signed, sealed, delivered

yesterday i ordered two large "obama '08" yard signs.

i was gonna wait 'til the man secured the nomination, but the numbers are in, and they're indisputable. the democratic nominee is barack obama (hillary will just have to come to terms with this fact...hopefully sooner, rather than later).

so i ordered my signs.

and while that's good, it's not the best part.

the best part is that our next door neighbor, one gladys kravitz*, is a rabid republican.

in '04 we were obliged to endure her bush-cheney sign (not to mention the ongoing nausea-mare of bush and cheney themselves).

in '06 we were treated to local gop propaganda, notably a big "mike mcgavick for u.s. senate" sign. thankfully, that didn't work out so well, for gladys or mcgavick, who lost in a landslide.

all the while, we kept our peace. we displayed no counter-propaganda. we put no stickers on our bumpers. we especially did not shout at her windows through a bullhorn.

those days are over. well, except for the bullhorn-shouting part. though we reserve the right to bust that out later.

the signs are on the way.

but wait. it gets better still. turns out gladys's live-at-home son, we'll call him rimbaud, is in the obama camp. we know this because the boy attended the washington state caucuses, kinda sly-like, without mom noticing. and, he was one of the many gathered in the teachers' lounge who did not vote for clinton.

isn't it rich?

we assume at some point we'll see a "mccain" sign up next door (though it turns out many hard-right wingers don't find mccain sufficiently insane---go figure). in addition to some strategic vandalism on that front, we contemplate with great joy the deployment of the obama yard signs.

the gloves are off, gladys.

no prisoners.

* no, not really.

the fairness doctrine

newsflash: life isn't fair.

if it were, a young woman, full of promise, wouldn't have been shot dead last week in chapel hill, nc.

if it were, another young woman, in new york, wouldn't be getting rich from her bad choices and her notoriety.

if it were, eliot spitzer...well, come to think of it, eliot got what was coming to him. he deserves to be an ex-governor, shamed out of office and currently very uncomfortable in his own home. if it is, in fact, still his home, and his wife hasn't run him off as well.

life wasn't fair to mrs. spitzer, either.

eve carson was student body president at the university of north carolina. she was popular with peers, respected by faculty, and pretty in an effortless, 22-year old kind of way. by all accounts, she made the right choices to get where she was. but because life isn't fair, she was killed early one morning, for a handful of credit cards and her car.

now her friends and family are left to do whatever people do to keep breathing in such circumstances. at the moment, i can't imagine what that might be.

ashley alexandra dupré is the high-priced call girl who helped spitzer crash and burn so spectacularly. her life hasn't been idyllic. she was abused in her youth, dropped out of high school, left home, used drugs and spent time on the streets.

somehow she found her way into a high-paying prostitution gig, used the money to record some music, and eventually stumbled across the former governor of new york.

life wasn't fair to ashley. it's doubtful that her childhood dream was to be a hooker. but suddenly, despite a plethora of bad choices in her 22 years, all her dreams are coming true. she's making a bundle of money on her songs, and being offered seven-figure paydays to exploit her new celebrity.

since i have a daughter, i empathize with the parents of both these girls. one child, gone forever, the other a prostitute at the center of a national scandal. it's bizarre. surreal. a turn of the wheel that grinds people under.

things happen for a reason, some say, but i don't believe it. there's no rhyme or reason to these stories...or any others, near as i can tell. life is many things, but rational ain't one of them.

and it surely isn't fair.

souls foreclosed

we like to think we live in a nice, friendly neighborhood.

we like to think we can count on each other for some important things, like keeping an eye on the kids, or jump-starting a car on a cold morning, or watching over the house if we're away.

we like to think we live amongst people who don't swoop in like vultures to buy the neighbors' house in a foreclosure frenzy.

but according to an e-mail i received recently, people are scoring GREAT DEALS on houses in OUR NEIGHBORHOOD due to the wave of foreclosures nationwide.

apparently it's an INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY to invest in real estate that may not come along again IN OUR LIFETIME.

isn't that great?

an infomercial on one of the local tv stations echoed the e-mail, only louder, and with testimonials.

"we swooped in and bought our neighbors' house, and we feel great about it," said one effervescent couple.

"this was a great opportunity for us to kick our neighbors to the curb," gushed another.

i'm exaggerating only slightly. in fact, the less discerning in the audience would notice the hyperbole not at all.

what have we come to that some of us will greet our neighbors cordially on the weekend, and emotionally eviscerate them on monday? that some so-called friends will talk the neighbor talk, but walk the republican walk?

we've come to no damn good, that's what.

they say a fish rots from the head down, and in some cases that's true.

but that's no excuse for people who, by appearance, are just like us, but when times get tough...have no heart at all.

a world away

occasionally i see myself on a skiff, looking for marlins, in the florida keys.

in this little fantasy, it's just me, old and alone, on the last few miles of a long journey.

i don't know why the keys, except maybe that the water there is warm and iridescent blue, and that after the global-warming hurricane years, what's left of the land there is barren. and cheap.

as i'm old, with no one to worry about except myself, i don't worry about the next storm so much as the next meal. the next fish into the boat.

but, importantly for my old bones, the air is warm, and humid, and keeps the aches from being too bad.

