the more the maui-er

you know what you hardly ever hear?

"you're going to maui? tsk, that's a shame. we went there a couple years ago, and we'll never go back. it was awful."

no, the reviews of maui are universally, insistently rapturous. "ohmigawd, you're going to maui i'm so jealous you're going to have a great time it's so beautiful and the weather and the sunsets and the water and are you taking the kids oh they'll love it come here and let me hug you."

i'm pretty sure the mauians slip a little something into every mainlander's poi, causing intensely euphoric flashbacks for years afterward.

and so it is with these immodest exhortations ringing in our ears (counterbalanced by our own chronically, cynically low expectations) that the physically exhausted and emotionally overwrought spaceneedl family departs on monday for maui.

the spaceneedls have never been to the hawaiian islands. mrs. spaceneedl visited honolulu on business many moons ago, but we'll arbitrarily not count that. how much fun can it be, after all, to visit a fabulous tropical destination without squabbling children vexing your every waking moment? no fun at all, obviously.

despite this, i've cobbled together a personal vacation itinerary so ambitious, so grandiose, so preposterously child-free that its dreamy perfection inevitably will be matched by heart-rending wailing and agita when mrs. spaceneedl gets wind of it...

scuba diving: two dives, two different days, four dives total. a night dive, while intriguing, would probably interfere with happy hour.
golf: one round (ea.) at two world-renowned maui courses, royal kaanapali and kapalua bay.
deep-sea fishing: half day, with the expectation of boating a tuna the size of a volkswagon.

by my count, that's five days out of seven during which the little spaceneedls are left with their mother, or to their own devices, likely ruining maui for everyone for at least a generation. and we haven't even begun to contemplate the enduring ruin administered by an irate and formidable mrs. spaceneedl.

now, ordinarily i'd avoid getting on the missus' bad side. when mama ain't happy, nobody's happy, yada yada. but i'm feeling the need, lately, to do something a little, oh-what's-the-word, unilateral.

something to balance the scales, if you will.

put another way, and to borrow a quote from one of the all-time great movies: "i think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part."

and i'm just the guy to do it.

if anyone needs me, i'll be at the driving range.

my night

preparing dinner for two six year-old girls, a mariners game on in the background.

cook spaghetti noodles, drain, rinse, serve.

get up in your chair. eat your carrots. you may have water to drink.

mariners lead, 2-0.

what kind of door handles would i like downstairs? something that works, preferably. something that complements the cabinet door pulls.

can we have dessert when we're done? how many carrots did you eat?

ooh, we got invited to peter and lynne's wedding. can i see can i see can i see? when i'm done looking.

stop chewing on the table, rat-dog.

marinate tuna steak in soy, garlic and ginger. cook garlic black bean noodles. drain, rinse, wait. fire up grill.

no, you don't need more salt on those noodles.

one swing of the bat, mariners trail, 3-2. time for wine. bocce pinot grigio. it would go well with the tuna, if it were still around by then.

do we have any sesame seeds? why can't i find them? what the hell is cream of tartar? we have a lot of red pepper flakes. found the sesame seeds. best if used by: 6/02.

i'm full. put your plate in the sink.

tuna is done. the mariners trail 8-2. well the hell. buxom neighbor stops by to retrieve her daughter. dog pees in the entryway.

have a glass of wine? what a fabulous idea. children go berserk. running screaming. too loud. go downstairs to your room! out!

good wine. something french. cotes du rhone. mariners lose, 8-3.

sink full of dishes. leftovers in the fridge. too tired for a hot tub.

bed.

repeat, repeatedly.

it's good not to be too predictable

i got an e-mail recently from, well, from someone who sends e-mail.

at its conclusion was a word i'd never seen:

namaste

i googled it, and came across a translation, among others, that i found unexpectedly pleasing...

to pay homage to the inner light in all living things.

i like the idea of namaste, even if i don't actually practice it. there are too many living things whose inner light is not, shall we say, top quality. think about how many people you know whose inner light is akin to neon in a pristine wilderness. or a black hole at the edge of a playground. which is better, garish, artificial inner light or no inner light at all?

you know things are bad when a hopeful, holistic discussion of inner light somehow leads to darkness.

attitude is a zero-sum equation. the more you know, the less blissful you're apt to be. put another way, "if you're not appalled, you're not paying attention." true enough, but a steady state of appall is exhausting.

if you pay attention to things that responsible people are supposed to pay attention to, it's easy to go to bed tired, wake up tired, and slog through the day tired. or maybe that's depression. and maybe the two are interchangeable. you got one, you got the other. and they conspire to wear you down.

until, one day, you stumble across something startling, something that gets your attention in a different way. something truly namaste.

and for awhile you think something else may be possible. you could do worse, you imagine, than to embrace the life force in others -- as opposed to choking it out of them. and shouldn't it be possible, perhaps, to nurture back to spiritual health those whose light is neither warm nor glowing? yes, it should be possible, you unilaterally conclude.

it follows, though, that you have to start with yourself.

to that end, there's another definition that bespeaks equipoise and harmony and perhaps even an interlude of, um, mutual affirmation...

The God/Goddess within me acknowledges the God/Goddess within you.

this use is an accessible combination of secular and spiritual and salubrious. it is, at once, high-minded and familiar. it's versatile as a pair of black jeans -- you can dress it up, you can dress it down. if you find yourself entwined in a particularly reverent moment, you can undress it entirely.

it's good to learn new things. it's refreshing, this deep into an unpredictable lifespan, to be pleasantly surprised by the unknown. what are the chances that a single word in a simple e-mail could be so compelling? perhaps we are witnessing something here that is larger than ourselves. something healing and restorative and transformative. or, you know, not.

The word "namaste" is often used as a closing notation in written communications similar to "sincerely," "best regards" or "love."

indeed, it is.

namaste, everyone. namaste.

break out the butterfly nets

my wife is base jumping off the cliffs of insanity.

no, actually she's bungee jumping. again and again and again. boing boing boing.

meet the new dog, nothing like the old dogs. it has a breed, but i can't bear to say it, let alone type it out here. if you must know, it's a cross between two dogs i'd never acknowledge in public, let alone bring into my house.

it has a name, but i refuse to use it. for the next 15 years or so it'll be "your dog." as in, "your dog just peed on the rug."

and "your dog was attacked today by a bald eagle."

my wife made a unilateral decision, and i have to live with it for 15 years? are you kidding me? i make a unilateral decision about where to get take-out for dinner, and i'm a totalitarian. "we didn't want suchandsuch for dinner, we wanted pizza!"

yeah, well, i didn't want a long-haired rat in my house, either. get over it.

going forward, i've decided to make a lot more unilateral decisions. i'm going to do things i've deferred or declined, because i thought i was in an egalitarian relationship. for example, i'm going to...

hang on a minute, i'll think of something.

i'd say, "play golf" or "go scuba diving" or "go to the indoor climbing gym," but i really don't have the time to do those things any more.

i'd say, "buy a red convertible," but i don't really want a red convertible. i'd say, "get a tattoo," but i already have the latitude to do that. nothing gratifying there.

frick.

i make the decision to make unilateral decisions, and i can't think of anything to decide.

please help.

urban chick seeks mental health

my wife has lost her mind.

and by that i mean, she's crazy. in a white-coat and padded room kind of way.

girl is nuts.

get this: she wants to acquire some chickens. urban chickens, as she calls them. avian flu incubators, as i call them. chickens. in seattle.

she's got it all planned out. they'll inhabit the space behind our garage, next to the neighbor's koi pond. they'll lay little blue or green eggs, and we'll have fresh omelets every day. or something.

when i object, when i suggest the possibility she hasn't completely thought through the ramifications of the urban chicken plan, she tells me i've lost my sense of spontaneity. and, by not endorsing her lunacy, i'm infringing on her fun.

mind you, i didn't say "no." i just said, "what the hell?" or words to that effect.

the story doesn't end there. in addition to the urban chickens, she wants a new dog. cruelly, she has recruited our children in this pursuit. "daddy, we'll take care of the puppy. we promise."

yeah, here's the thing about animals at our house: i end up the sole caretaker. each time and every time. starting with two cats, a big dog, then two big dogs. all my responsibility. including the inevitable mortality of each, for which my wife was out of town every time.

somehow i'm supposed to forget all that because my wife is taking the summer off and thinks she'll have the time and the desire to raise a bunch of animals.

