No real news or great things to say, except that I have been surprised by happiness several times recently.  Shasta has filled our kitchen with wonderful, home-cooked food again.  I’ve had some good laughs at work with the mischievious MAX.  I got an Arts grant that will enable me to take some time off work and write this summer or fall –I hope to combine this with the arrival of our little boy. 

Lately, I’ve felt a little incompetent –very ungifted at daily tasks or grown up life.  I don’t know how to change the brake pads on my car or how to cut and lay tile for a floor.  I should fix things like the broken lawnmower cord.  I’ve asked myself: what can I do instead?  What am I good at instead?  And the answer is, well, I’m not a popular or respected writer or intellectual.  I’m not distinguished in my profession.  I have trouble drawing mouths.  What am I good at?  I have some ability for remembering old Spider-man stories, Arthurian legends, and biographical details of Davy Crockett.  I can listen.  I can do more push-ups than most forty year olds I know.  Not a very practical skill set. 

But it occurred to me recently that these things might be very useful for a father– that, probably, these things can make me a good dad, and somehow, I’ve done something right after all.  My father never showed me how to work on brakes, but he told me about Hercules when I was little.  He taught me not to make fun of people for things they couldn’t change (like the way they look).  He gave me his copy of On the Road.  He insisted I have a dog when I was a little boy.  He taught me to ride a bike.  He pointed to the world and suggested I might fall in love with it, like he did.