i've kicked my caffeine habit, and i've given up the wine and beer. none of it is readily available, and i have no way to keep anything hot. or cold. just room temperature, which is a pretty consistent 82.

i don't know where the children are. and they have no way to reach me. they were both pretty well set up after their mother passed, and i didn't feel like i had a lot of value to add to their lives. the boy never really liked me, see, and the girl...well, she was always so self-posessed and happy. what use did she have for a tired, disheartened old man?

there's no internet, no news, no outrage to channel.

i don't miss it.

i rise with the sun, sleep at sunset. i breathe, and, on really good days, manage to stay out of my own head and out of my own way for hours at a time. it's very refreshing.

and quiet. even the storms, noisy as they are, don't disturb the soundless days and nights.

i fish. and swim. and walk. i watch the sky, and meditate on the finite and the infinite.

nothing gets resolved, but then again, no one ever said life was easy.

it's just an occasional fantasy. it doesn't come around often. i have no idea what it means.

and it's not so bad. it just is.

well, that wasn't so bad

the spaceneedl winter vacation is over.

in its place is a passel of memories that can only be characterized as memorable.

let's start with the weather. it was warm. very warm. and sunny. the only way rain was falling from that sky was if somebody turned on the fire hoses.

which, apparently someone did.

a couple weeks before our visit, there was a fire in the condo building where we were staying. it didn't seem to amount to much, from what we could see, except that all the amenities were closed. the pool. the hot tub. the game room. you know, the places to send the children so we could drink in peace.

all shut down.

backtrack.

prior to the trip, our large transport vehicle went out of commission. the alternate little car, while a very comfortable ride, is little. it hauls very little gear. so we were obliged to rent an expensive car-top carrier for all our stuff.

insult to injury update: it took 4 hours to get the rack installed.

the drive up to canada was long, made longer still by the backup at the border. the new gps device gave us bad advice, so instead of taking the truck crossing, we queued up with the rest of the sheep at the peace arch crossing. mrs. spaceneedl expressed her dissatisfaction with gps technology several times.

finally...finally, we rolled into whistler village, picked up our keys to the condo, and, bleary-eyed, read the "sorry for the inconvenience" sign posted in the elevator.

we spent the rest of our first night on the phone, insisting on new accommodations.

the next day mrs. spaceneedl and i snowboarded while the children skied circles around us. in truth, we approximated some snowboard-like motions, punctuated by intense, painful falling-like motions. the children simply left us behind for the entire day. occasionally they would wave and laugh at us from the chairlift.

afterward, we looked forward to an idyllic evening of a horse-drawn sleigh ride over the snow-covered hills of the chateau whistler golf course, followed by a fun and tasty fondue dinner.

halfway into the ride, mrs. spaceneedl suffered an asthma attack.

once a bona fide horse person, she now is at risk of a pulmonary event if she even thinks about horses. okay, that may be a slight exaggeration. still, on this night, the proximity to a team of beautiful draught horses, combined with the cold air, put the missus into an asthmatic fit.

and her inhaler, which she should never be without if she's even thinking about visualizing the word "horse"? back at the condo.

which, thankfully, was only a half-mile run away.

by the time i got back, she looked as if she had been visited by the angel of death herself. she was surrounded by restaurant staff, all yammering on about their experiences with asthma and their sure-fire cures.

after due consideration, we decided to go with the inhaler. eventually it did its job, and eventually we enjoyed a caloriffic meal. with alcohol.

we returned to the condo and retrieved a message that our plea for new quarters had been granted. we were physically and emotionally exhausted, but figured we had raised too much of a fuss not to move to the new place. which turned out to be a big upgrade. a huge hot tub, a heated pool, a game room with a big-screen tv.

the rooms, where we collapsed, were nice, too.

the next day we got up and did it all over again. the kids laughed and waved. mrs. spaceneedl, tired of being mocked, ditched the snowboard in favor of skis. apres-ski, there was an off-course injury incident at the tube park, but by blind luck, it didn't involve either of the little needls.

later, we ate. later still, we slept. the next day, the sun shone again.

on the way home, we ignored the advice from the gps, and took the truck crossing route. the device seemed genuinely disappointed each time we bypassed a recommended turn. "recalculating," she said, inconsolably. we shaved a good hour off our trip.

in the end, no one got hurt, some fun was had, and i progressed significantly, snowboarding-wise. despite numerous falls (which were painful way out of proportion to speed and slope), i'm ready to go back and try again.

next year. maybe.

you know how to whistle, don't you?

february in canada is supposed to be cold. and snowy. followed by more cold.

conducive to the kind of winter activities picture postcards and fond family memories are made of.

that's why months ago the spaceneedl family booked a fabulous vacation at whistler, one of the top-rated winter resort towns on the planet.

strangely, nothing on the fabulous whistler web site said anything about rain.

the ski forecast for this week, of all weeks, calls for highs near 50, lows in the upper 30s. with rainshowers. does this sound like a winter wonderland? or does it sound more like a big bowl of slush?

now, maybe slush is easier on the body when falling off a snowboard. then again, we may not find out, because rain and boarding don't seem like an ideal combination.

