Quail Hunt over the weekend

about the only bird we saw, a pretty little cardinal

cheers gentlemen (yours truly not pictured)

sunrise

Resumes and magnetic zeros

Just finished the first draft of what will hopefully be a professional(istic) resume to help me get out of the coffee slinging business. I can't support my family on the wages that I earn now and I don't want to be embarrassed to present Starbucks as my lifelong profession to a kindergarden class (or more the rest of the dad's) on bring your daddy to school day. And there is the whole realizing my dream shit which really is no never mind when in comes to the real world demands of finances and peer approval.

Tis what it tis though.

On the lighter, less weight of the world side of things if you will. My wife and I just scored tickets to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros at the Club Congress in november. Should be a great show.

coming back home?

We split the drive from Tucson to San Diego by a day and stopped in Yuma overnight; six hours of driving with an infant and a toddler can exercise one's patience a bit. After setting out westbound on the I-8 highway in the late morning we hit the mountains that border San Diego County by noon and started the heavy climb.

I'd made this trip so many times before driving back and forth between San Diego and Yuma when Jill and I were first dating and she was living with her parents at the Yuma Proving Grounds. I know the route so well that often times I can time our arrival by the landmarks that we hit; plus I know all the border patrol checkpoints along the way, and snicker slightly at those that are added as the years pass.

As we topped the mountains and passed the In-Ko-Pah rock sculpture "museum" I got that old feel that I was close to home. Certain spikes in one's emotion and sub-conscious physical reaction to "going home," so to speak, especially after a long trip are comforting and familiar if at all recognized when one is actually going home... usually described by "oh, man I'm glad to be out of that goddamn car."

This was different. This was new. Before my very recent transplant amongst the Arizonans, San Diego had been my home for some ten odd years. As stated I'd made the drive across the indian's mountains, back through Cleveland National Forrest, and down through El Cajon to reach my home many a time. Now I was a visitor, leaving my home in Tucson to be a tourist in a city I knew so well. So why so funky? Tucson is where I live and work and raise my family; she is, in turn, my decided home for the time being. But like a known smell or some kind of shared consciousness there are emotions aroused in my being when crossing the path of the giant windmills just east of the Golden Acorn Casino, horse farms drifting lazily by to the south. I feel a conflict if you will; my brain knowing my home is elsewhere and my body telling me I'm headed home.

I meditated on it but couldn't come up with more than the fumble of words above, maybe sometime in the future I can sum it up a lot better than five or so paragraphs but for now we'll say la vie... as it were.

Arriving back in Tucson I thanked god for getting out of the goddamn car.