again, i object.

but, as with the damn chickens, i didn't say no. i don't make unilateral decisions in this relationship. that prerogative belongs to my wife, apparently.

did i mention the semi-serious remodeling projects going on at our house? they involve, in no particular order, a backhoe/front-end loader, the removal of concrete walls, and the creation of a walk-out basement from the space currently occupied by our bedroom.

it's a significant amount of change and turmoil without factoring in urban birds and puppies.

and still i didn't say no. i did, however, mention i would have nothing to do with such a cockamamie scheme. i made it crystal clear i wouldn't be getting up in the middle of the night to take a dog out to pee, nor would i field complaints from the neighbors about rogue chickens eating their fish. or whatever.

i spelled out all these things. but you know how it'll go. eventually, inevitably, there'll be a collision between my objections and her expectations, and something will have to give.

any predictions how that's gonna turn out?

my wife is deeply, deeply disturbed. and in failing to dissuade her, i am at least complicit.

if not equally loony toons.

at your fingertips

some folks you find speak a mighty good line
they charm you all away
they take you along on a sweet sweet song
then they steal your heart away
but blessed be the one who can understand why
people have to act that way
'cause if I knew I wouldn't even want to sing

but have a little peace
just a little peace of mind
give me some peace
peace of mind -- jim messina

yesterday i had my first facial.

to be precise (because it feels necessary at this juncture to be precise about this experience), i had a "deep cleanse, tone, exfoliation, steam, extractions, application of custom mask, moisturizer, and a massage of the hand and arm."

okay? are we clear about what transpired? can i get my story in now? thank you.

anyway, in advance of my birthday and father's day, my wife hooked me up with a spa treatment.

it was deeply gratifying...as deeply gratifying as a paid-for hour of intimate and uninterrupted attention can be. as far as i know.

while i was laying there, savoring the gentle-yet-firm manipulation of my overly impressionable sensibilities, it occurred to me that the feeling one derives from such exchanges never lasts very long.

i mean, the before and during is great. the esthetician (we'll call her "annalie" because that's her name), hovers over you, speaking softly, soothingly, in a way that you rarely hear outside a room lighted mainly by candles. you can feel her breath on your face (i believe she had a vanilla latte for breakfast), which has the effect of heightening your senses to the point that you can actually discern the swirly contours of her fingerprints.

i may not know biometrics, but i know what i like.

i'm straying off point here, which is that the after-glow of these too-brief interludes is pitifully short. as the last, lingering touch slips off your skin, your inner infant cries out for more, not wanting to leave the birth canal.

even so, it is possible that with some mental distraction techniques and compartmentalization you can take a few halting steps during which you might still feel one with the universe. and because it's so good, so right, you fight to carry the effect with you forever, and you do -- if by "forever" you mean "until you leave the parking lot and a police car pulls in behind you, and you hope the officer doesn't ask you if you've been drinking because it kinda feels like you have, even though you haven't, because it's ten o'clock in the morning."

poof. just like that your bought-and-paid-for peace of mind is flayed. and that, really, is the gist of this entire digression. for it is peace we seek, because it is peace we lack, if i may inaccurately paraphrase james earl jones in field of dreams, (and i very well may).

we could spend the rest of our blogging lives enumerating the ways we lack peace, and about 9 minutes counting the ways we find it. maybe less. with the exception of a few prescription medications, a few more non-prescription varieties, and some really good cabernet sauvignon, there are damn few means to find your bliss and hang onto it in a meaningful way.

the religious among us say jesus is the way, or buddha, or muhammad, or alicia witt. but let's face it, some of the least peaceable examples in history are provided by rogue advocates of some religion or another.

no. there are too many ways to sail off the edge of the earth, from a peace of mind perspective, too many examples of the timeless warning, "here there be monsters," alicia witt notwithstanding.

if, in fact, it is peace we seek because peace we lack, it occurs to me that after millennia of searching, humans were not meant to achieve a mental steady-state of serenity. if we were, we would have done so long ago.

so we pay for fleeting moments of it, we search longingly for glimpses of it, we google the digitized aggregation of it. and, occasionally, we experience a moment so perfect, so transcendental, that we breathlessly chase after it no matter how foolish it makes us appear.

i had a facial on saturday.

and in a secular, hedonistic kind of way...it was divine.

sea change

my wife is quitting her job.

actually, technically she's taking a two-month leave of absence. but she has no intention of going back.

it's an old story. new boss, no appreciation for ten years of successful service. boss is disrepectful, employees leave. or leave of absence, as the case may be.

the record will show that my wife is not the stay-at-home type. at first she'll enjoy being out from under the thrall of an imbecilic supervisor. then, for awhile, she'll revel in the quality time with our children. she'll breathe in the summer and breathe out the bitterness. we'll spend a languid july week in maui, and a seattle week in august with her family. that's a seductive combination by any standard.

but come september, the children will go back to school, and the diy home projects she can tackle will be thoroughly subdued.

that's when she'll look out the window and wish she were heading off to work.

it'll be about the camaraderie, the challenges, the success. and let's be honest, it'll also be about the money. we have children and a house and more improvement projects than we can afford. we are a two-income family, and since we're being honest here...my wife is the smart one in the family. she makes the big money at our house.

so, come september, when the children are in school and she's surfing the internet for items we absolutely must have if we are to remain civilized, the never-denied, merely deferred reality will become irresistible.

there will be a new job, new routines, and a different set of problem-solution opportunities.

waves of change are lining up behind the spaceneedls. we better hope we can learn to surf.

the quantum mechanics of time and memory

the night before we left for arizona, i dreamed about joan.

we chatted about nothing i can remember, but when i woke up it felt like i had just seen her, heard her voice, given her a long-deferred bear hug.

when we got to her house, several hours later, she wasn't there.

i mean, of course she wasn't there, she's been gone nearly two years. but last time we visited, she was everywhere. you couldn't open a kitchen cabinet or walk around the back yard without her next to you.

this time, though, it seemed she had moved on.

she wasn't at the door to greet us. the rosemary that once lined the east side of the patio was in full retreat. her kitchen, a model of manic efficiency, was simply clean and quiescent.

my father-in-law, so fragile during our last trip, has found his equilibrium. he doesn't live in nearly as much of the house as she did, but he uses as much of it as suits him. the rosemary may be in disarray, but the pool is crystal clear and inviting. he's not sure what's in the spice cabinet, but he knows his way around four grocery stores.

early one morning we hiked through dreamy draw recreation area, one of joan's favorite desert spots. the air was cool and calm, the saguaros were blooming, the songbirds were doing what they do. my daughter, wearing one of joan's baseball caps, was an intrepid hiker. she kept up the pace, kept her eyes open for wildlife, and kept her composure when we startled a rattlesnake right in front of us. fearless, the girl backed away, hopped down a little rock wall, and made her way around the beast.

just like granny joan would've done.

i didn't think much about it at the time, because the girl is an audacious little character. even so, in retrospect her poise was remarkable.

in my dream, joan was as real and immediate a presence as ever. i could hear her voice, smell her shampoo, feel her wiry strength. for that i'm grateful, because that same presence, which i fully expected to encounter in arizona, was missing.

except, perhaps, for a moment on a desert trail, when her granddaughter would've made her proud.

water world

i've always liked the idea of breathing underwater.

i recall being a kid, diving to the deep end of the pool and looking around, thinking how cool it would be to just hang out down there and not have to go up for air.

eventually i granted myself that wish, and got scuba certified. the goal at the time was to head to belize to dive the world's second largest barrier reef. that trip never materialized, but many others have (belize, one day, for sure).

the highlight of the indra, a WWII-era ship turned artificial reef off the north carolina coast, is a huge barracuda that quietly patrols the wreck. i've heard no reports that this big fish has ever been aggressive...but he keeps your attention from the moment you see him until you leave the water. prolly he's bored by the multitude of divers that swarm his ship.

sand tiger sharks are common on carolina wrecks. once, swimming the caribsea, a spearfisher on our boat had his game bag snatched off his bcd by a 12-foot sand tiger. the shark came out of nowhere, grabbed the bag and yanked it away with a quick little twist of his head. then it turned and was gone. the whole encounter lasted less than 10 seconds...but at the time it seemed to go on forever.