mrs. spaceneedl and i have been to whistler several times over the years, in winter and summer. it was always a great place, regardless of the season, because there was lots to do. ski, skate, golf, roller blade. shop. eat. drink. etcetera. not necessarily in that order.

the key difference between now and then, of course, is the addition of the little spaceneedls. back in the day there was no one saying, "i'm bored!" or, "i don't wanna eat at this restaurant." or, "i wanna go swimming for the fourth time today."

back then we were free to do anything, or nothing, as we saw fit. now we're obliged to be resourceful. which we're capable of...to a point. if the skiing and snowboarding and horse-drawn sleigh rides are off the table, we're going to have lots of hours to fill. if the rain does come, across the three days they're predicting, the tenor of the trip will veer into the nearest slushbank.

the whistler website lists an assortment of traditional winter activities, along with bungee jumping, heli tours, and a zipline thingy. it's highly likely that mrs. spaceneedl would veto any and all of these. probably for good reason.

on the summer page we find "flightseeing," bear viewing, atv tours and the like. count those as a big oh-for on the mrs-meter.

if the run-off from the mountain is horrific enough, maybe we can do some white water rafting on our snowboards. that'd be some good family fun, wouldn't it?

unexpected automotive update: the spaceneedl family truckster went into the shop yesterday for routine maintenance, and was diagnosed with some unexpectedly serious deficiencies. so we'll be driving to canada in the civic. where will we stow the bungee-jumping gear?

upside update: the sun is shining today. in the PNW, that's a vacation in itself.

obama-rama

for ten years, the spaceneedls languished in a dark political purgatory, surrounded by soulless social conservatives.

then we moved to the pacific northwest, and into the light.

today was caucus saturday in washington state, and the spaceneedl family walked to the polls amongst a horde of like-minded liberals. it was glorious.

the crowd converging on our elementary school was astonishing. boisterous. celebratory. democratic turnout across the state overwhelmed nearly every caucus, surpassing previous records by double and more.

they ran out of sign-in forms, then chairs, then standing room. people packed into every nook and cranny, while children wove in between.

before the vote, everyone agreed that democrats were lucky to have two strong presidential candidates to choose from.

then nearly everyone went for obama.

it wasn't even close.

just the day before, obama supporters packed key arena past capacity, while 3,000 more looked on from outside. it was the largest political rally in state history.

governor chris gregoire officially endorsed the illinois senator earlier in the day, adding her voice to the obama chorus.

today, some clinton supporters played the gender card, saying it was time for a woman, this woman, to be president. what about hillary's, uh, electability problem? nope, doesn't exist, they insisted.

i disagreed, agreeably, but vowed to support hillary, should she get the nomination.

then, to a younger woman wearing a barack button, i said, "but i hope it's him."

it's time to move into the light. all are welcome.

ow ow ow ow ow

there's never a chiropractor around when you need one.

like now, fer instance.

i traveled to san diego earlier this week, and stayed in a very cool downtown hotel. the sign said courtyard by marriott, but it was completely unlike the sterile, cookie-cutter courtyard by marriott you'd expect. lovingly poured into an old bank building, it was one of the most unhotel-like hotels i've ever seen.

soaring ceilings, original teller windows, huge vault doors, marble everywhere...it was like walking into a time warp, back when banks projected an air of authority and respectability and responsibility instead of fabric panels and laminated teller mats and subprime loans.

here's a meeting room set up in the former safe deposit box vault. it's memorable all by itself, never mind if the door triggered shut automatically and locked everybody in until morning. which it didn't. i'm just saying, is all.

this is all irrelevant preamble to the fact that the pillows in the bed in the unhotel screwed up my neck something awful. i don't know how, i don't know why, but sometime late monday night slash early tuesday morning, my neck and shoulders got in a twist and have stayed there ever since.

i'm too busy at work to get up and go to any kind of appointment. and sitting at a desk in front of a computer all day does not help the situation in the slightest. but do chiropractors have saturday hours? they do not.

someone told me recently that chiropractors are charlatans, or cannibals, or some such perjorative. i understand the ambivalence, as not everyone has a positive experience or outcome with chiropractic. it's worked for me in the past, however, so i'm prepared to grant the practice more latitude than some. i'd rather have my neck cranked around than, say, take pain killers and muscle relaxants that don't come in a bottle filled with fermented grape juice. if you see what i mean, and i think you do.

in the meantime, i'm going to call and set up a massage appointment somewhere. it couldn't hurt.(then again, maybe it could. and maybe that would be a good thing.) this place sounds promising: "the relaxing swedish deep-tissue day spa." the web site features smiling swedish masseuses showing off ms. olympia physiques, and smiling swedish administrative assistants filling out insurance forms and waiving deductibles. everyone goes home happy.

the very thought of it has me feeling better already.

what'll you have?

there's a new wine shop near our house.

we're doing our best to help it succeed.

in '06 we bought a wine chiller at our children's elementary school auction. it came with half a case of good bottles of wine, each costing more than we'd ever spend at the grocery store.

one of the bottles was a '91 cabernet sauvignon, something from caymus vineyards, i believe. let me go check...

okay, this is it:

i googled the bottle for the label at left, and guess how much this bottle is selling for right now...$349.

it was nowhere near that when we bought it. wine is an appreciating asset? who knew being a lush could also be lucrative?

