And what a time it was
We had our second and final yard sale of the summer today. The whole Portland garage sale tradition is a wonderful thing, and it was fun (in a tiring sort of way) to participate in it.
This one was a real milestone. Down the driveway went the last vestiges of babyhood in our household. We had been trying for a while to unload the double jogging stroller and the crib (neither of which had been used much); today they glided away with ease.
There are a few boxes of leftovers for Goodwill, but that's pretty much the end of our infant days. It's worth stopping to think about. We've got so many wonderful moments ahead, but already we're a little wistful about the times we miss with our two spectacular newborns. We had thought we knew what parenthood was all about, having watched our friends and family do it. But until your own baby breathes her first breath in your presence, you have no idea.
Last night we had the Media Player running through some Randy Newman -- dark stuff, in part because Randy shows you every time that he's experienced the light, too. The last track that played before we called it a night was "Ghosts." To us it seemed not a little like Dickens's Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Part of it goes like this:
Out in the streetGod bless our baby days, and the days ahead.
There's little colored kids playing
Where my own little boy used to play
So I sit in this chair
And I ache with the gout
And I talk to myself
'Cause I'm scared to go out
And I just want to know
What was it all about
| Posted at 8:50 PM | Permalink |
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Comments (3)
... it was. A time of innocence. A time of confidences. Long ago, it must be ... I have a photograph ...
Preserve your memories.
They're all that's left you.
BLOOD, SWEAT & TEARS lyrics - "The Modern Adventures Of Plato, Diogenes And Freud" -- Al Kooper
Father of my morning,
Once my child to the night
...
Dance with them and sing a song of changes
And talk with them of life and all its dangers
Surround yourself with now familiar strangers
Who kiss and who hug and eventually mug you of your time
...
The games that people play can only bore you
But only those that know you don't ignore you
How many times have I come there to restore you
And caught you lying on the couch with Father Time
And the clock on the wall is a bore
As you wander past the door
And find him lying on the floor
As he begs you for some more, you frozen smile
---
wow ... I'm bawlin like a baby. I am a baby. The screen is blurry. My two ... well, they were our two, yet I had to go on alone ... are at the Jersey Shore tonight, I think, not too sure ... don't hear much for stretches at a time ....
Posted by Tenskwatawa | August 18, 2007 9:58 PM
Yard sales always do crazy things to your head, Jack. Our kids are married and gone years ago. I recall sending the strollers down the road in the trunks of newer parents.
I also remember selling off all our son's Star Wars toys for $1.00 apiece. If we'd saved them for ebay we could have put him through college.
We need to have a yard sale soon. Its amazing how much crap two people can collect in 24 years of marriage. I'm not very good at these things though. When someone picks up something that was once a treasure to you and says, "Give ya 50 cents fot it", it sort of gives you a sick feeling, y'know?
Posted by BobM | August 19, 2007 7:14 AM
Baby days over, Jack?
As I contemplate becomming a grandfather within the next couple of weeks...I'm thinking I've got to start cruising garage sales to rebuild my stock of kiddie infrastructure! Baby days are never over.
Posted by Frank Dufay | August 19, 2007 11:35 PM