tutti frutti

Yesterday was such an interesting day. Varieties of offers, invitations, and acceptances. Unfortunately I’m not in a place to talk about some of it, probably most of it. Secret handshakes, family jewels, a growing yearning for something else. Something other. Like that.

I can tell you that yesterday was my son Spenser’s 32nd time around the sun – dob 11/11/92, Daytona Beach, FL. We had the most wonderful, lovely phone call, telephonically transversing the nearly 900 miles between way south in California and a good way into Idaho. At one point, when I was talking with him about my mind, and thoughts coming into my mind, he said, “My mind is my birthday.”

I thought then, and I think now, the kid’s a natural Zen monk. Plus never mind his birthday boy choice of celebratory dinner with his Idaho people – the Texas Roadhouse – burgers and fries. The way any monk would do it.

Then last night I watched the documentary, “Little Richard – I Am Everything.” Raising the memory of Bruce Springsteen singing, long ago – “Man, the dope is that there’s still hope.”