the bottle is too expensive to drink. i mean, how can we enjoy a $350 bottle of wine? we can't. we're, like, $10-15 a bottle people.

it's a conundrum.

take, for example, the kim crawford sauvignon blanc above. it's from marlborough, new zealand, and it's marvelous. it has a green pepper finish to it that is characteristic of other new zealand sauvignon blancs we've tried. it's dry, but very flavorful. and you can get it at costco, for the love of cheap wine.

our basement stays cool, year-round, perfect for storing wine. so we bought some pre-fab wine racks from pottery barn, and they fit perfectly into a niche at the bottom of the stairs. i've just gotten them filled, for the first time ever. bottles from the new store, mostly.

it's an eclectic collection of reds and whites, mostly inexpensive, with a couple bottles making their way into the chiller now and then. this one, for example...

the last grgich hills chardonnay we had was at a business dinner in a fancy hotel in san francisco, circa 1990. the wine was an '87, and it was one of the few bottles in my life that i remember specifically. it was that good.

hopefully the '05 will be equally enjoyable.

there's very little point to all of this, except to say that we drink our share of wine. we heard somewhere that it's heart-healthy, in moderation, and really, that's all the rationale we need. besides, we like it.

and as some of you may know, we like to share it with friends.

a toast, then, to all y'all.

namaste.

p.s. bon, you'll have to go check it out.

i don't know much

look at this face
i know the years are showing
look at this life
i still don't know where it's going
i don't know much
but i know i love you
that may be all i need to know
i don't know much
but i know i love you
and that may be
all there is to know

a cold, dark, winter day in the pacific northwest finds the spaceneedl family indoors, moving slowly, feeling none too eager to get out in the world.

except for missus spaceneedl, who is busy businessing in boston. she left the morning after i returned from miami, so by the time she returns (late tuesday) we won't have seen each other in 10 days.

could be worse. our neighbors, who got married about six months ago, have split up. i don't know how they could live together for more than a year, plan and pull off an extravagant outdoor wedding, then just, plahh! hit the wall in less than half a year.

according to her, the fighting started practically as soon as the wedding ended. there is no "according to him," because he's gone back to the midwest, which doesn't sound like much of an improvement.

i know, "this kind of thing happens all the time"®, but i still don't get it. nor do i get the corrolary, "it's better that it happened now instead of five years from now."®

i'm not a big fan of conventional wisdom, because it doesn't apply. it doesn't take individuals or a billion variables into account. why is it better that it happened now? are you sure it's better? you know these people? you know the future? no? then why are you running your mouth?

sorry. i'm cranky. my neighbor's biological clock is ticking loudly, and she's heartbroken, about seventeen different ways. "a woman doesn't have to be married to have a baby," mrs. spaceneedl reminds me. this is true, but it ain't optimal, either. parenting is hard enough with two--i don't know how single parents manage. financially, logistically, emotionally, or otherwise.

this morning's clouds have turned to rain. it's 3:30 in the afternoon, and it looks like it'll be dark soon (though today never really got to be all that light). in the interim, the little spaceneedls and i have been to the climbing gym, where lots of couples were clambering around, smiling, having fun.

the requirement there is that you work as a team; one climbs while the other belays. you do your job, pay attention, make sure your partner doesn't hit the floor. or the wall. the agreement is non-negotiable: don't let me down, don't let me get hurt, and i promise to do the same.

there's never any ambiguity if the agreement is broken.

it's a flawed analogy, i know. relationships are fraught with ambiguity. but the premise is sound. you work together, day after day, year after year, and you've got a chance at whatever permanence we're allowed.

it beats the alternative.

and that may be all we need to know.

past ostentatious, on to vulgar

there's no way to sugar-coat this thing, so i'm just gonna come out with it, kinda like ripping the band-aid off quickly:

tomorrow i'm flying to miami for a national sales meeting.

wait, there's more.

we're all staying at the ritz-carlton, south beach.

there. it's out. and some of you are prolly saying, "lucky son of a mother somethin' somethin'." can't blame you. the idea of it doesn't suck.

but here's the thing...i don't particularly feel like going. for me, there's no dressing up business travel. no matter how much lipstick you put on that pig, you're still working. you're still "on" at all times, even during the expensive dinners, when you'd like to be diving into the exquisite bottles of red wine that cost three times what you'd ever spend on your own dime.

you can't get too loud, or too silly, or act like you're enjoying it too much, because...well, because it just ain't a good career move.

the fact is, the company had an amazing year. if ever a bunch of people had reason to celebrate success, this is it. furthermore, 2008 and beyond looks pretty darn good as well. so maybe the circumstances and the fabulous venue will spark some kind of wild, spontaneous funfest.

it would be entirely justified.

here's another thing. the ritz-carlton, south beach, in the middle of winter. just using those words, in that particular order, costs thousands of dollars. the ritz people own the rights, after all, and can charge any damn thing they want, because people will pay it. which makes this a very expensive post.

i'm trying to imagine making the kind of money it'd take to be able to come to the ritz-carlton, south beach, in the middle of winter (tm), and not worry about how much it costs. me, i'd be scurrying around like a howler monkey trying to squeeze every bit of value out of every waking second, in a vain attempt to justify the expense. in fact, i'd forego sleep entirely in that pursuit, necessitating a post-vacation recovery vacation.