the hebe, a dutch freighter, was sunk in 1942 off myrtle beach, SC. conflicting stories say it was torpedoed by a german sub, or it collided with one of its own escort ships. either way, it now sits in 110 feet of warm, crystal clear gulf stream water. the hebe is a fascinating, beautiful dive, surrounded by sealife. i don't want to call them schools of fish...they're more like swarms of clouds of schools.

the smaller fish pivot and dive and climb willy nilly, scattering bright silver light in every direction at once.

the bigger predators cruise more deliberately, showing off impossibly intense colors. further away the barracuda hover, always present, never out of mind. off the ship's starboard hull lies a field of bottles from a venezuelan brewery. 65 years ago they were litter. now they're artifacts, a couple of which sit in my office.

in aruba, offshore from oranjestad, is the wreck of a smallish pilot vessel inhabited by a huge moray eel. you swim around the perimeter of the boat, then up to a portal on its starboard side. the hold is open to the light above, so the eel is spotlighted in all its green, gape-jawed glory.

p.s., the thing had big damn teeth.

this july i'm getting into the water again, somewhere around maui. a night dive sounds like fun, as i've never done one and i'm kinda nervous about the idea. i'm not wild about the prospect of some creature from the depths rising out of the darkness to drag me down.

with one notable exception...

that's how we role model

i see all these heroes
with feet of clay
whose mighty ships
have sprung a leak
and i want you to tell me
just what do you believe in now?

-- don henley

soon, probably in the next month or so, henry aaron will be second on the all-time major league home run list.

he'll be passed by a player who, by many accounts, used steroids to amass big home run totals.

hank aaron never was an imposing physical presence. at six feet tall and 180 pounds, he derived his power from a fluid swing and a big heart. the other guy, in contrast, went from a normal-looking athlete to a massively muscled freak of nature. he did this late in his career, when most players are on the statistical and physical downslope.

i remember when aaron was pursuing babe ruth for the home run record. as he closed the gap, aaron was dogged by racist taunts, hate mail and death threats. but he maintained his poise and his focus, setting a standard that the haters didn't have the IQ to understand, let alone emulate. to this day, aaron is an embassador for the game of baseball, an example too infrequently followed by current professional athletes. or anyone else.

the other guy is the poster child for everything wrong with professional sports (and often college sports as well). spoiled, arrogant, hostile, and a cheater. quite a combination. borderline criminal. maybe even over-the-line, pending an investigation of steroid use, trafficking, and alleged perjury.

not to mention the spectacle of his huge, misshapen, gelatinous head. something about that should be criminal, too.

the player and his apologists attribute animus toward him to racism. quite a claim since both he and aaron are black. also interesting is how few current players speak out against him.

the loaded question usually goes something like, "soandso is about to break hank aaron's all-time home run record. how do you feel about that?"

the answer, typically, is a variation of "great! very exciting! he's still a great hitter, and has hit a lot of home runs, which i think is great!"

it's nauseating. someone needs to explain to me why breaking a record this way is anything but a desecration. and why these players are so okay with that.

i shouldn't care, i know. in the big scheme of things, a sporting record is inconsequential. but there's still enough boy in me, enough idealism, to get worked up about it.

all these years later, i have nothing but admiration (and a little bit of nostalgic awe) for henry aaron. he respected the game, and accomplished something remarkable within the boundaries of fairness.

this other guy? none of the above. no respect for the game, its history, its fans, or the ideals they represent.

his 756 will be a record without honor. instead of cheers he should hear silence.

soon, probably in a month or so, someone on espn will exclaim that there's a new home run king. at my house, that's when the tv goes off.

body oddity

herve villechaize was an annoying little man -- never moreso than in his big (make that little) breakthrough role as 'tattoo' on fantasy island.

"boss! de plane! de plane!"

somebody should've tattooed him upside the head.

how jarring would it be if someone got a tattoo of villechaize in his little fantasy island white suit? think about it. a tattoo of tattoo. kind of like looking in a mirror reflecting in a mirror, if you follow the metaphor to its infinite, incomprehensible conclusion.

all of which is prelude to saying, i'm not a big tattoo guy.

despite this fact, i'm about to get my second. tattoo, that is. crazy, huh?

yup. i'm not sure why, except to say it's parenthood-related (it was something my father would never do). i got my first piece of body art after my son was born; i have an orca on my left shoulder, with the boy's name underneath it. i was an emotional wreck at the time, and a tattoo seemed like a logical response. quibble with my logic, if you will, but i've never regretted it.

in the intervening years betwixt then and now, my wife and i had another child. and in the interest of symmetry, i've always intended to get another tattoo. but things happened, time passed, and somehow the second tattoo never materialized. mostly, i just couldn't think of anything interesting to have permanently added to my body.

recently however, after 6 and a half years of two-childedness, i had a body art breakthrough. a pigment epiphany, if you will. i'm ready to get tattooed again.

the inspiration, if you can call it that, was a window decal on somebody's car. i know, that doesn't immediately suggest "inspiration," but this is not your tattoo, so i'd ask for some latitude. thank you.

it was something so simple and so obvious, i can't believe it didn't occur to me long ago. it's sealife-related, but not redundant (i had considered a native american iteration of an orca...but it seemed too been there, done that...besides, i don't need to be 'the orca guy').

a mermaid was considered, owing to my daughter's one-time infatuation with ariel...thankfully the idea never took hold.

this, that, bla bla bla...and then i saw the decal. it was a sea turtle family -- a hawaiian honu interpretation. two parents followed by two babies. just like that, the years of indecision were over.

this time, i'm not an emotional mess. or maybe i am, but in a different way. more manageable, maybe. doesn't matter. i've sent a jpg to the renowned ballard body art parlor, "slave to the needle." actually, i don't know how renowned they are, but they are in the neighborhood. and they have a web site.

i'm one step away from new body art. at least i think i am.

if it takes another 6 and a half years, we'll assume i wasn't ready.

sunday surprise

if this were a survival situation, i'd be in deep trouble. because things are happening around me that i'm not entirely aware of.

for example, i was sitting here this morning, tapping at the computer, and i glanced out the window. there it was. the big, old japanese maple in front of our house was totally leafed out.

when did this happen? and what else happened while i was sitting here?

thankfully this is not a survival situation, it's an arboreal situation. a surreal arboreal situation, if you will. but still. when the foliage status of large, nearby trees escape notice, it's time for concern.

in his book stumbling on happiness, daniel gilbert describes the difference between experiencing an event and being aware of it. his example is of distractedly reading and rereading the same paragraph without consciously assimilating the words.

in his book stumbling on happiness, daniel gilbert describes the difference between experiencing an event and being aware of it. his example is of distractedly reading and rereading the same paragraph without consciously assimilating the words.

yes, like that. but when refocused on the paragraph, we become aware that we have, indeed, already experienced it. maybe several times.

me, i drive to and from work 10 times a week, in a soporific stupor. this is, in fact, a survival situation, yet the experience rarely rises to the level of awareness. similarly, it's fortunate the japanese maple in our front yard is not, say, a mountain lion, else i'd be experiencing death. or a maiming i wouldn't soon forget.

the takeaway here seems to be that there's a lot going on, all the time, and even the most innocuous confluence of events might be a threat to our wellbeing. it's the butterfly effect gone wild, for example, when the invention of the wheel and the invention of the shoe can lead to the invention of heelys, wheeled shoes that currently threaten the wellbeing of my children.

our only consolation is that the reverse may also be true. that even the most obnoxious confluence of events (say, the ill-starred coupling of george h.w. and barbara bush), may lead to a better world. eventually. a long time from now.

we can only hope we're here to see these eventualities as they unfurl, and that we do more than just experience them. because once in a while survival demands we rise above blissful unawareness and notice there's a mountain lion, wearing heelys, in our favorite tree.

saturday soap opera

decked out in her purple uniform, our daughter looks like a real little leaguer. and when she gets hit by consecutive line drives at shortstop, she reacts like a little leaguer.

she cries.

"why do they have to hit it to me every time?"

in little league, "the ready position" doesn't really mean anyone is ready. hands on knees, eyes toward home plate, and the hit! whack! oooh, that's gotta hurt.

mind you, our daughter is a tough chick. she's not given to tears over scrapes and bumps. we taught her long ago to pop up and keep going. and she does. most of the time.

but back-to-back line drives are more than anyone should have to absorb. even so, after half an inning she had recovered sufficiently to go out and get a couple base hits.

that was last saturday.

today she's ready to go again, looking cute as she wants to be in her color-coded jersey, socks and hat. the hat's got a big M on it, for magnolia. just like all the other hats.

