"You gotta get movin' around when you're in that whole field there," my husband says to my son as they play Lego Star Wars. My husband was gone overnight for business and you'd think he'd been gone for a month, the way my son kept checking the time. Checking the time with me, of course, as he is only 4, and time is irrelevant, or at least, indecipherable. Anyone who knows me knows time is pretty much irrelevant to me, too. I'm not quite convinced that my flippant answers to "When will Daddy be home," haven't caused irrepairable damage, resulting in years of therapy. Three days. Twenty seven hours. Never. Probably Daddy will never be home is NOT a nice thing to say. But he knew I was kidding. Nevertheless.
At any rate...Daddy's home, and as I sit and blog, finally, I realize I missed this, this writing, like my son missed Daddy. I gotta get movin' around. And, naturally, there's irony. Always with the irony. The X-Box Star Wars playing didn't go as planned. Does anything, whether you're 4 or 34?
(As a sidebar...even my 94 year-old grandmother-in-law says life isn't as she planned, that God is playing a cruel joke letting someone live so long.)
Back to the irony. My son had saved over a game they had already saved, so they had to work through all the hard levels they had already conquered to get back where they wanted to be. It was a hard road, I gather, from the uproar. Which brings to mind the new poetry blog I want to join. Poetry Thursday posts prompts, really good prompts. I feel motivated to write, but sometimes I get stuck and just want to skip the hard thinking, drafting, creating phase and pull out my old work. OK sometimes, but where would I be as a writer if I didn't work hard every day? Yes, husband and son, where would you be as Lego Star Wars players if you didn't work hard every day?
Despite all this, I really, really want to join, so I am working on a song poem and posting now, a food poem I wrote a while back in response to an earlier post. Lame, I know. But, I think the poem is pretty good!
The Sushi Master Slips Up and Makes of His Wife a Work of Art
It was a culinary feat, how he steamed his wife
and rolled her into a knobby white ball,
flattened her with the palm of his hand.
pressed her into the very edges
of the blue black seaweed wrap.
Pure artistry as he pulled her
glistening arms from the display case
sliced swiftly and evenly two soft pink tendrils
lovingly layered them, one atop the other.
Such surprise when he removed the lid
of the smiling cat
drew out his wife’s head and pop, pop pulled out her red eyeballs
adding them to his signature dish
With just the tips of his fingers
he wrapped wrapped wrapped his beloved into a neat tight roll
and with the flick of a wrist, a glint of silver,
she was four perfect pieces.