my imagination, at its most vivid, pales next to the splendor that is the ritz-carlton, south beach, in the middle of winter (tm).

you know what? to hell with it. i'm gonna get into the spirit of this thing and get a little crazy. i'm gonna wear the comfy robe. and work out at the wondiferous fitness center. and maybe even entertain a foo-foo beach drink with an umbrella in it.

i will do these things, not for myself you understand, but for others. i will do this despite the fact that, at the end of the day, it is still business travel. and as god is my witness...i will never stay at a holiday inn express again.

ba-rock star

i worry about barak obama.

in fact, i've worried about him for more than a year now.

the closer we get to november, 2008, the more he resembles another charismatic candidate, at another crucial time in our history: robert f. kennedy.

especially on occasions like this...

The closing anecdote is based on an incident at a rally in Greenwood, S.C., where, on a miserable morning, with a meager crowd, a single black woman in the audience first revived Obama's spirit by shouting out encouragement and then got everyone chanting, responsively, "Fired up!" "Ready to go!"

As he tells the familiar story, Obama segues from a conversational tone to a shout and explains that the chant has now become his trademark and slogan. So, he tells his listeners, "I've got one thing to ask you. Are you FIRED UP? Are you READY TO GO? FIRED UP! READY TO GO!"

And then, as the shouting becomes almost too loud to bear, he adds the five words that capsulize his whole message and sends the voters scrambling back into their winter coats and streaming out the door:

"Let's go change the world."

And it sounds as if he means it.

In every audience I have seen, there is a jolt of pure electric energy at those closing words. Tears stain some cheeks -- and some people look a little thunderstruck.

at a time when political audiences are deeply suspicious and cynical, obama possesses the rarest of gifts: the capacity to inspire. his words are direct echoes of kennedy, whose campaign rallied millions in his drive for the 1968 democratic nomination. kennedy's momentum looked unstoppable in los angeles, during an event at the ambassador hotel...

“We're a great country, a selfless country and a compassionate country, and I plan to make that the basis of my running. And now on to Chicago and let's win there.” – Bobby Kennedy, June 5, 1968

moments later, kennedy was shot.

i met obama in chicago in october, 2006. more accurately, i watched him work a crowd outside the chicago tribune building, and got to shake his hand a couple times. what stood out to me was how charged the atmosphere was around him, and how vulnerable he seemed.

near as i could tell, he was accompanied by just one bodyguard. more importantly, the soon-to-be-candidate was fearless in approaching people, stopping to talk, extending a hand. it was a thrilling moment, but also disconcerting. anyone with an agenda and a gun could've put him down, then and there, with little trouble. given u.s. history, that prospect is not so far-fetched.

since that day obama has became more than just a democratic presidential candidate. he's now the frontrunner, or nearly so, in several states. as a result, his security has improved dramatically--in such matters, the secret service doesn't take chances.

even so, the concern is real. it may be unfounded, and the parallels with rfk entirely superficial...but america is a troubled nation at a volatile time. torture is being done in our name, and we are being spied upon by our own government. what other machinations might be in the works? there are, after all, a lot of powerful people out there who don't want anyone to "go change the world."

if you're the praying sort, you might want to add a few words on the subject tonight.

i'm not the praying sort...so i'll just continue to worry.

want-need-want-need-want-need-want-need

i'm not asking for anything for christmas.

there is nothing mrs. spaceneedl could buy at fred meyers or world market or nordstrom or rei that i actually need. she'd basically be throwing money at a vast retail wood chipper, and getting nothing of significant value in return.

my children, however, want everything they see on the kid-advertising cartoon channels, of which there are dozens and dozens. a riotous digital barrage incites them to spend mommy and daddy's money on an array of extruded-plastic with a half-life of 5,000 years and a useful life of five seconds.

they're children, of course, and therefore defenseless against aggressive, amoral advertisers turning them into wide-eyed, drooling, chanting shopping zombies...just like most adults, come to think of it.

this is not a post about rampant consumerism and tinsel-plated holidays. one might just as effectively stick their head in the ocean and yell at fish. which i would gladly do if the water here were 35 degrees warmer.

no, i think it's a post about limited resources of all kinds, and how we're encouraged to use them up in the most frivolous ways. psst, hey bud, you got 20 bucks in your pocket? here, i'll trade you for this string of blinking red chili pepper lights.

psst, hey lady, you got a couple free hours? well, sit down right here in front of this electric box and let the artificial images and sounds wash over you. trust me, your brain won't feel a thing.

mind you, i do not stand in judgement of those who spend 20 bucks on chili pepper lights or a couple hours in front of the 42" hi-def lcd video monitor. i am many things, but "transparent hypocrite" is not one of them. most of the time.

i'm just observing that it's way too easy to fritter away our way-too-finite resources on such things, knowing full well that time spent watching a ball game played by steroid-fueled sociopaths is time we'll never get back and will have a hard time rationalizing when we're looking back on a lifetime of poor consumer decisions.

just as few will say, "i wish i'd spent more time at the office," fewer still will say "i wish i'd seen roger clemens throw more 'roid-rage fastballs at people's heads."

