My Ma has been here visiting for the last week. It's been great. She loves being in Portland and is a great help with The Lads.

Today, while we were driving around, she got a call from my sister that was kind of strange. Sis was on her way to lunch and saw an old man in bib overalls and a long white beard, riding down the street on an ancient, rickety bicycle.

Odd enough, I guess, to see anyone on a bike in my podunk Idaho home town, let alone my stepdad.

He has a couple of really beautiful motorcycles and a nice old truck, but Mom figures he's gone crazy, or doesn't want to buy gas anymore, or doesn't want to risk a DUI on the way home from the bar.

His biker buddies are going to freak the fuck out.

Sis is mortally embarrassed, but I'm really proud of him.

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The cherry blossoms are out, and the gutters are full of pink snow.

Let us revisit.

I haven't brought home any beer in over a week.

This was supposed to say "I haven't had any beer at all in a week", but I found out the hard way that switching to just whiskey makes me want to punch the whole goddamn world's fucking lights out, and that wine is expensive and makes me sleepy.

So, I had some beers at the Victory. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?

POLITI

I really feel like Peter Davis has his things in order.

Here's me, in my typical state, eating sardines and drinking canned beer at 2:26 in the morning.

My boys are asleeping in the next room.

Here is a poem by Peter Davis.


To My Two Kids


I love you. I love you both, so much.
I love you both, so much.
I just love you and I don't know how
to love you more.
I just love you so much.
I love both of you so much. You are better
than anything in the world. I cannot think
of one thing in the world I would trade you for.
I wouldn't trade you for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I would not trade
you to see all of my other dreams in life
come true. I just love you both so much.
I just love you so very much.
As I kissed you both before bed,
as I hugged you both before bed,
I couldn't have been happier. I would
not trade your hugs or kisses for
anything in the world. I would not trade your
hugs and kisses for millions of dollars
or fame or power. I love you so much
that I wish I could love you more and be even
more to you, even more for you, help you and love
you just that much more. I love you both so much.
I would love to say something better than just
I love you, but I don't know how to say I love you
anymore plainly than to say, I love you. I just
love you both so much. I know that my parents
love me and now I love you too. I love you so
much. I had no idea that I could feel this way.
I had no idea the love my parents had for me. I would
not trade you for my parents or my brothers
or my wife or for anything in the world, not millions
of dollars or fame or power.
I had no idea that love could describe how I
feel for you and how parents feel for their
children. I did not know that vocabulary was so
inadequate. I just love you both. I love you both.
I just love you both so much that I want to
invent something new to describe it. But I can't invent
anything new. I just love you both so much
and want you to know how much I love you because
that is part of the point of all of my love. I had
no idea that love had a point before. But now I know
the point. The point is you. I just love you both.
I just really, really love you. I love you so much.
I just really, really love you both. I would
not trade my love for you for anything, not millions
or fame or power, not people or food or immortality.
I would not trade you or your love for anything
or any other love. I love you both so much.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say.
I love you both so much more than I can say in this poem.

Springtime

Mr. Chris got at me this morning with a link to this blog.



I told him that I am familiar with it, but that I steer clear of it because it makes me feel dirty.

Springtime in Portland, too. Which means the roll-ups were open at the bar last night, all the sweet kids were lined up to get loaded, and I rode home with a fat roll in the pouring rain and went to sleep as the chirble-wirbles were beginning their morning songs.

Through a concentrated effort of whining, cajoling, and back-stabbing, I have maneuvered myself to be down to three good bar shifts and an admin day. This is good news for you, dear readers, as I may actually find the time to sit down her and regale you with tales from beautiful Portland, the west coast's most passive-aggressive city.

Or, is it?

Check back. I'm going to try to stay on top of this.