This Saturday I took another wog. This time I brought the boy and the dog, because you can jog like an idiot in a group and less people notice. However, both boy and dog are natural runners, and would frequently leave me wheezing in their frozen dust. The boy, he got his varsity letter in rowing last year. As a freshman. The dog, as Bruce Springsteen would say, was born to run. I was born to loaf, but there aren't many anthems about that. ============ About today's title. If you want to see some REAL writing, the kind that spills over you more naturally than warm beer from a leaky metaphor, check this out. She calls it 'Just Filler' and spun it out in, oh, 12 minutes. I'm not quitting my day job. Ever. =========== Do you have someone in your life that makes new discoveries every day? It's amazing to see childlike wonder and excitement over the littlest commonplace things. Each evening, without fail, we'll be in the family cruiser going to or fro. My house is out of town, so every activity includes drive time. I'll be at the controls, piloting us smoothly through the jackass-flecked roadways, the kidlets and/ or their friends will be in the back kidletting, and Mrs. Spiffy will be in her place to my right. At some point after dusk, she will look up and notice that there are other cars on the road. This is unacceptable, and she lets me know by simultaneously clutching her side window, grabbing for my steering hand, and shrieking, "LookouAAAARRHHH!" This used to be unnerving. In fact, it's a miracle there isn't a tree-shaped dent in my bumper because of these little alerts. It's one of those things you get used to, if it happens enough. The proper response, I've found, is to hand over her eyeglasses. She's had them for over a year. They're always in the little drawer over the ashtray. She puts them on, and I brace myself. It's hard to plug one's ears invisibly, but there are techniques one can use. "Wowww!! I can see! Did you know these things help me see better? They're not that strong but still... Wow!" Every. damn. day. ============= On great uncling and wisdom, Kenju suggested that I try to pass on the Family Knowledge to the new bambino. That's a tall order, especially when the babymama is a moron. Don't get me wrong, I love her dearly and always will, but I've met smarter sand fleas. I shall do my best. All the great uncles in my life were large, old, mysterious men who smelled faintly of hay. And manure, but mostly hay. The Old Spice didn't do much to cover either. They would show up in their well-rounded Sunday Overalls to family reunions at Christmas and Mother's Day, and talk to my dad as if they knew him. I had to ask nearly every year what their names were. Sturdy, old-world names like Gus, Yogi, Gerritt, and Sid. They would eye me suspiciously for a moment, and go back to work on their plates of green bean casserole and chicken while my cousins and I ran around the place. I never got much wisdom from them, and it's too bad. I hear they were good men.