"a.g., do you know what to do if the ball is hit to you today?"

"try to catch it, i guess."

my girl.

the cascadia aesthetic

the waters of the pacific northwest are cold. even in the heat of the summer, such as it is, puget sound and the waters to the north, past the queen charlotte islands, stay bone-chilling cold.

the occasional fantasy of 85-degree water is moderated by the reality that our corner of paradise would be overrun by folks who know and care little about quiet, solitude and a few square miles free of fast-food opportunities.

no, better to sit and be still, looking out over the clear, cold surface, or walk along its edge, picking your way between tidal pools and driftwood, up onto rocks where the tide presses inland. carrying some strong, steamy coffee, perhaps, on a misty morning.

within 7 minutes of our house is a rocky beach where it's possible to walk, completely alone, within sight of downtown seattle. harbor seals sometimes swim just offshore, popping up their heads to take a look around, then diving under again. closer to home, a nesting pair of bald eagles occasionally perch in the trees above our house. they're a marvel of survivability; an anachronistic, metaphoric, hopeful phoenix.

the san juan islands lie not too far to the north. pitch a tent in san juan county park, and you can paddle your kayak to the next sandy beach, encountering an extravagance of animal and plant life along the way. wild turkeys, bald eagles, ferrets. giant pacific octopii, clouds of migrating salmon, harbor seals, dahl’s porpoises and the resident pods of killer whales. occasionally, migrating humpback and gray whales will venture through.

the san juans are remnants of an ancient continental terrane known as wrangellia. tens of millions of years ago wrangellia was a continent in search of a home. it wandered the pacific basin, like a drunk bouncing around an unfamiliar pub, before careening into the north american pacific coast. the collision was not widely noted at the time, but it did form a mountain range of some note, approximately where alaska, vancouver island, and the san juans are today.

geologic evidence of those mountains suggests they were quite spectacular. towering over today’s rockies, putting the alps to shame. and yet somehow, despite their magnificence, they still fell victim to time and gravity. the wrangellia range withered and shrank, until the highest peaks barely showed their noses above the glacial waters that rose to subsume them.

millions of years later those waters are clear, cold and deep. and inviting, just the same.

the outlaw tree

"This here's Miss Bonnie Parker. I'm Clyde Barrow. We rob banks."

when you flout the law the way my wife and i do, it's just a matter of time before the cops show up.

mind you, i didn't want to flout the law. my wife made me do it. i protested, vociferously. but in the end her will was done. we became scofflaws.

the jackhammer we brandished in the commission of our crime will not help our case. it was a bosch brute, and it busted up the concrete in front of our house like butter going through a knife. there may have been some operator error involved.

but at the end of the day -- a very long day -- the deed was done. we vandalized the hell out of that concrete, moved it out of the way, dug into the dirt below...and planted a tree.

at one point our gladys kravitz neighbor sent her husband over to see just what we thought we were doing. we're making some room in front of this telephone pole to plant a tree, my wife said.

that's when the inquisition-by-proxy began. did we have permission? did the city say this was allowable? won't the tree get up into the lines? isn't the concrete holding up the pole?

my wife lied like a hardened criminal. oh, yeah, we called the city and they were fine with our little plan. they even gave us a list of trees to consider. cornelian cherry trees are particularly good in locations like ours. it's all good, and don't worry about it one bit, mr. kravitz. run along now, so we can finish before the storm rolls in.

my wife is an accomplished liar. i believed her, and i knew she was lying. the cops, however, may not be convinced so easily.

i fully expect them to roll up one of these days. they'll be cool at first, because we live in a nice neighborood and seem like nice people. on the surface.

but it won't take long for them to figure out that we flouted the law. we broke up 4 square feet of city concrete, planted a tree, and put down some shredded hardwood mulch. these are the facts, and they are not in dispute.

Bonnie Parker: What would you do if some miracle happened and we could walk out of here tomorrow morning and start all over again clean? No record and nobody after us, huh?

Clyde Barrow: Well, uh, I guess I'd do it all different. First off, I wouldn't live in the same state where we pull our jobs.

me? i intend to plead insanity. i was driven to dig by my scofflaw wife.

will it work? only a fool would hope.

i fully expect that one day we'll both hang from our outlaw tree.

maybe baseball

This is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains. Think about that for a while.

the movie "bull durham" wasn't about parenting. it was about sex.

but quite often there's a correlation between sex and parenthood.

it's true. you could look it up.

i've been a parent for going on nine years. despite the insistence of some, parenthood is not always a jar of chocolate chip cookies. sometimes it's more like a pot of pickled beets. good for you, perhaps, but they leave an awful taste in your mouth.

i digress.

my son is playing baseball. for the first time. i mean, really, he's totally baseball-naive. because i'm a bad parent.

i played baseball for many, many years. sometimes well. i played until my junior year in college, in fact. at that point shoulder tendinitis and marginal talent combined to turn me into a spectator.

despite all that baseball experience, i never cajoled my son onto the field. didn't even try. we urged him into other activities, of course. karate, swimming, gymnastics, indoor climbing. he's quite good at all of them.

but no baseball. what kind of father doesn't encourage his son to play baseball, for gawdsake? that's what fathers and sons do, isn't it? go down to the local park, bat and gloves in hand, and learn some fundamentals?

nope. never happened. until this year. suddenly we're playing catch-up as much as we're playing catch.

the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.

turns out the boy has some baseball skills. he fields ground balls smoothly, and throws hard to first. he swings the bat and makes contact. he smiles at me, and i smile back. i tell him, "nice job," and "stay with it," and "just make contact." and he does, most of the time. when he's not turning his hat sideways, and digging in the dirt with his new cleats.

if it were important, i could teach the boy a lot about baseball. i could teach him things about the game that i never knew until long after i stopped playing. i could, maybe, help him appreciate being in the zone, the feeling that no matter what the pitcher offers up, you're going to hit it a long way the other direction.

if it were important.

baseball is simple. life is complicated. there's so much to learn.

and so little time.

Walt Whitman once said, "I see great things in baseball. It's our game, the American game. It will repair our losses and be a blessing to us." You could look it up.

* * * * *

update: game one in the boy's baseball career is in the books. game-time conditions were wet and cold, with temps in the low 40s. but the boy still wouldn't wear his coat in the dugout.

his line was one hit in three at-bats, several pitches hit foul, one pop-up almost caught, one knee abrasion from sliding into first on a ground ball.

his team won, 7-4. it was magnificent.

i'm born again

it's in me.

the kool-aid, i mean. i have drunk deeply, and i proclaim to you that i believe in the bush administration.

my faith is strong. yea verily, it is born again (okay, for the first time), because condi asks it of me.

"be patient," she beseeches me. "for the sacrifice is worth it."

most importantly, sister condi insists, "we will start to know relatively soon whether the Iraqis are living up to their obligations."

how soon is soon? according to our great leader, "...the Baghdad security plan is still in its early stages and success will take months, not days or weeks."

okay, that doesn't seem particularly soonish.

but to whom much is given, much is expected. i don't know how this fabulous dogma applies here, but i like the sound of it.

y'all believe me, right? that i'm all born again in the church of george?

is anybody buying this?

sigh. yeah, me neither.

i guess i don't have whatever "it" is that enables such magnificent leaps of delusion...

it just ain't in me.

you're with us or you're with the asteroids

About 20,000 asteroids and comets orbiting close to our planet could deliver blows ranging from destroying cities to ending all life.

this is a funny, funny story. well, not the destroying cities part. or that "ending all life" thing. those would be bad. often i'm fuzzy on the whole good-bad thing, but there seems to be very little ambiguity in this case.

no, the funny part is, our government doesn't have a billion dollars to spare for tracking killer asteroids. as one rocket scientist put it, “Should one nation, the United States, be responsible for the entire planet?”

