not moving the DNA forward.

not moving the DNA forward.

person in brown coat and black hat standing near white and black floral wall
Photo by cottonbro on

stuck on this rock alone
with none of my likeness

notes: often said, probably by me to make myself feel ok, “you need a license to drive a car but not have a kid”… true enough, there is truth in there, but in a way it is also a shield, there are days I wonder about such things, kids, that I might never have them, I have such a hyper tense apprehension that I need to provide perfection that there is trepidation in that arena, the burden of bringing a life into being is so daunting, that I want to be prepared, maybe too much so, and then I see those that have kids almost haphazard, even in my immediate circle, and just wonder, I just have such a deep respect for life and the creation of same that I would want to be ready as possible to support that choice… and maybe that has bottled me up some, regardless of where you are, having kids is a walk on the tight rope, there is no book (sorry Dr Spock), there are no rules, or easy path… like all things rewarding I imagine it is quite hard, and should be, but I do see those who kind of just have kids without any thoughts like I am laying out… and wonder if I am wrong, because having a kid early on, all those years you can be parallels, I am not quite past the parental age, especially these days, and perhaps I must admit, maybe I have been wrong, or would be wrong, and there is also the selfish imposition to further my DNA position down the line, that is part of it right? at some level (baseline mammal) we want to survive, even at the base level of genetic code that itch exposed, so some future search will find a feather (or whatever) and see my name, great great grandpa Dave, I am an adopted child, my dearest ex came from a bad family mix… we never considered it when we were both in our early twenties… was it a mistake? she was the only woman I ever considered as the mother of my children and the subject was off topic… so strange to boil this what if, so damn strange.

from the porch (xmas edition)…

from the porch (xmas edition)…

two white and red admission tickets
Photo by on

from the porch (continued series, tonight, is of course, some xmas holiday or something, I am told…), and without further fanfare, popcorn commercials or coming attractions (or an oddly sticky floor and just awful cup holders)…

festival decoration christmas santa claus
Photo by Pixabay on

Mustering up the muster to sit and write, on a xmas night, none the less, not a very xmas feel, at least in these parts (and I am not referring to my legs), cold enough but not quite cold enough, somewhat clear sky, not quite a full moon, everything seems just a bit less than it should, I guess the bloom comes off the rose at times, there have been those Rockwell scenes, the fire blaze, the cozy afghan blanket, gently falling snow where you could read the stories on the flakes themselves as they fell, no, not this year, and no saint nick, no jolly old fellow, just a myth, but not such a bad imagining, not such a bad thing, in a world sometimes grim, marred by pain, a jolly old fat man to bring presents mysteriously in the night, there are worse things to believe in, surely, no reindeer, not certainly in this metro shadow, we see the odd deer (or four), mere cousins of the north pole dweller reign, and no little laborers either (with their busy little hands), the only ones here are garden gnomes and they feel less genuine than their brothers (especially when said gnomes are busy trying to book me flights all the time), where is the harm in old saint nick? has he been reduced to an app just yet ? (I’m afraid to even google that to find out the answer) well, at least Norad stays in step with the season, tracking the sled even if just an exercise for Joshua, where is the harm in this quite affable fellow? maybe we should just tell the kids the truth, the truth that it is not the myth that needs belief, it is what lies underneath in the fabric of the thing, no, not the felt red sack or silly hat, or even the contemplation of a stranger sliding down a chimney (surely worse than a coal miner’s dime), what drives the sled? good tidings for the ride, the idea of giving with nothing in return (well, perhaps a tray of cookies in trade, fair enough), the idea, not the man, and children can know throughout the land that morning comes and gifts exchanged, they have the power within… to do the same.

be well everyone. and to all of you a good night.

(re-post if you like just link back, alright?) all eyes on this or anything I write are truly appreciated, thank you (yes you, that reader thing out there)

music? OK, I will be guitar nerdy and holiday-ey. (a new word damnit)

Steve Morse – Joy to the World