Self portrait with carp.

In times of distess, or even just aimlessness, I head to the local nursery. Lately, in the gradual, curious return of everyday life in the post-Prop 8 limbo, I find myself there a lot.  

The other day I brought along the boy child, after having dropped off the girl child at her preschool nearby (which she insists on calling “school”: she does not even register a flicker of response to the word “preschool,” neither does she brook the actual name of the school, a dear word indicative of youthfulness).  

My son’s and my first stop at the nursery is the obligatory one at the fish tank, where the aquatic plants are displayed.  I yet again fantasize about building and stocking a pond in the back yard.  Yet again I abort the thought after it splits (as it always does) and ends up in two ghoulishly miserable scenarios, one bad, the other worst. Bad: raccoons paw all the poor critters out and feast on them, and we wake in the morning to the sight of dismembered fish parts strewn about the lawn.  Worst: you don’t even want to think of it, but it involves a kid, most likely the youngest but not necessarily and yes, such thoughts pry their way into the head, if not daily, then altogether too often. Continue Reading →