William Ailor of the Aerospace Corporation, a not-for-profit Air Force research group that sponsored the planetary defense conference, said the problem of finding killer asteroids could be solved more easily if more countries were involved. Interest is growing, he said, noting that the European Space Agency is considering a mission called Don Quijote to test ways to deflect an asteroid.

don quixote, as some might innocently observe, was disparaged for tilting at windmills. that analogy segueways into the existence of an actual industry devoted to tracking and deflecting imminent meteor strikes. they even have their own trade show:

The objective of the conference is to develop a white paper that assesses the current state of our ability to discover and track near-Earth objects (NEOs—objects that could possibly impact Earth) and our ability to successfully deflect a threatening object should one be detected.

and there, literally, is the money quote. it will be significantly more challenging to deflect a "threatening object" if it is detected only after striking the earth. it'll probably cost more, too.

but that is SOP for our "we hate government" government. global warming? no such thing. hurricane katrina? never heard of it. some schmoe in the middle east with a slingshot? here's $100 billion for a fun-filled year of wanton slaughter. yay, government!

meanwhile, there's an asteroid out there with the name of every earth inhabitant on it. can we detect it and deflect it? we don't know, because the price is just too high to find out.

Building a dedicated observatory for finding and tracking hazardous bodies and launching a spacecraft to observe the space around Earth would cost more than $1 billion that the agency does not have.

this plea is not addressed to republicans, who don't believe in science anyway. note to democrats: peel off a billion dollar bill and get busy...quick.

more than a feeling

"We've just lost the nicest guy in rock and roll."

that's all it says now on the official boston website.

because brad delp, lead singer of the 70s band, died today.

i used to think boston's music was pretty cool. i tried to sing along with delp, because as a kid i had some pretty good range. he went way past me into the stratosphere with those high notes. that's why he got the big money.

i had a girlfriend at the time who could really hit the high notes. make of that what you will. i'd sit there and listen, rapt, as her voice climbed, higher, higher...then we'd kiss a lot.

word was, back in the day, that delp was a relentless perfectionist. he'd mix and remix the band's tracks until they met his standards. his perfectionism allegedly kept the band from releasing new material, more material, any material. which i thought was a shame, as i recall. they had a couple more successful releases, but it always seemed like there shoulda been more.

in the summer of '78, i think it was, i played on a pretty good baseball team. we were state champions or some such thing. it seemed like a big deal at the time. on the way to games, a buddy of mine and i used to listen to an 8-track of boston's first album. it became kind of a soundtrack to the season, and it still brings back warm, summertime memories.

i used to think boston's music was aging well. then came the day i noticed, "damn, this music gets a lot of airtime."

now when i hear it, it'll seem like something's missing. something that was important to me, a long time ago.

* * * * *

update: turns out delp wasn't the stickler for detail in the band. that was guitarist and cofounder tom scholz. the band's first album sold 17 million copies, still the most-ever for a debut.

quart of blood technique

"I'm a karate man, see! And a karate man bruises on the inside!"

i couldn't look.

after our last karate tournament disaster, the prospect of another trauma was too much to contemplate.

so as my son began his kata routine, i cleverly looked on from behind the bleachers.

rewind: our children participated in a karate tournament in portland last weekend. it was their first since an ill-fated tournament in victoria, bc -- and for good reason. competition is one thing...masochism is something else entirely.

in canada, one child did well, the other had a come-apart. not his fault, really. the pool-related concussion may have been a factor. nevertheless, looking ahead to portland we were ambivalent. hesitant. angst-ridden. but after much training (theirs) and considerable compartmentalizing (ours), we geeked up for another go.

our pregame left nothing to chance. the drive down was uneventful, but there was a scary moment checking into the hotel. the boy wears heelies as a major mode of transportation, and nearly totalled himself in the lobby. he walked in stocking feet to the room.

the obligatory trip to the pool was prefaced with unambiguous warnings and open threats. another concussion would be considered grounds for abandonment. running was a capital offense. actually touching the water was a game-time decision.

eerily, nothing bad occurred.

later, we went to dinner with a bunch of families from the dojo. the adults drank. the children, after ignoring the real food, ate ice cream. excellent training regimen. we returned to the hotel and yelled at the children to go to sleep.

after a long, nonrestful night, we awoke late. too late to enjoy breakfast, given that the service in the hotel restaurant was slow. no, that's not fair to slow people. service was nonexistent. we ended up taking everything to go. tip was not generous.

we approached the the tournament venue with fear and loathing. surely mt. hood would erupt and the columbia river would boil, flooding us with poached salmon. these things, we felt, would be preferable to entering the gym.

the children insisted.

where's my mouthguard? where's my chest protector? where's my fist pads? where's my group? children expect answers to these questions. parents who don't have a long history with karate tournaments are slow to provide answers.

eventually, inevitably, inexorably, the time for the boy to perform his kata drew nigh. beneath the stands, i sweated and became nauseated. the girl, meanwhile, commenced sparring. she is always the smallest girl in the ring, with the least fear. she swings from her heels and occasionally scores a point. she won a bronze medal.

the boy entered the ring. previously he had decided to do teno kata, because he knew it the best. instead he launched into heian nidan...and nailed it. where he was confident, i was breathless. where he was precise, i was still nauseated. at the end, he suppressed a smile. i suppressed a sob.

karate parents bleed on the inside. it's a good thing, too. the mess would've been epic.

i am garlic

don't come any closer.

i reek of garlic. i exude garlic. i have a phd in eau de garlique.

i am garlic.

last night we had take-out from the mediterranean kitchen on queen anne. dear lord, the garlic.

chicken shawerma. chicken shish tawook. hummus. salad with dressing made almost entirely of garlic...and a few spices.

my wife and i loved this restaurant, back in the day. but when we moved back to the area, it was gone. we assumed it had gone out of business. turns out it moved three blocks east, and has been doing just fine, thank you.

this morning, everything in the refrigerator is infused with garlic. the kitchen is awash in garlic. we are immersed in garlic.

thankfully, it's heart-healthy. in that case, our hearts will continue beating long after we're gone. people will see our freakish, still-beating hearts and say, "they must've eaten at mediterranean kitchen."

tonight: leftovers.

(but right now i need to go shave my tongue.)

"hell no, we won't go..."

everything old is new again.

the '60s have come back around, complete with a divisive war, a dissenting congress, and a despicable president.

instead of fading away, echoes of time past get louder.

the '60s got ugly. assassinations and riots and kent state, all symptoms of a sick nation at war with itself. and it can happen again. it is happening again. because we never really healed from--or learned from--the last time.

how big a leap is it from spying on americans to firing on them? nixon had no compunctions in that regard. would dick cheney hesitate for a moment to order troops to fire on unarmed civilians? he'd probably pick up a rifle himself.

take a look at the four dead at kent state...


real subversives, huh? a clear and present danger to the ohio national guard and the nixon administration. no wonder they had to be killed.

flash forward to 2007...the bush administration is taking on water from all sides. in overwhelming numbers, the american people oppose bush policy at home and abroad. there is a distinct whiff of desperation in presidential press conferences. along with the suggestion that opposition is fine, so long as it doesn't attempt to halt administration activities.

the pieces are in place for another great, self-inflicted wound. a whole series of them. to go along with those of the past six years.

surely we won't go there again. or maybe it's inevitable.

just me tv

i have an overactive imagination.

so when i see a washington state ferry wrecked and burning in elliott bay, it's a small leap for me to picture myself and my family in the scene.

understand, this ferry was a computer-generated image on a tv screen. it was a scene out of someone else's imagination in a show called 'grey's anatomy.' and as conscious as i am of manipulative plotlines and dialogue, i still got swept up in this one.

the faux ferry had collided with a container ship, and carnage was everywhere at our familiar ferry terminal. people were bleeding, dying, covered with tarps. a badly injured woman called for her young son. a little girl wandered amidst the chaos, speechless, looking for someone to help her. that was the part that about pushed me over. too close to home.

it could've been anywhere, i suppose. images of crying, injured children elicit a visceral response, whether they're in baghdad, new orleans or on a soundstage in seattle. i imagine most people silently transport themselves into such situations, and feel the pain of the moment.

this is true, isn't it? don't most people identify with and personlize the dramatic and the traumatic?

or are we all just abstractions? are people in iraq just radical islamists, folks on the gulf coast just poverty-stricken negroes, people in san francisco just liberal queers?

the answers to these questions are fairly important. if a person is nothing more than a caricature, they're much easier to ignore. or to kill.

or so i would imagine.

gardicil your children?

big pharma is coming for your children.

and if they can't peddle their drugs to you directly, they'll force them on you through your local government.

don't be afraid. be angry.

