The Heart & The Sea

This morning I had to return a cargo van I'd rented for the weekend. I got up around six, put in my contact lenses, some pants, a shirt and a jacket. Shoes. Socks even. I went downstairs, started the van and returned it to the place on West 27th and 10th Ave. Then I walked back down to the M subway station on 23rd and 6th and took that back to my apartment where I made my son breakfast, put some clothes on him and took him to school. It was open house day at his elementary so wifey and I stuck around for a couple hours listening to the teacher and drinking coffee and talking with other parents. Nathan Oldfield's stuff always has a good look. And by look I don't just mean how it looks, you know, the colors and composition and all that blah, but even more how it feels. He just taps into the bit of life we sort of try to steer toward. And when I say "we" I mean those of us who do. Something about family and friends and easy easy and mellow mellow and smiles and hugs and happiness and live and let live and all that smut. Lotsa people don't jive with that route. They don't like all the sentimental stuff. I mean, I know people who don't. I'm pretty good friends with a bunch of people like that. Maybe they'd cross their eyes at Nathan's sensitivities. It's all too jolly and soft and unrealistic to them. I get it. But I'm not like that. Not necessarily anyhow. I guess there are all sorts of questions about how good we have it. About how our population is such a favored, fortunate, and minuscule percentile. True that, true that.