Ezra: a hip cat, a hit with the ladies

Of course, the reason that I like the name Ezra, and I think the reason that Jen likes it, is the result of a few things. One, it works well with 'Henry'; and two, it works well with 'McCracken'. This should not be discounted lightly, and awful lot of names were discarded for this very reason. Third, it is a real name, but is kind of different. I say 'kind of' different, because it is left field enough, without being so removed that people have never heard of it. Fourth, well, this is a subjective thing, and Ezra sounds like the name of a cowboy (think High Noon), and cowboys are cool.

Ezra: mover and shaker

Of course, in a historical sense, Ezra was a fifth century BC Jewish priest, scholar, copyist, and historian who wrote the two Chronicles and the Book of Ezra (of the Old Testament and the Hebrew Tanakh) and began the compiling and cataloguing of the Old Testament.

I whipped out the only Bible we have laying around the house, (the King James Version) and flicked to Ezra 7:6:

This Ezra went up from Babylon; and he was a ready scribe in the law of Moses, which the LORD God of Israel had given: and the king granted him all his request, according to the hand of the LORD his God upon him.

From this, we can assume that Ezra had connections. Maybe our Ezra can snare some rub out of this.

The fact that Ezra is regarded as a reasonably influential guy in the key texts of Judaism, Christianity and Islam is also a plus for anyone hedging their bets in an ontological sense

Ezra: what's in a name?

I am going to drip feed some shots of Ezra today, along with a little about his name. The name appears to have caused some consternation on some quarters, but as ever, Jen, Henry and I all like it and anyone that doesn't can bugger off back to Sadsville, Kentucky or wherever it is that naysayers reside.

One of the things that appears to have shocked people about this choice of name is the fact that it is quite correctly regarded as a biblical name, despite my lack of any religious faith, and Jen's shocking straying from the Catholic doctrine (don't blame me God, it happened long before I was on the scene).

The other thing is that if people aren't aware of the name's biblical roots, they think that it is a "made up" name. The Hebrew term עֶזְרָא (Ezra) is probably an abbreviation of "Azaryahu" meaning "God helps". I have read other variations that include "helper", "salvation" or "help". Whatever the case, Ezra is a positive, proper name, not some made up monstrosity like "Jaxxon", "Jorja" or "Amberleigh" (i hope that if the parents of these kids are reading this, hang your head in shame).

If it had to perish twice

In order to give Jennifer and Ezra a chance to relax without being bothered by two strapping lads, Henry and I decided to take some air and pop across the road, feed the ducks, have a go on the slide, and have a few sets on the hardcourts of the Geilston Bay Tennis Club. On our way in, we noted the row of cockatoos grazing on the lawn, and the snow on Mount Wellington over the river.

I am aware that there remains some demand for baby photos, so will endeavour to get a few more up over the next few days when I get the chance. Henry appears to dislike me typing on the keyboard, so I generally do this when Elmo has been acting as a decoy. Well done Elmo!

Here's a Robert Frost poem that I like to tide you over until then:

Fire and Ice
Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Ezra's first bath

Here you go, Ezra's first bath from a couple of days ago...



Asleep in the bath? No problem?

Asleep all day? No problem?

Sleep more than ten minutes at night without demanding mum's boobs? NEVER!

Babies are such a nice way to start people

Well I couldn't just leave it at one photo today, could I? Brand spanking new baby and all!

So here you are, another of little Ezra. He's a little one in Henry terms, but a ripper nonetheless.


And another one for good measure. The above photograph is one with a little more perspective vis-à-vis size.



Lest you feel that I am terribly good at setting timers on cameras and then running back with a sleeping newborn, or that Jennifer has awfully hairy arms for an lass, I will admit that neither myself or Henry took these photographs. Yes, the tired-looking bloke above is Me. I'm holding a nude little Ezra while waiting for his bath to fill.

In defence of my sons, I'm tired more through the lack of sleep from excitement, than littlies carrying on. Henry has been an angel (normal evening meltdowns exempted) and sleeps through the night. Ezra is still a little confused regarding night or day, but is quiet as a newborn kitten (especially when contrasted with Henry's foghorn when he arrived on the scene). And no, alas, it isn't even a randy wife looking to add to her rapidly growing brood.

I just couldn't sleep because I am so darn happy.

Love gives us in a moment what we can hardly attain by effort after years of toil

Here is a photo of my three most favourite people in the world. Henry, Jen and Ezra. I don't care that Jen reckons she looks demented here, or that Henry has his tongue hanging out, or that Ezra has his eyes closed. It's lovely.