mrs. spaceneedl laments the dearth of "holiday spirit" at our house. she misses the idyllic holidays of her childhood, and spends much energy this time of year trying to recreate them. i ask, "do you suppose the holidays were great fun for your parents, or were they just as exhausted as we are and making the best of it?"

the question gives her pause, and gives me time to put up a string of chili pepper lights on our charlie brown christmas tree.

holiday retail question: why hasn't the estate of charles m. schulz ever marketed a line of "charlie brown christmas trees"? i bet they'd make a fortune.

anyhoo, i'm not asking for anything for christmas.

but neither will i object if a bottle of veuve clicquot champagne with my name on it shows up under our tree. and if that's accompanied by a gift certificate for a thalassotherapy massage for two at the wickaninnish inn, who am i to be ungrateful?

if 'tis the season to fritter resources...we could do much worse.

oxygen, stat

fat and out of shape is no way to go through life.

so i've joined the Y.

this is part of the my "live on one side of the world, work on the other" dilemma. as noted previously, until i remedy that situation, i'm obliged to make the best of it.

what i've missed most about not being on the seattle side is the basketball. well, that and my family, i guess i should add. not necessarily in that order. family, then basketball. okay? may i continue? thanks.

the no-longer-new job precluded the hoops games i was accustomed to over the past several years. since i'm old, it didn't take long for me to fall way out of basketball shape.

i missed it. there's nothing like being fit enough to play basketball. you feel like you can do anything, fitness-wise, attitude-wise, and wise-guy-wise. if everything is harder when you're tired, everything is easier when you're in basketball shape.

anyway, my company recently moved into new space--even further from home. that's the bad news. the good news is, the Y is practically next door.

which means i can now occasionally sneak out at lunch for a game or three. which i did this week, twice.

it wasn't pretty. my conditioning is pitiful and i have no game whatsoever. the fact is, i have no natural aptitude for the game--but i am willing to try really hard.

what i don't understand is how the people i'm playing against keep getting younger while i keep getting older. is that fair? that's not fair. how old are you, junior? 23? got any kids? a house? a job?

didn't think so. and, it doesn't matter. you either run with the big dogs or you stay on the porch. i'm tired of being on the porch. i'm not a porch guy. yet.

that day will come soon enough, and when it does, it's forever. though i'll delay it as long as possible, inevitably it'll hurt more to play than to wish i were playing.

until then, however, i can still run up and down the court, play adequate defense, box out, and put up some bad shots. i can try really hard, and get back into basketball shape.

if that's as good as it gets, i'll be perfectly content.

because for me, that is as good as it gets.

all i want for christmas

three bedrooms, two baths, 1,800 square feet, and a water view.

somewhere in the san juan islands.

mind you, the same configuration in hawaii would be better still. but there's a little matter of access. and by that i mean access to a bank vault full of thousand-dollar bills.

case in point: behind the oahu property we recently rented was another home up for sale. it was, basically, a double-wide with an awning and an attached deck. it wasn't waterfront, and near as we could tell, may not have even had a water view.

it was, by any standard, a ridiculously humble abode, and it could've been ours (or yours, or anybody's) for the low-low price of $1.75 million.

the fact is, there aren't many places in the world that are warm, waterfront and within our means. so, like most people, we're required to manage our vacation expectations. and by that i mean, "rent."

that said, mrs. spaceneedle and i have decided it would be nice if we had a family vacation home somewhere--a place to which we could retreat on short notice, a place we could get to know over the course of years, a place we could live, perhaps, in our rapidly approaching old age.

somewhere like the san juan islands.

we spent the thanksgiving holiday on orcas island, and found it agreeable. not too close, not too far, not too crowded, not too desolate. we took the ferry out of anacortes this trip, but spoke to some folks who jump on a kenmore air flight that departs from lake union and drops them off an hour later, right in front of the rosario resort.

sounds pretty good, right? yeah, as it turns out, orcas island property (and old age, apparently) is beyond our means. so we're looking for investors.

if you have a love of the san juans and a quarter of a million dollars you can't decide where to park, we need to talk.

we need to talk about 3 or 4 months a year, at least one month per season, on one of the most scenic islands north and west of seattle (but south and east of, say, vancouver island). we need to talk about our mutual love of marine mammals in the wild, and grilled salmon on the table. of pristine water views and bucolic wooded woods. of an investment that will secure our place in the annals of family vacations and our place in the sun when global warming really takes hold.

if you don't have a $250 large on hand, no problem. we'll entertain the idea of undeveloped land, upon which we can pitch a nice tent, until such time that we can afford to build something slightly more permanent. like one of these.

keep in mind, the clock's ticking. water-view real estate ain't getting any cheaper, and we ain't getting any younger. i can feel old age settling into my joints as i type.

act now! buy now! location, location, and that third thing, whatever it is!

hyperventilating. must. find. paper bag.

hhhumph.

okay. i'm fine. thanks for caring.

we now return you to reality, and our regularly managed expectations.

