Penetrating so many secrets, we cease to believe in the unknowable. But there it sits nevertheless, calmly licking its chops.

I figure that with the global Henry love-in, it is only fair to give Ezra a run too. thirteen weeks old now, and he already has dozens under his spell. Henry finally had a crack at his name today. Fair enough it sounded like "Esch-ra", but he ran around the house shouting it for long enough to deduce that he is quite taken with his brother.

So here is the youngest son basking in the glory when I got home from work yesterday (I managed to leave within twenty [!] minutes of my actual finish time), happy as ever. You'll note that knitted baby blanket that can be seen in many of these photos, Jen made that. I've promised (and have begun), a post dedicated to all of the stuff she's made for the bairns - with links to patterns - as soon as I get the time that such an event deserves. So stay tuned for that one.

Comments

Anonymous said…

He looks very wise and knowing in this one!

22 October 2008 at 07:17

FRances said…

Kris gee he has grown and has changed so much cant wait to see the boys tommorow opps and you and Jen as well.

22 October 2008 at 08:21

Dina said…

Looking forward to Jen's creations.
This quotation is a real keeper.
Ezra has that LOOK here, love it!

My rabbi used to say that the minute you know, and can use, a man's name, you have power over him. Like, you call "Ezra!" and he must stop, turn, and look at you (for a start). I think Rabbi was explaining the ancient mystical Jewish customs linked to names.

22 October 2008 at 17:30

Kris McCracken said…

Jackie, Ezra is a good sort.

Frances, and shower him with gifts, as it turns out.

Dina, re. the quote, H. L. Mencken in his usual probing style. I never know how to take Mencken, as I suspect that he was an unpleasent chap. But he did have a fine way with words!

Ezra has quite worked out responding to his name, yet is hasn't stopped Henry trying.

24 October 2008 at 08:54

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 Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

Search This Blog