Category Archives: Raising a Humanist

Ode to Halloween

Raising a Humanist, ,

Sometimes, like this year, you are frigid.  Just shy of seeing dragon breath.

You bring out the fun in strangers.  It creeps kids out sometimes.  Me too.

Candy is not a remedy for pinching cheeks and enthusiastic grannies.

Sometimes, like this year, the streets are kind of empty.

Once, like this year, you were cause for mounting a big screen TV on the garage door and sitting around a fire pit watching football.  Their buddy, the cop, thought it was fun too.  He hung out for a while.  We got two candies for the price of one house.

You remind me of an autumn childhood.  Robinhood bow lovingly crafted.  Punk hair meticulously colored.  Wrapped in layers of my mothers hippie skirts.  Little orange boxes rattling with pennies for unicef.  Adolescent boys chasing each other with silly string, eggs, and toilet paper.

This year I just tagged along.  She dashed ahead, a mouse.  Her babysitter, her lovingly doted on big best friend, a cat, sauntered beside her.  I just tagged behind.  There as witness to the candy collection.

You are fun, Halloween.

I hope you never go away.

losing profundity

Raising a Humanist, , ,

this weekend i took a mini-trip to Martha’s Vineyard with some girlfriends. i distinctly recall having some very important profound thoughts. i even remember what i was looking at.
in the dark room, recovering from an upset stomach, i was staring at the wall paper. it was floral.
studying the angles of a dancing statue in the sunlight.
waiting for the bus across from Alley’s.
watching the wide blue sky stretch on forever.
seeing the ocean spray cascade over the stone wall and hoping the next wave would catch me as i ran by. the droplets in motion, the rough wall immobile, i flying.
but i don’t remember the thoughts. not one.
i’m sure they were important. i told myself they were important. i felt amazed it had taken me so long to find these thoughts.
and now they’re gone.
either my brain has become sieve-like far earlier than it should, or there is a very good reason for it.
i’m taking the latter.

In My Mind’s Eye, said the 4 year old

Raising a Humanist, ,

Last Month

Avi: Mama, did you know, that sometimes I say things to myself in my head?

Mama: Did you know, that a lot of people do that? It’s how we think.

This Month

Avi:  There is a metal bar. Here. (she taps on her forehead) And there are all these pictures hanging from it.  That I see.

Mama: What kinds of pictures?

Avi: You and Dada and me!  Suzy and Cocoa.  There are three bars.  Here, here, and here (she taps her high forehead, middle forehead, and the bridge of her nose).  And they’re full of pictures.  And sleep is not one of them.  I can’t see sleep.