The weather was 60° and mild today, which for January in Maryland is kind of like a blizzard on the Amazon. Today was Father’s Day at Finn’s school, which the two of us have been looking forward to for months. Walking in, we were given our ties by the teacher, and I had Finn slip it over my head. Then she led me over to the play-doh table and she mashed shapes out of turquoise dough with three other children while the adults made small talk. After making pizzas out of construction paper and glue, we washed up and the kids began their day. We dads stood in back of the classroom and watched them run through their morning routine, offering quiet encouragement—hi there! turn around and sing!—in between muffled laughter—don’t look at me, look at the teacher!—and the Pledge of Allegiance. It’s pretty amazing how quickly that stuff comes back. I found myself with my hand over my heart halfway through “one nation under God” before I realized I was saying it out loud.
And then, just as soon as it had begun, it was time to leave. I got a big hug from Finn and told her I loved her, my nose pressed up against her clean hair, and then she was down on the floor and across the room, on to the next activity. I drive home with a hole in my heart the size of a 3-year-old girl—the one who jumps in circles by herself during the Potato Song.
Favorite color is Green
Loves to eat ravioli for dinner
Likes to watch Bobble Heads on TV
Works on a computer at work
Comes home from work and eats dinner
Loves to play “tickle fight” with me
My neighbor and I brewed up two batches of beer in his garage this afternoon: an Irish Red Ale (mine) and a Belgian Dubbel (his). It took us about four and a half hours to do both, which included using his swank copper chilling coil. It’s nice to have a batch downstairs in the fermenter.
I woke early this morning to the sound of Finn using the bathroom, and when she was done she crashed on the bed next to me. When we finally began rousing ourselves, she complained of a headache. She was running a fever, so I installed her on the couch in front of Nick Jr. and Mama made her some juice to drink.
This week has been a blur of sleep-work-home-sleep with no productive outcome. I spent about 3/4 of my work week in Photoshop compositing images for a client but we haven’t sold a concept yet. I broke up a three-week Scout drought for Wednesday’s commute, and was rewarded by a minor fender bender on the 395 onramp.
The keg of Dead Ringer IPA in the kegerator still hasn’t carbonated fully; there’s a hint of fizz in there, but not as much as I’d like. I have plans to brew with my neighbor tomorrow afternoon—he has two batches fermenting and a third to brew, as well as a propane-fired stove in his garage. He’s also my A/V expert, being an electrician by trade, so I’m going to finalize my television mounting plan with him.
I’m trying to motivate myself to start shooting pictures again. My commute has been a predictable figure-8 for the past three years, and as a result I don’t see new things for inspiration. The solution could be adding an extra ten minutes to my morning commute to find new routes into work, as well as more trips out with the girls to explore. I’m also considering the purchase of some 120 film to roll onto 620 spools so that I can shoot some black and white pictures of the girls.
Who is Robert Reich? He’s a very smart fellow. And he draws really well, too.