I have been remiss.

It occurred to me today that I haven't been blogging regularly here for one specific reason: I was waiting for ideas of deep and resonant literary merit to come along for me to write about.

I realize now that that's just silly: I hardly have time to read anymore. Where on earth would I find such ideas? So a new (old) idea: Rather than wait for ideas and content to come to me, I'll simply record what I'm up to. Because some of it's just downright weird.

For instance! I'm growing a mustache.

You heard me.

A mustache.
Like this:

November is now Movember - men all over the ... US? I think... are growing lush mustaches to support one another in their triumph against prostate and testicular cancer. (I said testicular!! OMG.) And they've allowed us women to join with them.

My husband is/was a pro cyclist and cyclocross rider. And from what I understand (I have no statistics) cyclists are cautioned to have their prostates checked earlier than usual.

Anyway, by Movember 30th, I'll be mustachioed and I hope the men in my life will be able to see past the silliness to how deeply I care for them and wish them health and longevity.

(Plug: If you want to support my mustache, go here. It only costs $10, but if I make $20, I can buy two!! The money goes to research. I get the mustache. And my husband. Win-win-win!)

Lies "breathed through silver"?

A tribute to Myth, as eternal, as archetype, as reminder of what was and what we hope for:

Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many hues, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind...

Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate
that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate;
that seek no parley, and in guarded room,
though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom
weave tissues gilded by the far-off day
hoped and believed in under Shadow's sway.

Blessed are the men of Noah's race that build
their little arks, though frail and poorly filled,
and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith,
a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith....

Be sure they still will make, not being dead,
and poets shall have flames upon their head,
and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall:
there each shall choose for ever from the All.

From JRR Tolkien's "Mythopoeia"

Dark and sinister man, have at thee!

Who knew that once you "grow up," finding things to be passionate about becomes a daily chore?

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me."

And there is good in maturing (don't get me started on healthcare plans and dependency and boys who can shave and personal responsibility and ... ok, moving on). But it breaks my heart to think how many people have lost that childlike sense of wonder and excitement that wakes kids up in the morning. It's that spark of interest in them that keeps them looking around, asking questions, reaching for things, and stopping in their tracks.

I watched "Hook" last night - again. I'd forgotten how poignant the storyline was - so many subtle lines jumped at me this time around.
Maggie's encouraging "Run home, Jack!"
Tink's "You know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you, Peter Pan. That's where I'll be waiting."
Grandma Wendy's "Hello, Boy."
Hook's deep revelations over the meaninglessness of a life that lasts forever.

But I think the part that got me most was Peter's re-transformation (I hesitate to call it regression - it's an old form with new dimensions). Watching him remember how to let go of worry, of rules, of reality, and start to imagine again was inspiring.

It also made me think: If I could live my life with a sense of childlike wonder and excitement, what a cool mom I might one day be! (I told my boyfriend I want to adopt a handful of boys and call them my Lost Boys. He cringed a little.)