the fruits of the maiden's release, for he indeed conquered a witch and brought back balance to the land.

After dreadful struggle, and facing the monsters of old the donkey had grown complacent and landed in a simple abode, the rut of routine had indeed began the siren's call and our hero, and as much as he knew the bulk of his yoke was falling on him to carry alone, he dared not take off and run free as he was.

For a witch had taken hold of the donkey's reigns and his destiny was not his own to choose any longer.

Yet the witch would not release the donkey, or provide him with sustenance, in the horizon loomed an eternal struggle where our hero would continue in his stride yet never reach dry land.

As luck would have it, the witch withered after an enormous flood reached her, and wailing "Nevermore..." was, indeed,  no more.

Eons and ages struck the donkey, but he toiled onward carrying his load until reaching a safe port of passage and aiding a maiden in crossing beyond the valley of The Little Death, cementing this, the passing of the witch, and renewing the donkey's strength.

In return for braving du petit morte, the donkey was crowned, for the maiden was a princess in peril, and wishing no more of her kingdom released it onto the donkey's capable back self, engulfing him in flames of glory, and all through the land, you could hear a cry "Ding dong, the witch is gone!! The queen has passed, long live the donkey's Crown!"

Passport, safe conduct and the trials of the immigration office

Generally speaking, I'm not the fondest proponent of the public services in Costa Rica. I gather every country is the same most of the time but in my case these services feel like they were stablished only to prove that the accumulated store of human patience does indeed run limitless. As does the infinite abyss of bureaucratic paperwork. 

Today we are trying to do the paperwork for my son's passport. It really started months ago when we began the process of asking for an appointment online. 

This is the thing, just because you have an appointment it doesn't mean you actually have a set time that you will be tended to. 

The appointment is more of a guideline. More on that later. 

Once we got here we begin the "Security clearance" dance. 

Empty your pockets, show me your hands, walk through the gate.  You beep. Oh you still have your belt on. Yeah love along. 

A kid with a stroller walked in behind me. All metal. He beeped to high heavens. Yeah let's not check him. That would be harassment. Clearly if you want to smuggle big quantities of metal your best bet is to hide it in crutches. Just saying. 

Inside though we make it on time for our 8:15 appointment. That actually means we had to be here by 8. Only to be told at 8:20 that the queue is so far ONLY for appointments that are scheduled before 8:05

That's the queue at 8:39. They are still serving people from before 8:06. 

The little LED sign though? Totally useless it tells you what paperwork you had to bring in to be here. I mean once you are here, what good is that when 90% of the paperwork can NOT be obtained in this building?

I guess it helps in filtering out those people that were clueless enough to be here without even the most basic of requirements, but I believe it would better serve by stating <Now serving XX:XX>

It does beg the question though, how can this be the case EVERY single day at the immigration office?  If it is always this packed has no one really asked how to reduce the times, increase efficiency and drive costs down?

Probably they did. And since this is the government got summarily dismissed for questioning the status quo. 

8:45, queue has disappeared. I'm told it's because they asked everyone that had to be here after 8:10 to sit the hell down. 

As such people started queuing again immediately afterwards. Again. 

Family stories and histories in the making

I had the good fortune of meeting my grandparents while being young and impressionable, and due to the way I was raised I not only enjoyed visiting them but grew up yearning for the stories of their childhood and life before "everything".

I was even luckier than some, that I met my great grandma on my mother's side.  By the time my generation waltzed in, we were allowed to call her "Grandma" anyone before my set HAD to call her "mama", not because she was in some way ashamed of her age, but she felt she was more of a mother to my mom and her generation than a grandma, different times I guess.

Back then, when I was a tiny tot (different from being a tiny adult now), she was very open to sharing stories as well.  You know how some parents will read kids fairy tales, and go over Cinderella 9000 times in their lifetime, well Granma didn't waste time going to books, HELL no, she had lived fairy tales that enthralled me eternally.

One of my favourite stories, was about when being a tiny child herself (she didn't remember if it was closer to 5 than to 10) she was taken by Leprechauns.  Well, I call them that, but she called them "duendes".  Apparently not the same though similar, little people, definite Fae folk.

She used to play outside (all kids did, outside was the place to be of course, nothing happened inside but chores!) and while walking the fields and enjoying the wonderful day, she saw a child that beckoned her to follow.

She used to lean into us kids while telling this part, and her "grandma finger" would pop out of her tiny (and yet so all encompassing and caring) hand and say "But it was no child, as the child had a tiny beard on him, like an old man but small!" and our eyes would widen and silence would prevail during the rest of the telling.

Grandma Rosa knew not to go to strangers, and back then, stranger were not people that lived across the road (like today), strangers were far off people you never ever saw, but this strange child made her comfortable somehow and she followed him down the fields.

Two weeks was grandma lost following the tiny fellow, to her? She said it was no more than a couple of hours, just walking down the fields but as we all are very much aware, the Fae make time go wobbly wobbly and stuff behave differently.

Here, we were all worried, as most children close to her, listening had NEVER ventured further away than a few hundred yards on our own, and being separated from our parents for days? Inconceivable!

"Grandma, what did you eat?" -"Weren't you cold?" - "what did your parent's do!!"

She used to quiet us all down and say "To me it was just a few hours, by nightfall I was found, but my parents were really worried and looked for days and days!"

"Back then, people used to believe more and they knew about the Elves and their ways, so they were certain one had picked my trail"

"But elves have a way of getting you lost even when you think you know you have them corralled, their feet are put on backwards you see!"

(At this age, I took that for being an eternal sign of mischief, now I wonder that if people knew about this particular physical characteristic, why would they not just follow the trail on both directions to cut time....)

Grandma told us that she asked the little "child" to let her go, that she knew she was further from home than she was supposed to be, and her mamma would be livid when she got back.

The child offered many sweets and toys, toys like you wouldn't believe!  Little carts and trains and things with wings like birds; crystal flowers and sparkles, but grandma declined saying that she had to head back, and being reasonable for once, the child said "then just go back" and grandma was woken in the fields by family and friends that had kept looking.

They covered her in kisses and hugs, and took her back home and had her relate the tale of the last few weeks.

Today we can say that she was probably abducted, or got lost in the woods and a very many things that could be entirely "truer" than being hoodwinked by leprechauns and walking miles in dream land.

But grandma would have none of your lip, she would not back down from he story for in reality it was HER reality of the time.

I couldn't go back and ask anyone about this, her parent's had long passed away, her children had heard the same stories once or twice in the past, and truth is; I don't think I would have wanted anyone to prove them fantasy.

Today, we don't go out as much, our neighbours are as strangers as people that live countries away and we can't be bothered to trust stories anymore.  Our fantasies have to do more with bigger houses, bigger cars and faster things than with alternate possibilities of reality.

I hope these stories don't die with me, I'll tell Junior about them and hope others in my line (cousins and family) share them as well, I know I wasn't the only one listening.