ABYSS IN MOTION

Thinkin' 'bout writin'
Writin' 'bout thinkin'


http://themustardroom.wordpress.com

BETTER LATE THAN DEAD

So, we returned from our weeklong residence along the gulf coast in fifteen and a half hours. Most of that was in the driving rain with low visibility. But by golly we made it. We slept in and the next afternoon being all hallows eve we began sticking sharp objects into large gourds.

Behold the damage done!


Then what happened was that we drilled holes in pumpkins and ate their roasted seeds right in front of them while listening to tom wait's 'bone machine'.



These things happened next...


The end.

MY MOM AND DAD WENT TO DESTIN AND ALL THEY GOT ME WAS THIS LOUSY SUNSET

As we gather our things and prepare to head north, let us take a moment to enjoy a captured memory courtesy of our new friend herb.

Aahhh.

Thanks herb.
"When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are. And when you stop expecting material possessions to complete you, you'd be surprised at how much pleasure you get in material possessions. And when you stop expecting God to end all your troubles, you'd be surprised how much you like spending time with God."

-Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life

SIGHTINGS

sea snow

beach ghost

mister zippy?

THE AQUATIC BOOGALOO




FIRST BLOOD: BABY GAP

Pictured above is the unsuspecting fourteen-month-old after she was nursed back to serenity with a few ounces of milk, a cookie and two squeaking rubber sea mammals. Just moments earlier, while exploring the lower altitudes of a Gap retail outlet during a torrential downpour, the young lass had her left-hand index finger sliced wide by the jagged base of a blue jean rack.

Boo!

The olde freak-out daddy instincts took over and at the first sight of blood and her teeny tiny finger was in my mouth as i carried out the door. Cool, collected mommy followed close behind to bring us all back down to planet earth to address the wound practically and properly.

Yeah, mommy!

Check that dressing.

We live to fight another day. You will not take my family from me The Gap!

AAAAYYYY! OKAY?

It's friday morning sometime between 7 and 8 o'clock. I'm steaming three different types of milk and pulling shots of espresso for five drinks at a time while cars continue stacking up in a line that seems to spill out onto emerson avenue. The whirring of blenders and griping over the freshness of day-old pastries threatens to break my concentration. Yet i am a rock. I delicately dance with a merciless beast which growls, screams and spews boiling hot liquids in my general direction. She does not tame easily. In fact, i'm quite certain that the tiniest careless move could rile the beast and the legions of barbarians who line up to taste of her torrid teet into an appocolyptic frenzy.

Suddenly, it was as if everything had turned soft-focus and a razor-sharp thread stiched with one haunting question had pulled right between my eyes. My stomach turned and i heard the words as i shouted them to anyone who would answer, "Did Henry Winkler die or was that just something i dreamed?"

"I don't know," was the only response i would receive.

"I don't know?"

"I... don't... know."