Speaking of, I’m not really sure I like the acronym for Stay At Home Dad. It looks like some sort of anglicized phonetic way to just say sad. And I’m not that, so I want to come up with a new acronym. Maybe, Dad At Home, like DAH, which I think might be a colloquialism for father in some parts of the world. Or maybe, I should just go with CIC, as in, Charles In Charge. Of our days, and our nights.
Anyway, day two, much better than day one. Day One of staying home with the boys could best be described as a shit storm. But I survived. L has done it so much, I’m sure my stress is laughable. But it is hard to know how to fill up the day. This was a stay at home day, no parks, or zoos, or what not. It was a good time.
I’m glad I’m home with them and being forced to watch Special Agent Oso and Kung Fu Panda. Otherwise, I’d probably just watch oil spill coverage and be totally depressed. Something about oil spills make feel awful about the world. It makes me think of the Neverending Story, and the “nothing” that was destroying the world. A bunch of years ago, there was a big oil spill off the cost of Spain, and I started to write a short story to express my feelings about it. Alex and Sara are waiting by the river near the house, having heard on the T.V. that a pipeline has been damaged upstream.
“How long do you think it will take,” he called out.“How the hell should I know”, she replied, and he let the subject drop.They waited for about an hour, and a small pile of cigarettes grew beside Alex. The air began to cool with the coming night, and the sun cast the shadows of the trees long on the river. And then it came.At first Sara thought it was a shadow on the water, perhaps a large fish close to the surface or a bird flying overhead, but then she saw more. Soon a dark shadow covered most of the surface and began to lap up near her shoes and where ever it touched turned dark and glistened unnaturally. Sara had the horrifying sensation that the darkness was somehow erasing things and that they no longer existed; the roots of the tree beside her, the grass, and the pylons of the pier. She heard the sound of Alex’s feet on the gravel as he moved up beside her.“My god”, he said. And she thought it was odd, because it was not the sort of thing he ever said. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed and he moved his hand over hers. They stared transfixed as the oil covered the whole surface of the water.“And the earth was without form and void, and darkness covered the face of the water,” he said.“That was creation” she said, “and this is not.”
More than anything, this is what I think about when I hear stories about oil spills. The spread of the oil is like the personification of death, mortality moving ever closer, extinguishing life as it comes, turning all unnatural and bizarre. Like the rainbow sheen of a parking lot puddle. I hear they are spreading detergents of some sort to help disperse the oil, which can help prevent the oil from coming to shore, but also kills most of the microflora in the ocean, which can actually be more damaging to the ecosystem. Like washing the sand away from under a house. Sadness.
Posted via email from Dr. Fu Manchu’s Elixer Vitae
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One Comment
I feel bad because I have (somehow) completely escaped viewing any coverage of the oil spill. Like everytime I turn on the news its something about Kim Kardashian. I know they are talking about it, and showing horrifying video, but I’ve been subconsciously avoiding it, I guess.
You are a great stay at home dad. I’m going to call you a “Sexy Man Unfettered by Repressive Fascist Stereotypes.” SMURFS.
Have fun at the zoo. Allmylove, L
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