Rocket phrenology

It's not rocket phrenology, it's not curing the world of cancer, or making a lot of money.

It's screwing the third tiny screw into the Ikea star light after changing the bulb in the baby’s room.



I use the term loosely, she's two and the height of a three year old. But she's a sweety, and while the light would have stayed on with two screws, did in fact require quite a sustained effort - dropping and almost losing the third screw almost three times, what? Cause she's the third child I'm not going to do this type of shit for her?

There is almost no way that past John could have done this - there's something about growing old and not quite shaking so badly that fine motor activities are beyond me, still being able to focus on things nearby, if I well, lets me honest here, take off the glasses...but there's a patience.

And there's a gratitude. I finally had to turn on the little light, close one eye and put the other up close to one of the little holes, to see the tip of the French sealingly annoyingly small screw poking through to align it with the bracket...and even then trial and error feel the thing into the hole, before, a good ten but it felt like a hundred minutes later the thread took hold, and her star light was back in action. With all three screws thanks, not two, but the gratitude was being safe in my home, with the kids in a fairly suppressed state of insurgency, after the shit storm that was the Boston Marathon bombings, and the Iraqi poll stations, and that wedding in Afghanistan, and at least one other horrible thing.

And I'll admit, when the backlash started amongst the brigades of the twitter righteous, that Boston was “shocking” but no one was reporting these other atrocities - I’ll admit that Boston was more shocking, to me, because IT WAS CLOSER to home, and only later when the news of the American “accidental” bombing of (another) wedding got out, did the whole thing just seem so grossly symmetrical - so completely the world that we've allowed ourselves to be living in, but do I have the slightest clue “what to do?”

This is just me, just some douche stream of consciousing into his ipad, but maybe, in some possible future, the survivors of April 15th will get in contact with each other. And, you know, denounce violence?

But what do I know?

I know I am grateful my family is healthy, passably happy, and apparently never shy about telling me when they're not.

And that I've learnt to recognize that gratitude. And channel some of it into taking the time to get the star light right in the giant baby’s room. So she can have little stars of light on her walls, when she sleeps there.