Maze of Lights

Jess and I realized that we've only been in the house for a month in a half now. This amazes us as we seem settled in. It isn't the sense of newness that gives us pleasure -- more a feeling of being home. And this comes not just from sitting on the porch and watching the river flow, but from walking the Townsend streets for a morning cup of coffee, or from, in some larger perspective, a sense of shared history.

It hasn't been long enough so that I know where all the light switches are. I've come to slowly discover that our underlit living room can light up like a star when you know what buttons to push and you've replaced all the dead bulbs.

I made a tempeh, cauliflower, mushroom tikki masala for dinner tonight that Jess claimed was the best thing I ever cooked. I haven't been able to cook much recently, but, now that I'm finding the time, I'm throwing myself to the burners with passion and whatever is leftover from my weekly paycheck.

I also wrapped some garlic up in tinfoil and roasted it, coating it, as a butter, on toast. The aftertaste is warming. It's enough to make me think in terms of ecstasy, but I'm that kinda guy.

I think this winter, I'll make some good soups.

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I've been trying to do holiday shopping. I bought my mother a calendar frame from a local crafts store. I had never seen one before, but it takes a calendar and gives it more the feel of folk art.

In keeping with my attempt to shop local, I also bought up a few odds and ends that will serve as stocking stuffers. I won't go into details. Who knows? You, the person reading this right now, might be the intended recipient!

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Jess is out there, somewhere, driving the Massachusetts night. She has to pick up Dufflebag at the halfway point between here and his father's home.

On Saturday, as we drove, Jess talked about our concerns over Dufflebag's horror movie watching. He is somehow getting access to films inappropriate to an eleven-year-old. As we talked, his father called. At the exact same time, Billy called me.

We pulled into a parking lot and I hopped out. Jess thought I was being a pain in the ass, pretending to talk on the phone. But I wanted to tell Billy about the Parker house pancakes, since I knew he'd understand.

When she got off the phone, she told me his dad said that we needed to curb the Dufflebag's horror movie watching. A coincidence!

It turns out he found Dufflebag in the garage, playing with a crowbar and a pitchfork, intending to use them as props in a film.

It's an odd position to be in, of course -- the parent of a creative kid. Especially for Jess and, by proxy, me -- both of us having done our share of getting into music and art that was meant for older eyes. In some ways, it's great that he is getting ideas for movies, rather than sitting around content with the passive entertainment most kids go in for. And if he wants to make a horror film, why not a pitchfork? What is supposed to use? A spork?

At the same time, he's eleven, and thinking of such violent images swirling around a confused head is frightening. The good news is that he seems, by nature, to be gentle. He loves animals and takes easily to people. But you can see the dilemma. Instead of shooting hoops, he wants to run around making slasher films.

There are no more cowboys and indians in the collective imagination of youth. I imagine it is much on the order of violence and survival.