UNINSPIRED

In English, the word "inspire" means to breathe in. It speaks of taking something into yourself that is not of yourself. It is the opposite of "expire," which of course means to breathe out.

Inspiration and creativity are a strange duo. I have learned that they can't be denied when they come knocking, but neither can they be made to perform on demand like a circus bear. I don't believe they can be conjured through force of will.

You might suspect that I am waxing pretentious a bit here, but I have no delusions of grandeur as I write.  I know that I am not a creative genius, but I do enjoy very much being creative. I also enjoy playing soccer, but I know that I am no Pele. That is my relationship to creativity.

Tonight I want very much to be creative. The kids are in bed. Sarah is watching TV. I have just finished a bit of course work, and I have unfettered access to this computer and the internet. I want to write something funny or interesting, but all my efforts are falling flat. I give up. I will spare you, my faithful readers, the product of my mediocre efforts, and I will live to blog another day.

Idyllwild California's Natural Treasure

OFF THE PATH AND INTO THE FOREST

Most minds are like paths criss-crossing a forest. The paths represent predictable channels, well-worn ruts, and between the paths stands an untrammeled and unexplored wilderness of ideas and possibilities. Sometimes when I am driving along the freeway I will glance over at the face of a passing motorist. Their blank, glassy expressions betray the fact that they are off wandering some tired old path. That's what I do when I drive. Through reptition, the mechanics of driving come as naturally to us as lifting a spoon. It is not an activity that we need to think about as we do it and as we drive our minds are free to wander. The trails are always the same. The view rarely changes.

All paths should have a destination, but mine have traditionally run in a loop, doubling back, and covering the same ground over and over again without ever going anywhere or accomplishing anything. Paths which should serve to access marvelous places have become an end to themselves, a mind numbing and tedious circle.

Sometimes it takes something wildly unexpected, something totally out of left field, to chase a man off of his established paths, and into the forest.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

I am oppoosed to using the word "loaf" to describe a food item other than bread. "Meat Loaf" is a gross name. Say it out loud like you are hearing it for the first time- "Meat loaf." Blechhhh! And I like eating the stuff! Meat loaf is delicious, especially with a little ketchup. I just wish it were called something else like...um...let's see... maybe meat cake...no that's still gross...um...maybe meat log...nope. I'll have to get back to you on an alternative name, but allow me to illustrate my point further- try this on, "Noodle Loaf," "Egg Loaf," "Fish Loaf." Disgusting. "Loaf" itself is kind of a gross name if you think about it.

I remember a day in the spring of the year when a soft, purple twilight settled over the fields behind the house. It settled like sleepiness itself- heavy, comortable and welcome- and I succumbed to it like sleep. It carried me off like a feather in the current.

A MYSTERIOUS ZIP-DRIVE OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN

A couple of weeks ago my brother, John, presented me with a zip-drive, which he had found in the pocket of one of his coats. He couldn't recall how he had come into possession of said zip-drive, but advised me that it contained some pictures of my kids "and stuff." Clearly this collection of photographs appear to be Jobaic in origin, but John couldn't confirm anything about the zip-drive's pics. I enjoyed looking through them and thought some of you might as well.

Back in 2007, the whole family flew out to VT for some vacation. When we landed in Albany, NY we had the good fortune to happen onto Uncle Job who was making his way home from boot camp. It was a great, coincidental, small-world kind of moment. Job was trying to arrange for a rental car, but we just made room in ours and he rode with us from Albany the lake house in Benson. Here are the kids (sans Miles who was not yet part of the scene) with their sailor Uncle in the baggage claim in Albany.

Same vacation- all of the cousins except for Baby Jack on Rock Dundar down by the lake.

Lucy's baby curls.

Elisabeth.

Bowden is a skins fan.

This is my favorite picture of the bunch.

Rest easy, America. Job is on it.

Lucy was eating a chocolate covered, frozen banana.

Gracie.

Baby Jack on the persian rug out at the Lake House.

Bowden and me.

Sarah and me.

Les cousins.

The Lake House

Lucy asleep on the floor of the sleeping porch in 2007.

This picture was taken right before we left on that vacation in 2007. We had packed the car and changed the kids into their travel clothes, but then we decided that we had time for just one more short walk out the road before we left. Moths are drawn to flame like Little Lucy was drawn to puddles.

The VT Tate girls.

And just for good measure a photo of the old service master van that all of us Tate boys used to drive when we worked for Service master. Good times.

OVERHEARD at Bible Study

"So I pressure-washed her cat off the roof."
High School aged female relating a story to friends

THE FLAVOR OF THE MONTH- JANUARY

 In January, the sun shines and sparkles across snowed-over fields. drifted roads, frozen lakes and the woods etched in white. On January nights, the moon stares unblinking on a quiet, shimmery, silver world. It is beautiful in a way that few other months can rival.

