why am i doing this?

why am i writing this blog anyway? there is no clear subject which might be of interest to people--say, education or food or knitting or raising chickens. there is no point, as in trying to make people laugh, or convert to my religion, or give me money.

i suspect this blog is a primitive version of why most writers write--to decrease the feeling of isolation. i'm not sure about this, though.

why feel isolated? look at today. kids wake me up at 7 am rolling on me and shrieking about star wars. soon we are at the park with very nice newish friends and kids, eating salami and dried apples, kicking a soccer ball, listening to the cars, admiring our children and planning a night out to drink some wine. then we drive through this beautiful city to check out the amazing mission science workshop with the kids, where we see more friends and their kids along with dead bats and live reptiles and batteries and clay and little boys making things out of glue guns and band saws and cardboard and putting bones together. all this started by one man who wanted to bring more science to kids in the neighborhood. after this we go with suling and natalie to valencia st and visit the pirate store 826 valencia, where the kids looked at all the wierd stuff in the drawers. and then miles and maya and natalie spent some time in the dark little tiny three seat theater watching the very clean aquarium with the puffer fish. they spy what seem to be some old fish bodies on the floor of the tank and speculate about them. poor little adorable fish says maya, really meaning it.

we get sandwiches and walk right by cassie's old old house to dolores park. it is a huge party. drunk 30 year old ish people everywhere, some younger, some older, drinking, eating birthday cake. playing with hula hoops, even walking on a low tightrope that has been set up. we get to see a man and a woman about my age strip down a little and full-on wrestle, an activity that ends when they roll in dog poop. there is a man with a long red ponytail and droopy handlebar moustache just hanging out in a tiny bikini bottom. someone has set up a small mobile art museum. i swing with the kids and we are all befriended by a wasted young guy with dreadlocks and pants below his baggy underwear. he makes funny sounds as he swings and then jumps off to almost smash his head on the sidewalk several times and maya sure loves that. the view is fantastic. i remember coming here 13 years ago and playing acoustic token white boy songs. it is a scene like a good city park should be, full of people having a good time.

so what is it? some middle-aged dread? after all this warmth and display of humans (maybe too much today for my tired mind to handle), after my kids go to bed and rich is in listening to music land i just need to read, and read, and this is often good. but some nights it is not enough, and it is too late to call my most far-away loved ones, or just not the right time for a call, so i babble and ramble on in this blog about the details of my day.

are you out there? do you want to read about something else? i will do it for you, if you ask.

goodnight.