Eyes Like Lakes

As they say, God lives in the margins. You see him in the seams of sunsets, and in the shimmering eyes of children.

My literary aspirations? Somewhere between the Voice of a Generation and the poetry written by lovesick teen-aged girls.

Speaking of rich internal lives, I realized the other day that children share their honest thoughts till around age 8, then some mechanism activates — some heart valve, some latch — that makes them overly cautious about their opinions, secrets and observations.

They become guarded. They remember recent hurts caused from being too honest, from being different from the pack, or vulnerable, or even kind.

So they begin to pull the curtains around themselves. And the best part of children starts to disappear.

Wow, right?

New lovers are like that too. At first, we share it all. Then little by little, we pull back, wounded by minor judgments.

Seems that the secret to a lasting relationship is the willingness — the courage — to share it all. Me, I overshare, so I’m probably OK. Or will oversharing be my undoing?

I mean, I don’t overshare all the time. I’d get punched out probably. They’d bundle me like a tent and ship me off to Mars.

But if you can’t confide in another person, what’s the point? Get yourself a dog, you’ll be much happier.

FYI, I wear my dogs like socks. They surround me as I write this. Look at my daughter’s dog, this golden retriever. One brain cell, maybe two. A retriever? She couldn’t retrieve a meatball if you left it in a warm wad of fries.

But she’s good company. The golden retriever inspires me. When she sighs, it’s almost human. It’s as if she is doing my worrying for me.

Dogs, they own me. Grandkids too.

Questions? Let’s move on.

I’m very taken lately by the shimmer in the eyes of my granddaughters. One is almost 5, the other just off the lot (nine months).

Lately, their eyes are Swiss lakes.

The other day, Rapunzel brought little Mookie by the house. When I went to retrieve her from the carseat, she’d just awakened from her nap. Her eyes glistened. Big jewels. The kind kings keep in their pockets to rub during meetings.

“”She just woke up,” Rapunzel explained, yet that doesn’t fully explain these high-beams, this majesty … the beauty of watching your grandchildren bloom.

As they say, God lives in the margins. You see him in the seams of sunsets, and the shimmering eyes of your kids and grandkids.

Another person, this Cakes character, was at dinner with me at the Mexican joint the other night.

The restaurant is overpriced and underseasoned, like many Santa Monica eateries. But the servers are patient, attentive and all-around wonderful. So I throw money to the wind.

It was just Smartacus and me, in a booth with Cakes and her toddler brother, Puddles. Cakes’ big eyes caught the evening light. You could canoe those eyes. You could launch several thousand ships.

Happy Hour!

Now, sometimes Cakes wiggles loose the bolts of the universe. She is as impatient as the wind, to borrow from Wordsworth — a particularly active child, a restless and curious little girl . Often, she is soothed only by the screen of some phone or tablet. “Zootopia” is her escape. Or “Frozen.”

We realize that’s wrong. Just as our parents knew it was wrong to plop us in front of “Hogan’s Heroes” re-runs for hours at a time.

But we turned out all right, didn’t we?

Maybe.

Anyway, we’re in this booth at the Mexican joint — no screens, no parents — and all hell is breaking loose, as it will in a restaurant with young children.

Ever been to a bullfight? Kinda like that.

At one point, Puddles shoves the laminated menu away from himself, nearly dumping all the beer and water glasses in my lap.

Also, Puddles refuses to eat, which is unusual in our family. We breathe to eat, and we eat to breathe. Food and family are our sole reasons for existing. But mostly food…sometimes family.

Honestly, it’s just the food.

Smartacus and I realize that we can’t return Cakes and Puddles to their loving parents without something in their stomachs, it would be irresponsible of us. And it could jeopardize future culinary bullfights such as this.

So we stop for a quick ice cream on the way home.

Yes, they love ice cream — way more than family, far more than life itself.

We could see it in their eyes.

Next week: Never sleep with someone more troubled than you are.

I really want to thank everyone for your patience and generosity regarding the shift to Substack. I’m reading some wonderful notes from old friends who have been with me for decades. It’s quite inspiring.

We’re still figured out a few things. In the meantime, here are some answers to frequent questions:

Q: Why is the type smaller?

A: If you click on the email, the columns seem to appear smaller than you might be used to.

Q: The solution?

Access the column by opening Substack first. Also, you can go directly to the website: ChrisErskineLA.com. In both cases, the type is larger, as is the entire presentation.

Q: The photos don’t enlarge when I click on them, like before.

A: Again, if you access the column through Substack, you’ll have more options with the photos. You can enlarge them, or click through them. You can also do this by going directly to ChrisErskineLA.com

Q: Can I still “like” or “comment” on a post?

A: Yes. There are little icons under the byline. You can also comment by scrolling to the end of the column. Often, the post-game banter is better than the original story.

Q: When is the next Happy Hour Hike?

A: We will hike Descanso Gardens in a couple of weeks. Please stay tuned for details. “Founding Members” will get first choice.

Q: What’s a “dirty” Bloody Mary, which you mentioned the other day?

A: Add a jigger of olive juice to a typical Bloody Mary.

Cheers! Have a great weekend.