A little story about ties and ukuleles
A hundred years ago when my one and only daughter was just a baby, seven months old, I had a little ceremony involving a little bonfire. You see, her mother and I had come to a little agreement. Despite being male, I had an unrelenting urge to be a mother. My spouse and I agreed that once our baby was weaned from her mother’s breasts that I would take over as mother and the real mother would go back to the world of work. We were switching places.
For years I had worn a tie to work each and every day. I was a corporate drone. Blindfolded, I could tie a perfect tie without even thinking about it. I had done it so many thousands of times. You know, a tie around one’s neck is a lot like a noose around one’s neck. I hated it and I swore that once I quit my corporate job that I would never wear a tie again.
Well, the day finally came. My wife had secured a job that she was soon to begin and I had just worked my last day as a corporate drone. The event begged for a celebration.
So I dug a little fire pit in the yard of our Santa Fe apartment. I’m sure it must have been against the provisions of the lease agreement to build a bonfire but I didn’t care. This was a moment that simply required celebration.