Merck & Co. is helping bankroll efforts to pass state laws requiring girls as young as 11 or 12 to receive the drugmaker's new vaccine against the sexually transmitted cervical-cancer virus.

Gardasil, approved by the federal government in June, protects girls and women against strains of the human papillomavirus, or HPV, that are responsible for most cases of cervical cancer. A government advisory panel has recommended that all girls get the shots at 11 and 12, before they are likely to be sexually active.

note the careful choice of words. "protects" girls and women from cancer. gardicil is a warm, fuzzy protector. that's nice, isn't it?

it's probably not even worth mentioning that merck stands to make billions of dollars if its drug is declared mandatory by the government. the folks at merck aren't motivated by money, after all. they only want to help.

the thing is, though, that gardicil the wonder drug was just fda-approved in june of '06, and no one really knows what the long-term side-effects might be for pre-pubescent girls. did the company run exhaustive pediatric clinical trials on this product? it did not. it ran a small-sample bridging study that may or may not demonstrate safety in peds.

it's entirely possible that gardicil will guard (isn't that clever?) 11 and 12 year-old girls from cervical cancer. or, like more than a few "fda-approved" drugs recently, it might come back to haunt them. vioxx, anyone? the fda, in the thrall of big pharma billions, is no longer worthy of trust in such matters.

shoot, even the governor of texas is on the merck payroll...

Bypassing the Legislature altogether, Republican Gov. Rick Perry issued an order Friday making Texas the first state to require that schoolgirls get
vaccinated against the sexually transmitted virus that causes cervical cancer.

By employing an executive order, Perry sidestepped opposition in the Legislature from conservatives and parents' rights groups who fear such a requirement would condone premarital sex and interfere with the way Texans raise their children.

Beginning in September 2008, girls entering the sixth grade - meaning, generally, girls ages 11 and 12 - will have to receive Gardasil, Merck & Co.'s new vaccine against strains of the human papillomavirus, or HPV.

Perry, a conservative Christian who opposes abortion and stem-cell research using embryonic cells, counts on the religious right for his political base. But he has said the cervical cancer vaccine is no different from the one that protects children against polio.

interesting. the governor is a mouth-breathing, anti-science wacko. he's against the very idea of "women's health," but he's all for the new drug from the global conglomerate drug company. does that seem inconsistent to anyone? how much money do you think changed hands there?

my wife and i work in healthcare. she runs global pharma trials, and i...well, i create funny little ads for some of those products. so we both know a little about the drug approval process. how it doesn't always work the way it's supposed to. how sometimes people get hurt by fda-approved products.

do we trust the fda to unfailingly protect patients and the public? do we trust pharma companies about anything? no. make that, "hell no." especially where the health of our children is concerned.

see, we have a daughter. and we're not about to have her pumped full of any drug wantonly pimped by merck and the u.s. government, just because they say so.

cervical cancer is a serious disease. in teens and adults, we hope gardicil is effective in preventing it 1000% of the time.

but the day we're told our daughter must participate in what amounts to a huge government experiment is the day we start the revolution.

i mean, the day she goes back to private school.

arnold?

i can't reconcile these images.

my brain won't make the leap. it walks right up to the edge, looks into the abyss, then turns and runs back to the fog. my brain is such a girly-man sometimes.

arnold schwarzenegger, hollywood's baddest-ever action star, looks like his terminator warranty expired. a while ago. and now he's stuck lugging around all kinds of artificial parts: heart valves, a hip, cables and screws in his leg, and who know what all else.

in fairness, these days arnold is governor of california, the 7th largest economy in the world. it's possible his day-to-day responsibilities occasionally may take precedence over his once-rigorous workout schedule. but still...does he have to look so human?

just 20 years ago arnold looked like this...


"If it bleeds, we can kill it."

that was one bad man...and he was 6 years younger than i am now. the takeaway? if it can happen to arnold it can happen to anyone.

but maybe there's some wiggle room here. it's possible his current condition is the result of years of steroid abuse and raucous living. that his body is saying, "payback...this time it's for real."

in contrast, my substance abuse consists of a couple cookies after dinner and the glass of red wine i'm working on. i consider both to be therapeutic.

so maybe, with luck and a couple strategic advances in medical technology, when i'm 60 i can look not-a-day-over 52.

i'm talking theoretically here, so i'd ask for some latitude. thank you.

in a world where some seek to reshape the future by changing the present...is it asking too much for a role model to set the bar somewhere above average? no. it is not.

i worked out today. i'll try to work out at least one day this weekend. and not because i want to be an action hero (though that'd be nice).

partly, i just don't want my warranty to expire. mostly, because i like the red wine. and the cookies.

wwmlkd?

monday was the martin luther king federal holiday.

it passed, as it usually does any more, without much fuss. perfunctory retrospectives, speculation on what he'd think of thus-and-such, angst over our collective malaise.

the conventional wisdom is that king was a great man, a passionate voice at a critical time, an inspiration to millions. despite that, it's understood that today he'd be excoriated, marginalized by the industrial christian right.

lenin said religion is the opiate of the masses. maybe, back in the day. now, though, television serves that role. we have become sedate, lethargic, indifferent. we stand by idly as a low-IQ underachiever dumbs us all down.

what would king do about it? he'd organize, and rally and march. he'd sit with cindy sheehan in the halls of congress, and demonstrate in front of the white house. he'd work tirelessly in new orleans and demand attention be paid to the city's ongoing tragedy.

but he's gone, and his day has become just another monday. an empty gesture. business as usual.

i doubt dr. king would care about the holiday. but i bet he'd care deeply that the principles of his life's work have been so casually discarded.

you're gonna like the way you look...*

* i guarantee it.

the party is heating up in the green zone. and this week, after a long (long) wait, george bush appears ready to throw some more flammable things on the fire.

Bush told more than a dozen senators Friday that he would settle on [escalation] only if the Iraqi government offered certain guarantees, according to senators who attended the meeting.

guarantees from the iraqi government. what do you suppose those are worth? say, for example, that the iraqi government guaranteed the sun would come up tomorrow...wouldn'tcha immediately go out and buy some flashlights?

in one of its last and most ironic (or is it iconic) acts, the 109th congress set aside $20 million to celebrate the u.s. victory in iraq and afghanistan.

sounds like fun, doesn't it? wonder what they'll be serving...

doggone...

i miss my dogs.

i know this because occasionally i get all mushy thinking about them. this unwelcome occurrence doesn't even have the decency to announce its arrival. it sneaks up on me and covers me with emotional goo.

yuck. frickin' emotions.

a couple days ago, in the park with the children, another family came along with a golden retriever puppy. she was amazingly well-behaved and affectionate and endearing. and i immediately flashed back to my dogs. how they were different, how they were the same.

the pup leaned up against my legs and insisted on a good scritching, just like my dogs...

stop it. go away, good dog. i have no time for you or your puppy kisses or your happy grin or your big ol' goofy paws.

later i was driving along, minding my business, listening to a cd in my car...and stumbled across this lyric...

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

boom. thinking about my dogs again. frickin' song lyrics. why do they have to annoy me so. no more songs for me. from now on this a song-free zone. i can't hear you, la la la la...

so anyway, it's occurring to me that i might entertain the idea of another dog. some day. i don't know why.

frick. frickin' dogs.

why do they have to stay with me this way?

reconfiguring

we're in the throes of remodeling our life.

which is to say, in this instance, that our living room now features a fireplace. with a new tv above it. kinda like the picture here, except totally different.

imagine our space without the cut stone surround. or the corner placement. or the knotty pine paneling. or the naughty movie on the tv (as far as you know).

aside from that, it's identical. squint a little...you can see it, right?

anyway, it's an HD tv, and it's mesmerizing. almost like watching real life, except in HD. in high definition you can see things onscreen that you've never seen onscreen before. some of which you could probably do without. unruly nose hairs. scars. makeup. it's like getting right up in somebody's grill with a magnifing glass. sometimes up-close is just too close. sometimes aura and mystique can't stand too much scrutiny.

anyway, we weren't going to get caught up in the whole huge flat screen tv thing. we were quite happy with our 10-year-old-school 32-inch model. the picture quality was perfectly fine, and it was way paid-for. but with the installation of the fireplace it was either go with the flat screen or go sans tv in the living room.

