On Being

We all woke up slowly today, stretching, yawning in a lost blanket, white sheet Highway. While Susan nursed, I picked up a book of Norse mythology and read aloud the story of Ragnarok, sad but hopeful and new, bittersweet like a good cry. The story drew a bold line between the past (the old stories of the gods) and the future (the end with fire and ice). In the are between the two (the present), lives we, human kind. Later, as Adella had her biweekly cranial massage, I drifted off in a daydream thinking about my own mythology: my twenties.

Being adventurous parents, we drove Morgan Street downtown instead of going right home, then, north on Person, past the iconic Krispy Kreme to the Yellow Dog Bread Company. We ordered coffees and a loaf of sourdough bread, but mostly sat in the car while the sky let down it’s rain and Susan let down her milk. Nursing, I think, is like a running gag taken too far. The key to comedy, and all life really, is repetition.

Being now hungry and adventurous parents, we visited the Morgan Street Food Hall, a hip food court. With hummus and baba, we tore through over half our loaf, and washed it down with a draught pilsner. On the wall was a mural of barnyard gangsters. We snapped a pic with them.