The last thing I remember of the dream was Holden and I pushing that small piano down the highway. Also, it turns out that the phrase, "small piano," so popular in my dream, really just means "upright piano."
Another Halloween candied tidal wave has washed over us. Holden is upstairs asleep. Daisy is watching a movie, eating popcorn, with a friend. This is the first Halloween that I have not walked the sidewalks of Candyland with my children. They both chose to pick the fruits of the candied Fall on their own this year. Daisy travelled in a pack of girls with themed and matching costumes. Holden walked alone, positively Warholian in his demeanor.
One night I actually said the right thing at the right time.
I went to see The Spits play at Kraftbrau Brewery in Kalamazoo. My companion for the evening was the saucerman, John Kasdorf. I’d been telling those Wood brothers that I was going to see them play for years. Now was my chance to get right with the world and watch them rock it out. I mean, they’ve gone to see me play shows numerous times, so I really did owe them a visit.
This whole thing is being written down for my babies. Maybe even for their babies, but that might be a bit of hubris. I just want them to know how I got to be who I am, that guy that makes sure they sleep well every night, that dad guy. It’s all goofily morbid, I guess. I just know that it all can slip away so fast, and something exists in all of us that makes us want to try and tell a bit of what mattered to us in our short time in our thin space suits.