Whose waters, silly

A whole bunch of my favourite things here: sunrise, sunburst, water, clouds, a clean, fresh-looking photograph. Here's a Robert Graves poem to go with it! Rushing to pre-post this, the waters have broken!

Nature's Lineaments
Robert Graves

When mountain rocks and leafy trees
And clouds and things like these,
With edges,

Caricature the human face,
Such scribblings have no grace
Nor peace-

The bulbous nose, the sunken chin,
The ragged mouth in grin
Of cretin.

Nature is always so: you find
That all she has of mind
Is wind,

Retching among the empty spaces,
Ruffling the idiot grasses,
The sheeps' fleeces.

Whose pleasures are excreting, poking,
Havocking and sucking,
Sleepy licking.

Whose griefs are melancholy,
Whose flowers are oafish,
Whose waters, silly,
Whose birds, raffish,
Whose fish, fish.

Henry, meet Ezra... Ezra, meet Henry...

Slowly getting the house ship shape for Ezra and Jen's return. Until then, enjoy the greatest meeting of the minds since the Manhattan Project.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job.

Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery.

And here is a poem:

Soliloquy for One Dead
Bruce Dawe

Ah, no, Joe, you never knew
the whole of it, the whistling
which is only the wind in the chimney's
smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy
path that are always somebody else's.
I think of your limbs down there, softly
becoming mineral, the life of grasses,
and the old love of you thrusts the tears
up into my eyes, with the family aware
and looking everywhere else.
Sometimes when summer is over the land,
when the heat quickens the deaf timbers,
and birds are thick in the plumbs again,
my heart sickens, Joe, calling
for the water of your voice and the gone
agony of your nearness. I try hard
to forget, saying: If God wills,
it must be so, because of
His goodness, because-
but the grasshopper memory leaps
in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe,
you never knew the whole of it...

I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Australian poet. Well, it's down to him or Kenneth Slessor anyway.

Update

Can't write too much, I'm entertaining Henry before bath time and bed. I’ll then sneak back to the hospital and leave him in the care of my parents.

He has a new brother.

Ezra Leo Fitzgerald McCracken


Ezra's first photo

Three kilograms, he came a bit early, but got top marks on the APGAR scores. He’s a reasonable size, but looks tiny compared to Henry at birth (who was a monster baby).

No drugs, no stitches, very quick labour and mum and bub well. I have a quick pic, I will post more when we're home properly.


Ezra and his dad

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

If Jen is right, then she IS in labour. But now Henry is in bed and not much is happening, so I am managing to do a few pre-posts to continue the streak! Don't expect much though, I'm reaching into the grab bag and slinging you some random pictures and a few of my favourite poems.

Well, that last bit is a lie today, because the above photo - while admittedly not my most technically proficient - is to this point my favourite. It's the first one of Henry. It was taken about two minutes after he was born (nearly twenty-one months ago). I think that its wonderful.

Are you allowed to dedicate someone else's poem to someone? Anyway, if you are, then this one is for dear little Henry.

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps
Galway Kinnell

For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house
and he will wrench himself awake
and make for it on the run- as now, we lie together,
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,
familiar touch of the long-married,
and he appears- in his baseball pyjamas, it happens,
his neck opening so small
he has to screw them on, which will one day make him wonder
about the mental capacity of baseball players-
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across his little, startlingly muscled body-
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.

Apologies

There is every chance that if this automated message has been posted online, that the contractions that Jennifer is feeling have indeed developed into a real life labour. If so, I expect that as you read this, Henry will indeed be the proud brother of somebody, rather than an concept.

If I am correct in this, then I expect that it might be a couple of days until I post again. I don’t think that the RHH has a wireless Internet connection. This will break my streak that goes back quite some time, but is not the end of the world!

The upside is that the next post that I make will probably be one of a new entrant into our household (unless it is hideous, in which case I will substitute pictures of Henry as a baby until we can get a surgeon/Photoshop wizard to make it look at least presentable.

Until then…

Chewy on yer boot!

After play group, Henry and I meandered back home, stopping for a while to watch the reserves turn out at the Henry Fitzgerald McCracken Football and Cricket Arena. Despite the lack of wind, the full forward for the visiting team seemed to be having a rough day of it. He kicked four straight points in the period of our watching. His own coach was rubbishing him by the time we left.

Some days are diamonds, some days are stones. I think that's what the coach meant by shouting to his rover, "why are you kicking it to that f$%&wit? You must have f#%&@$g rocks in your head!"