and while our viewing commitment has diminished over the years (we only went dvd last christmas), we weren't prepared to cut it off entirely. so we went flat, we went big, and we went lcd.

it's all relative, i know. we have a 40-inch display, which is much smaller than some in-home family theater multiplex cineramas. but it holds a dominant position up there above the fireplace, and damn if it doesn't get your attention. if you pay attention to such things. if only the available programming was as HQ as the HD.

ah, well.

our ongoing, big-picture, life reconfiguration continues. we can't wait to see what happens next.

blame it on bing

colorado will be having a white christmas.

probably a white new year, too. meanwhile, our seattle christmas just went south.

it was all gonna be so perfect.

my parents were flying in from denver for the holidays. the children were going to be doted on and spoiled with grandparent presents. my wife and i were taking time off from work, and we had sly plans to take advantage of some free babysitting.

win. win.

notice: perfect plan cancelled on account of blizzard.

as of today, colorado is closed. no driving to the airport, no holiday flights, no more fun of any kind. and the forecast for tomorrow doesn't look much better. so flights are stacking up, everything is booked for days, and no one's going anywhere any time soon.

my mom is beside herself. my dad is beside my mom. my family is beside our new gas fireplace, upon which stockings are hung with care.

the weather channel just filled those stockings with coal.

humbug.

could be worse. could be raining. wait...it is raining. and thousands in the puget sound region are still without power after our 10-year storm of 6 days ago. this on the heels of a major snow event in november.

thank god global warming is just a hoax. no telling how crazy things might be if it were real.

so, here we are. the guest room is set up, the fridge is stocked, and we have several bottles of cloyingly sweet white wine for my mom. who's gonna drink this stuff now?

we're dreaming of a dry christmas.

bugger off, bing.

woof

well, come on over here baby
'bout to gimme a heart attack
wanna wrap my lovin arms
around the small of your back
yeah, I'm gonna pull you, pull you, pull you
pull you right up close to me

--don henley

company christmas party last night.

the guys, predictably, wore suits and ties.

the women made more of an effort.

one, kinda like this...



career-limiting move, or brilliant stratagem?

with love

There were times I thought he was bein'
Just a little bit hard on me
But now I understand he was makin' me
Become the man he knew that I could be
And everything he ever did
He always did with love

And when I feel alone
And I think I can't go on
I hear him sayin' "Son you'll be alright
Everything's gonna be alright"
Yes it is

--keith urban


my son and i are butting heads. again.

actually, "crashing skulls" may be a better descriptor. and it occurs to me that when he's older, he won't remember me saying, "son, you'll be alright. everything's gonna be alright."

instead it'll be, "what on earth were you thinking?!" and "you don't have a brain in your head."

i'm off message. time for a course change.

something.

i couldn't eat another bite

whew, that was some thanksgiving, huh? turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, rolls, asparagus, pumpkin pie.

and wine, some good wine, too.

at least, that's what i hear.

me? i didn't eat a thing. in fact, i offloaded some calories. for the first time in my life, i was sick on thanksgiving.

a virus? some sort of food-borne illness? i don't know. come to think of it, i did have sushi the night before. and at breakfast, some turkey bacon that may have been slightly undercooked. what i do know is, a whole lotta people around here ate like royalty whilst i hung out by the throne.

i'm feeling better today. thank goodness for leftovers.

and healthy children.
and a financially solvent household.
and a new direction in the land.
and friends who get it.

thank goodness for all those things. and more.

once more, with feeling

if you had the chance, what would you do over?

i'm not talking about wistful regrets or a rhetorical "gee whiz..."

knowing what you know now, knowing what you did and what happened because of it...what would you change?

If his experiment with splitting photons actually works, says University of Washington physicist John Cramer, the next step will be to test for quantum "retrocausality."

That's science talk for saying he hopes to find evidence of a photon going backward in time.

Roughly put, Cramer is talking about the subatomic equivalent of arriving at the train station before you've left home, of winning the lottery before you've bought the ticket, of graduating from high school before you've been born.

c'mon, you know you've done it at some point in your life. made a wrong turn into the path of a bad relationship. drank out of the wrong bottle. slept with the wrong person.

okay, they're all the right person, but sometimes at the wrong time.

anyway, here's this guy who says he can make photons defy conventional wisdom on the linearity of time. next thing you know people will be walking around with i-time pods, going back and doing things over willy nilly. what a fabulous free-for-all that would be.

your boss didn't like you being late for work? go back and do that morning quickie a little quicker. you think the leader of the free world is a low-IQ loser? go back and slip some rat poison into his frat party cocaine. you have a problem with the ethics of murder? go back and re-write some religious dogma.

and it's all good, because if people don't like what you've done, they can go back and re-do it. the world will be a continually changing, time-warping, flux capacitating party.

and if you don't like everyone traveling back and forth, messing up the decor in your waterfront mansion...you go back and take out the photon-splitting scientist.

win win.

i've gotten carried away again, haven't i. no problem.

control+z. undo typing.



hey, check this out. some guy at the university of washington thinks he can make photons travel back in time. what an interesting concept.

you know, if you had the chance...what would you do over?

a fork in the road

And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!

Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...

—talking heads


i'm in the midst of a strange existentialist quandary.

this is odd, because i'm not really conversant in existentialism.

but i am conscious of it. i think i'm in a quandary, therefore i am.

i seem to be heading down an alternative path. usually, in science fictiony stories, the characters are unaware that their path has diverged. but i'm feeling it.

i look out the window at my car, and it seems like someone else's car. i commute to work each day, and it seems like someone else's job. i'm oddly disconnected from events that should make me happy or proud. it's as if they're happening to someone else.

as if i'm having an out-of-body experience while still living in the moment. but it's not quite the right moment.

this unbalance has me off balance. and, though i've described the symptoms badly, my diagnosis is a divergence in space and time. i'm off the track i'm supposed to be on.

having established a diagnosis, what's the prognosis? what do people generally do in these situations? is it possible to get back on track, and is it advisable to do so? or is it better to press ahead and hope for the best? i wouldn't want to end up like this guy, for example...

Descartes is sitting in a bar, having a drink. The bartender asks him if he would like another. "I think not," he says, and vanishes.

equally important: is everyone else off their appointed tracks because i've strayed off mine? am i dragging others along on this digression? the ramifications of that are too profound to contemplate.

since i seem to have no choice, i guess i'll stay on this track for awhile. i enjoy driving the car, and the job is not bad. and my wife...she got her navel pierced. that's kinda hot, actually. no complaints there.

but i'm wary of this new path. it feels tenuous and maybe dangerous. uncertain. once, i knew how much i didn't know, and that we have only the illusion of control. now i have no idea how much i don't know (just that it's a lot) and even the illusion of control is gone.

it's like i'm driving with my eyes closed, the cruise control stuck, and the steering wheel has come off in my hands.

hope the road goes wherever i'm headed...

addendum: i went out to the garage this evening, and there was a raccoon, washing his hands in the cats' water dish, next to the cat food. i had interrupted his meal preparation. he decided to leave, but didn't know which way to go, as i stood between him and the door. he started one way, stopped, started toward me, stopped. i stepped away from the door, and he hurried out.

aura of vincibility

There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.

Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

--anna nalick

this morning i woke up with a remarkable migraine. it was exquisite in its sharp, searing relentlessness. if it were comparable to the discomfort inflicted by the cia, this headache would have been condemned by the red cross.

was it barometric? chiropractic? sinuses? too much red wine? probably all of the above, and then some. at turns i was sweating, nauseated, cringing at loud noises that weren't really all that loud. at one point i was convinced that i must've been having a stroke.

i actually started thinking about the things i would miss out on, would never do, owing to my impending demise. i staggered to the bathroom and washed down some ibuprofin, not really believing i'd keep them down. then i fell asleep.

when i woke up later, i was still alive. i could still move my extremities. the headache was still there, but it had receded to the point of being manageable. and just in time, because i had committed to picking up a treadmill from a colleague at work. she and her husband never used it, and i would use it often. in a world, that is, where i can actually get out of bed and take a deep breath without puking.

