It's been such a long time since I've returned to this forum to provide my loyal readers with another dose of the mellifluous prose they crave so deeply, that I had almost forgotten how to do it.
For those who may not participate in such a hobby, let me tell you it is very easy to get out of the habit- far, far easier than it is to get back into the habit, anyway. Many times in the past few weeks I've thought of writing something here, but a clumsy Iranian pickpocket could count on his left hand the number of times I have followed through with the implementation of such thoughts.
Ah, well... what can I say? I've been in this situation before- all I can do is strive not to get into it in the future.
So many small amusing anecdotes of my life have gone unrecorded. So many moments lost like glittering nuggets dropped into a bottomless swamp of translucent goo- ever visible, but always less clear than before, the details fade. All this may not be a big deal to you, though since I have so few readers, I imagine for some of them the loss may be felt with a pang of regret almost as great as my own- especially since so many of the aformentioned anecdotes involve my wife and especially my delightful son, but this is rather troubling and disappointing to me. Especially since, though you are all more than welcome to come along for the ride, this website is not for you. No, this website is for me. It's where I am supposed to be chronicling the days and moments of my life- so that I can remember more clearly the noteworthy parts- so that I can relive the past through the words I write here.
I know myself this can sometimes be difficult when one leads a life as exciting as mine. Which is not to say I don't have the time to stop and record my thrilling adventures because I'm too busy having thrilling adventures. No, it's more to say that it can be hard to generate the motivation to stay up an extra hour or so each night wracking my brane trying to think of something interesting to say about the day drawing to a close. This is made even more difficult by the fact that, though this website is where I record my life, I am a rather private and secretive person and you aren't going to read anything here which, though it might be interesting and poignant, I consider to be none of your business.
So, with all that in mind, and since it is far later than I'd like, I will, instead of producing an omnibus edition of the retelling of the memorable incidents of the gap since I last reported any sort of news here, jump back about eleven or twelve hours to the time of this day's noontime repast.
Yesterday evening, Ruth's mom asked if we'd like to meet them (Ruth's mother and father) and Mark and Missy (Ruth's brother and future sister-in-law) at our favorite local Mexican restaraunt, El Mezcal. I assented and we planned to arrive at the dining establishment and procure seating for seven, since the church we attend lets out earlier than the one her folks attend.
Today, we followed to a T the plan formulated last night. We arrived first and requested the young hispanic fellow who met us at the door to arrange seating for the specified number.
He seemed somewhat surprised or amused at this request, which I found odd because there are frequently large groups seated in the very room in which we were standing. Perhaps he was merely somewhat dismayed at the early hour at which the so-called rush was beginning, though it was every bit of ten-till-noon by this time.
Anyway, he called for the help of an amigo and drug together a couple of tables for us, whatever his physiognomic attitude may have represented, and we took our seats.
As we waited, munching fresh tortilla chips dipped in spicy salsa, we listened to the mariachi music which is always a part of the experience of dining at El Mezcal because, if for no other reason, it is usually just a tad louder than would be to our tastes. Normally, the fact that it is slightly too loud doesn't get in the way of my enjoyment of the music- or Isaiah's. He is a rather musical little fellow and not only seems to have a sense of rhythm somewhat remarkable for a fellow his age, judging from the songs he frequently makes up, but also enjoys a wide variety of styles of music including mariachi.
Though it sometimes seems, judging from the sound and style of the music, that our enjoyment of it might be a great deal less if we could understand the lyrics being sung, none of us is fluent to any degree at all in Spanish and we therefore can appreciate it undistracted by the potential unwholesomeness of what might be being sung. Isaiah, in particular appreciates the rhythm of the music and can often be found grinning widely and bobbing his head in time to it in a manner he refers to as "be-bopping".
As we were listening and munching, a song came on that sounded a little funny. It seemed that the singer must have inhaled helium just before the recording was made. This made Isaiah giggle and be-bop more vigorously than before. When the words of the next song were presented by a singer whose vocal cords must have been in a similarly unusual state, I suggested to Ruth that perhaps the record was by the group Alejandro and El Chipmunkos which seemed plausible to her.
When the third song sung with an abnormally affected voice began, I thought I recognized the tune, but wasn't sure what it was. After a few minutes of listening it became apparent, though. I recognized the rhythm and when the refrain came back around, my suspicion was confirmed. The song was the latinized retelling of the story of an american folk hero who had his own television show in a previous era- yes, when I heard the words "Pablo, Pablo Sanchez" sung in just the way they were, I realized we were hearing the trans-culturization of the Ballad of Davy Crocket. I found this quite amusing.
It was not as amusing, though, as when Nanie (as Isaiah calls Ruth's mother- his grandma Nancy) and Isaiah returned from the restroom later in the mealtime. Isaiah will be four years old exactly one month from two days ago, and he still needs the assistance of an adult when using the public facilities. Though we are sure he sometimes abuses this requirement when he is bored or when no one is listening to him, such a request cannot be ignored and he had asked Nanie to take him.
When they got back and sat down, Nanie proclaimed that she had not been so embarrassed in a long time. She said that they had to wait because the small bathroom was occupied when they got back there and that when the occupant exited the restroom Isaiah loudly and irritatedly said "finally..."
So, there you go. RLW::UHF is back in business. This, if I can conquer my inherently slothful and lethargic nature, represents the return to daily updates. Lao Tzu (I believe) said A journey of one thousand miles begins with a single step. The step is hereby taken and I need only keep walking.
By the way, what do you think of the newest look? I call it TELETYPE and it was created in response to Ruth's negative opinion of the previous rather gloomy and oppressive look which I liked, but decided might have been a bit much. TELETYPE should also download a slight bit faster since I replaced the glowering blue image of my face with the textual rendering you see above. I think that, though it doesn't really look much like me, it does a good job of capturing the essence of my personality in a whimsical and lighthearted manner. As good a job as can be done with ASCII anyway.