* * * * *

update: when we find our spot of land, we'll start by building one of these on it. maybe a whole compound full of them. yurts rule.

to boldly go where others have gone before

i ain't down with this. not one bit.

paramount studios is gearing up to shoot a new "star trek" movie, featuring the characters from the original series.

not the original actors, mind you. same characters, different faces.

i'm a big fan of the star trek franchise. i have been, i realize, for decades. so i should be happy to see another installment, with an all-new (old) enterprise brought to life with the latest digital legerdemain.

but i'm not.

kirk should always be william shatner. sure, he was overwrought, but that was part of the fun. spock and leonard nimoy are indistinguishable. and no one, but no one, will ever replace james doohan in his signature 'scotty' role.

i know, it's silly. it's just hollywood fiction and now completely about the money. i should care about this not one bit.

can't help it. it feels like they're trying to take something valuable from those of us who embraced the originals for all their quirks and flaws. it feels like they should just leave this fond memory of my childhood well enough alone.

it feels like i'm getting old.

take a look at the actors in that link. cripes, they're children. they don't have the chops of deforest kelley or george takei. they have none of the gravitas of patrick stewart or kate mulgrew. to quote shatner from one of the star trek movies, "i don't think these kids can steer."

creatively, i also object to the completely derivative nature of the project. as if the failure of upn's retro 'enterprise' experiment weren't instructive enough. why would anyone want to go down the "butch and sundance--the early days" road again?

it's pointless. and lame. and it diminishes the franchise.

i know. i should wait to see the damn movie. it might be the greatest thing since klingons and tribbles. and maybe i'm just afraid i might like it. because, really, i don't want to like it. i like the old characters, and the old characterizations. the idea of throwing them over for a bunch of upstarts feels, i don't know, disloyal.

after years of watching the plot lines mature, and the actors grow old, and the series itself evolve in myriad directions, i'm loath to let go. then again, enjoying the premise all this time requires a certain suspension of disbelief. perhaps resistance is, in fact, futile.

we'll see. maybe the old magic can happen--one more time.

the narcolepsy machine

evenings at the spaceneedl household...

we eat dinner. we drink wine. we watch a bit of tv.

and we fall asleep on the couch. or in the chair. or just about anywhere in the vicinity of the fireplace.

it's warm. it's mesmerizing. it's just too darn comfortable.

hours later we wake up, barely coherent, and complain about the fireplace.

we trudge off to bed, and complain that the bedroom is just too darn cold. "it's like the arctic tundra in here," mrs. spaceneedle laments. so we bundle up and we snuggle up and we go comatose for a few brief hours.

the following day, it happens again.

it's become a routine. not an ideal routine, perhaps, but a routine nonetheless.

no-vember

this is getting out of hand.

i sat down with a calendar yesterday and realized i'll be in the office 5 days in november.

that's one day the week of the 13th, three days thanksgiving week, and one day the last week of the month.

i'll be traveling the entire rest of the time. it's very safe to say that'll be a personal, single-month globetrotting record.

admittedly, a week of that will be vacation time. no complaints about that. and really, i'm not complaining about the business travel either. it's a busy time at spaceneedl sprockets*, and the company is doing well. which means everyone is running around like crazy.

compounding the hubbub, we're relocating to new offices the first week of the month. three separate facilities will be thrown together under one roof, for the first time ever. that'll create its own excitement, in many and unpredictable ways. it'll be a weird experiment in sociology as the new product development people learn to interact with non-engineers, the marketing team gets crossways with the finance folks, and the famously cranky IT types field frantic calls from everyone.

but that fun will have to begin without me, for the first little while, anyway. i'll be in boston and washington, d.c., and points beyond, attending trade shows and telesurgeries and sitting behind two-way mirrors drinking bad coffee and stress-eating m&ms.

okay, that sounded a little complain-y. which i don't mean to do. really.

fact is, this upcoming field work is important and necessary and part of a big "strategic growth" thing. yada yada. i'm glad my superiors feel my contribution is at least semi-essential in the big scheme of things. it's nice to be appreciated.

this doesn't exactly dovetail, i realize, with my previous epiphany about work, and my need to be closer to home. but these issues will continue to be kind of intractable for awhile.

as noted, november's booked...and it's historically impossible to get anything accomplished between the first of december and the first week of january. our national sales meeting is mid-january, so in effect we're jumping from late october to february. wheeee!

this is getting out of hand.

* not the company's real name. nor is it, strictly speaking, "my" company. i just work there.

now, where did i leave that heart...

oh, yes. now i remember.

mrs. spaceneedl and i lived in san francisco, back in the day. it was a good run, for awhile, if you overlook the incredibly high cost of apartment living. and the occasional earthquake.

one quake in particular, the 7.1 loma prieta event, stayed with us a good long while. we were living in the marina at the time, and if you recall anything about the news coverage, much attention was paid to fires and the buildings toppled into the streets.

most of that footage came from the marina district.

we were fortunate. our building, while heavily damaged, was still standing. after a few days, we were able to retrieve our belongings and move to firmer ground, in mill valley.

i had earthquake dreams for a long time thereafter. i'd wake up in the morning, certain we'd had another big one. never turned out to be the case, thankfully. then we moved to minnesota, where the tornado dreams started. fun with the subconscious mind.

once we left the bay area, we rarely looked back. we visited a couple times, briefly, for a wedding and a trip to monterey, but spent very little time in the city.