'cause, see, i want to be healthy and live to write another day. another headache like that one, however, and i might have to re-evalate.

cleaning up

geez, look at this place.

what a mess. all kinda dust and cobwebs and...hey, who left the empty wine bottles on the floor? ain'tcha heard of recycling?

see, this is a good example of what happens when you let a buncha trivial stuff turn into priorities. next thing you know the minutia takes over, and there's no time or room for the important stuff. like a personal blog, ferinstance.

i need to take better care of this place. i need to treat it like a second home, the one you retreat to when the world gets a little too loud.

if we actually had a second home, that is.

if we did, it'd be on the water, on a promonotory, with lots of land behind it and nothing but horizon in front. there would be trees protecting the approach, and a goat trail down to the water. you wouldn't even see the path from the water; it'd be hidden by boulders and cut-backs. when the tide was in, all you'd see is a steep granite face.

the house would have a distinctive scent about it, clean but enveloping. something like cedar, but not quite so easily identified. every time you'd walk in the door, that spicy attar would welcome you, and when you were away you'd yearn for it. on a very good day you could pick up, say, a shirt you last wore at the house, bury your face in it and be transported there, for a few moments.

to the north and south of us would be mountains, and storms would bank from one massif to the other. you'd be able to see the storms approach, and learn to time their arrival by their position on either side of the house.

it'd be a good place for the family, and a teriffic place for a couple of dogs.

which brings me back to where i started, which was the inattention and neglect hereabouts. my last post here was difficult. every time i came back, there it was, and i couldn't help but read it. when i was done reading, i essentially turned off the lights and closed the door behind me.

but i'm back now.

it's time to get things back in order.

lessons learned, and gunnar

Hello old friend, it's been awhile
All our old clothes are back in style
We went our separate ways, only to return
To face a lesson we failed to learn

We didn't understand the truth
We were blinded by the eyes of youth
But time kept on moving
And a change has come
You think that I don't know
Where you're coming from

But I feel just like you
And I cry just like you
But I heal just like you
And under my skin
I'm just like you

You gave your love and your innocence
And they took away your confidence
Well I'm not those women
And I'm not those men
Put your arms around me
I am your friend

--keb' mo'

every once in a great while i get nostalgic for people and places gone from my life. such moments don't happen often, which is probably best, since they're quite a distraction.

more often, i'm totally caught up in the moment. there are children to herd, meals to fix, meetings to make and deadlines to sweat. cumulatively, such things tend to overload my substandard wiring, causing me to spontaneously fall asleep on the couch.

occasionally, though, i have moments of clarity. such moments have power. the power to remind me that where i am is a far better place than where i was: geographically, as a human being, as a student of life. i know so much more than i once did; there are so many things i would do differently.

relationships that ended that need not have. angry words, angry silences. ducking responsibility, taking too much responsibility.

all leading inexorably to today, a time when that which i know disappears in the shadow of that which i don't. when so much has been determined and yet somehow so much is still undecided.

i don't know near enough to be making the important decisions i'm making for myself, for my family. but who else is gonna volunteer for the job? so decisions are made, actions are taken and reactions accumulate. layers of complexity intertwine, inextricably, weaving an indecipherable pattern.

last night i was tasked with ending my dog's life. it was an easy decision--gunnar, our old golden retriever, was desperately ill, and deteriorating quickly. he was in distress, and our options were all used up.

easy call...but not for me. someone led him into the exam room, and left us alone. he had no strength left in his legs, and, with me holding him, he slowly sank to the floor.

i talked, never above a whisper, because my voice wasn't working properly. he was listening, i know, because his blind old eyes widened when i asked if he wanted to go for a walk, or go for a ride, or go see raleigh-dog.

i thought back on the short arc of our 10 and a half years together, and reminded him of the times we went to the beach, to the park, the golf course. we reminisced about his first cross-country trip, from north carolina to portland, and our last, from north carolina to seattle.

i thanked him for being so good with our children...except when he ate their toys. i gave him a hard time about that. i reminded him about the little song he'd sing when he was waiting for me to get his breakfast and dinner.

his breathing slowed, and the vet asked if we were ready. we're ready, i told her, though i've never been less ready. for anything. i told gunnar he was okay, that he'd feel better soon.

the end was quick, peaceful. the vet spoke softly, i cried quietly. for half a moment i wanted to go with gunnar, wherever he was going. but that time will come, soon enough.

the vet said there are no right or wrong answers in situations like these. but i made a decision, and gunnar's life was over. what kind of friend am i? i don't know.

action, reaction. indecipherable complexity. there's something to be learned here.

if only i can figure out what it is.

the important stuff

Robert Spritz: David, sacrifice is... to get anything of value, you have to sacrifice.
Dave Spritz: I know that dad, but I think that if we continue down this road, it's gonna be too detrimental for the kids. It's just too hard.
Robert Spritz: Do you know that the harder thing to do and the right thing to do are usually the same thing? Nothing that has meaning is easy. "Easy" doesn't enter into grown-up life.

i recently took a job i didn't really want.

it's not that i didn't want a job...i just didn't really want this job. well, that's half true; i wanted this job, but i wanted it in seattle, not in freaking bothell.

bothell, and the job, are far from home. far enough that a high gas-mileage car is not a "nice to have" but more a "have to have."

far enough that if i leave work at 5 p.m. i have to worry if i'll be on time to pick up the kids by 6 p.m.

with the salary these people are paying me (did i say it was a good job?), the day shouldn't necessarily end at five. i should probably stay until six or beyond, as needed, to get done what needs to be done.

but my wife, who also has a new job, has to travel. at least through the summer she'll be gone 3 weeks out of 4, every month. that puts the parenting responsibility on me. it also puts the pressure on me to leave the new job and show up at summer camp by six.

this arrangement is decidedly un-optimal.

given our financial obligations, we are a two-income family. there's no way around it. as much as i enjoyed being a semi-employed stay-at-home dad, that arrangement wasn't sustainable. so, we're sacrificing.

we're sacrificing having a parent available for childcare and activities and all-around stability. if one of the children gets sick, i'll have to stay home. we have no back-up plan. no contingency for emergencies. there's no telling how this will go over at the new job.

doesn't matter. i've bought a new honda civic, a nice little car that gets good gas mileage. i've joined the little workout facility near the office so i can get some exercise at lunch (sometimes). and we're crossing our fingers that everyone stays healthy...no summer colds, no broken bones, no bad hair days.

we've even found a summer camp in bothell, so i can stay at the office 'til 5:45, as needed.

it ain't optimal. but it's important.

big dog

raleigh died the day after my birthday.

as i turned 45, he turned into an angel. at least, that's what my daughter said.

i sit here, looking out the window, and the sunset has me thinking about the inexplicable. it has me wondering where my dog is. he's not in his familiar spot by the door, or by the back gate, or on the deck. i can see him there...but he's not there.

raleigh was our "big dog," an oversized golden retriever with a big smile and the most endearing personality i've ever encountered.

when our children were tiny, raleigh was their jungle gym. when our other golden went blind, raleigh was his wing man, leading so gunnar could follow.

raleigh never asked for more than to be with his people, and occasionally to have his ears skritched. if you stopped too soon, his nose would duck under your hand, hoping for just a bit more.

raleigh unexpectedly collapsed a few weeks ago. the ER vet removed his spleen, along with a tumor. as it turned out, the cancer in his body was malignant, and the prognosis was "a few weeks." during that time he was resolutely cheerful, to the point that we could almost forget his time was running out. toward the end, as the vet predicted, he began having more bad days than good. still, with the help of some potent medication, he was stoic, even when he must've been in pain.

there were several nights when i was sure he wouldn't be there in the morning. somehow he always bounced back, ready for another walk, another day in the sun. yesterday morning he joined us at the park, rolled in the grass, chased down a tennis ball. he looked at me as we returned home, and he had that familiar smile on his face.

last night, though, was different. he wouldn't take his pain meds, and i had to carry him to his bed. he could barely hold up his head as i brushed him. i told him he'd feel better in the morning, and we'd go for another walk. and that i loved him.

this morning, he was gone.

and suddenly i find myself in a strange place. unmoored, unfamiliar. his big heart has stopped, and mine doesn't know what to do.

a voice in my head says, "he was just a dog." but it isn't true. he was a constant, joyous presence in our family for more than 10 years. he moved with us from one side of the country to the other, and back again. he set an example in life, and in death, that puts me to shame.

raleigh wasn't just a dog...he was my dog. and he was my friend.

and i can't seem to stop crying for him.