I think If all the months became women, January would easily be one of the most striking, but also perhaps the least approachable. January is the white lady- the purest of winter months. She is white upon white and her laughter is like the tinkling of a falling icicle. She is so pure and unsullied. Her lines are so clean. Everything about her is other-worldly and sparkling white, but she is not warm and generous. She is not comfortable to be around. She is a cold woman.

The white lady would catch the eye to be sure, but I don’t think that many men would be bold enough to pursue her. Men would respond to her presence by dressing their heart in layers, for January is not kind, or helpful, or caring, or loving, or charitable, but she is pretty. Yes, she’s that.

KATHY GRIFFIN

I am not a fan of Kathy Griffin. I think she's a pathetic publicity hound and a bully. There is something distinctly off-putting about her ethos and raison d'etre. Her highest aim seems to be that people would notice her.

She's a snake who spits words like venom. Or perhaps She is more like an arsonist who sets fire to people's reputations and standing just for the perverse joy of watching them burn. Even children are not off-limits for her off-colored rants. Of all the characters in the public eye she is emerging as one of my least favorite.

ATTACK OF THE MONSTER ZUCCHINI with Sarah

Bowden found a zucchini in my mother's garden, and we took it home. How many different ways can I cook this bad boy? I'll show you.

The first recipe I made with Monster Zucchini was Italian Zucchini and Eggs, ala Annie.

Perfect as a side with penne in red sauce.

CONGRATULATIONS TO MY CLOSE FRIEND, STEVE MAXON, ON HIS ENGAGEMENT TO ALEXIS WIDRICK.

I'm very excited for you both!

2011

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

2010 is in the books, and the official numbers are in. I only posted 254 times in 2010. Pretty weak, right? That's the least I have ever posted in the five years I have been blogging but all in all it wasn't a bad body of work. There were some meomorable moments in there, no? Who can ever forget the birth of the sleeping club, or when I showcased my amazing bed-making skills through the medium of dance? Remember also the time I punched a man in the face, drank Korean instant coffee, and discussed a chipmunk's stinky booty with my straight-shooting son, Jack. That's not all, that's not even the tip of the iceberg, I also decapitated a dead deer for the purposes of an arts and crafts project. I interviewed my brother's girlfriend, Lisa McNerney. Oh, and remember when we explored the wonderful world of tents, walked the streets of idyllwild under the influence of caffeine, overheard snippets of conversation, concocted ideas for commercials, and photo-documented some of the finest beards to ever grace the San Jacinto mountains of Southern California. It was a lot of fun, but perhaps the best of all was the great debate over the importance of sex to a marriage.

As good as that was I think the BFZ can do even better. In 2011 I intend to break my personal posting record of 369 posts in a year (2009). So come by often. I hope to transform this sleepy little corner of the internet into a more happening place. Here's to 2011! Vive le Bummer-Free Zone!!!

BENEATH THE MOON

The house is too hot
Oven-warmed
My cheeks are flushed
The sink is full of dishes
And I feel fat and dull

But outside the stars are clear
The air is vast and cold
 
In the fresh beneath the moon
You can walk away
Along the roads
And frosty fields
Until you want again
For the comforts
Of an oven-warmed house.

EDWARDS- AN EXCELLENT ANIMAL

I was so sorry to hear today that Edwards, my Mom's Chesapeak Bay retriever, died tragically after being hit by a car. I'm on record as saying that Edwards was the finest dog the Tate family has ever known. I'm sorry for your loss, Mom. It makes the heart a bigger target to be so emotionally invested in another creature, but that was an investment which reaped generous dividends for Edwards during his life. He was a lucky dog.

This too shall pass.

STINKER THE TINKER

Stinker the Tinker is an elf whose job it is to slip down the chimney ahead of Santa on the night before Christmas and case the joint to make sure that no naughty boys or girls are still awake trying to catch a glimpse of the jolly old elf. He creeps through the house peeking into every bed and if everyone is asleep he gives the all clear to Santa.

But before Stinker the Tinker scurries back up the chimney he always drops a deuce in the toilet. Elves poop gumdrops. Did you know that? Well, now you do.

Stinker the Tinker,
That mischievous elf,
Left a gift in the toilet,
He made it himself!

I'm pretty proud of Stinker the Tinker. I hope this goes down as my contribution to Christmas lore. Perhaps years from now supermarkets will sell little bags of Elf poo at the end of their aisles.

"Honey, did you buy Stinker the Tinker's gumdrops?"


"No. I thought you got them! That's alright I think I have some jelly beans around here somewhere.."


"Jelly beans! What's wrong with you. Everyone knows that elves poop gumdrops! NOT JELLY BEANS!!! You'll just have to drive out to the store and get a bag."


"Really?"


"Yes, really, it wouldn't be Christmas without a visit from Stinker the Tinker."

And perhaps someday someone will research the obscure origins of Stinker the Tinker and will find this very post as the very first reference ever made to his existence. This is the birth of an exciting new tradition. Embrace it America! Embrace it!