so my current trip here has been a fascinating experience. so much has changed, and if i had time to venture out to some old stomping grounds, i suspect i'd find that much remains the same.

yesterday would've been the perfect day to climb up to the marin headlands for a view of the bay and the golden gate bridge. it was a perfect day, sunny, warm, crystal clear. the kind we had too few of this year in seattle. so it would've been nice to sneak off and take advantage of it.

unfortunately, my schedule is slammed. i'll be wearing a path between the hotel and the moscone convention center, and not much else.

this afternoon, if the weather holds, i'll go for a run somewhere around here...maybe relive the glory days of my bay-to-breakers run of a few years ago.or, maybe something slightly less ambitious.

san francisco is a great city...and somehow i had lost touch with the reasons that's so. but all it takes is a brief walk through these streets to set things straight.

home will always be seattle, but in many ways my heart is still here...

see at last, see at last...

...thank god almighty, i can see at last.

i had lasik yesterday. today my vision is 20-20. it's a miracle.

of medical science.

there was no pain, very little discomfort. the procedure took less than 15 minutes. i went home and slept through the night, and when i woke up...there it was.

the world, in HD.

lines are crisper, colors are brighter. if i didn't know better, i'd say the world tried a new detergent.

as a result of my reconfigured lenses, i may need reading glasses. if so, i'll opt for something unsubtle. something from the elton john collection, just for the hell of it.

okay, maybe not quite that extravagant.

but something that celebrates my newfound vision.

let us close with a few thoughts on the subject from brother murphy..

I can see! I can see! I have...I have legs. I have... Oh shit, look at this. Legs! I can walk. Jesus, praise Jesus. I appreciate this. Oh, this is beautiful. I can't believe... Thank you. I don't know what to do it's...Look at me, this is too much.

What a happy day!

the other side of the fence

i love my job. i hate my job.

i'm so confused.

no, i haven't changed my mind. i really do enjoy my job. i like the work, i like the responsibility, i like the money. most days, i even like the people.

these are not small things, as i spend more time working (and getting to and from work) than anything else in my life.

work ain't optional. well, work is, but the money isn't. so off i go, day after day, leaving behind a long list of things that i know nothing about.

mrs. spaceneedl and i attended curriculum night at the kids' school this week. the teachers talked brightly about this project and that assignment. they asked about the amount of homework, and encouraged us to help copy edit the little essays the children are doing.

"it helps them start to get their thoughts organized, which of course is the key to good writing."

that's when it hit me: i'm a writer. i get paid to write every day. and i've taught my kids exactly nothing about writing. zero. i didn't even know they were writing essays.

there were other things the teachers talked about that i was oblivious to. the particulars are less important than the realization that my work is over there (points a long way thataway), but my life, the reason i work, is over here.

and there's no way to reconcile the two.

i should be getting a lot more exercise. i should be spending more time with my family. i should have some rudimentary idea what goes on in my children's lives, don'tcha think?

a comparable job will demand a comparable commitment, but i could add a couple hours to each and every day if i wasn't obliged to drive so damn much. the risk is giving up a job i truly like (for the first time in forever) for the unknown.

these are grown-up problems that require grown-up decisions, to benefit two people who will be grown-ups in the blink of an eye.

and while i love my job, it will never love me back.

i just had an epiphany.
.
.
(painting courtesy of leif nilsson, nilsson studio)

whether you're having fun or not...

it seems like just a couple weeks ago that i was sitting here, looking out the window, surprised to see bright green leaves on our japanese maple.

today, same window, same tree...and the leaves are turning. deep red on this side, some yellow on the other.

how did this happen? how did five months go by without so much as a by-your-leave? where did that time go, and what filled it up? i'm not sure, but it feels like it was a lot of something.

the takeaway is that time flies, and times are a-changin', and time is (not necessarily) on our side. i know this, in a very personal way, via a follow-up note from my primary care doctor.

i had a physical last week. my first one in, oh-i-don't-know, a few years. why do i need to go to the doctor? my diagnosis is, "i feel fine." this assessment was confirmed during the appointment, where the blood pressure was on the low side, the resting heart rate was lower still, and the doctor said, "you're in great shape."

for the record, i'm not in "great" shape. i'm in "good" shape, maybe, for a middle-age guy trying to compensate for too much work and not enough basketball. but i've been in much better shape, and not that long ago.

bygones. the current report is here in my hand, where it says my total cholesterol is 228 and my LDL is 156.

that's not great, but it's not the worst of it. that comes from the same doctor who said, "great shape" just a couple days ago.

"mr. spaceneedl, your LDL is a bit high. try to work exercise into your schedule, cut out/down saturated fats (full fat dairy, red meat, fried anything) eat oatmeal; let's recheck in 6-9 months."

okay, that's uncalled-for. full-fat dairy? are you kidding? i have skim milk on my cereal and eat low-fat yogurt. okay, i like a little brie and bread now and again. once a month, tops. but that's it.

red meat? i stopped eating that in college. now i stick to chicken, turkey, and fish. no red meat. zero. same with fried food. no french fries, no fried chicken, no fried calamari. nada. i haven't even had a donut in years.

i'm incensed. my cholesterol level is not a lifestyle issue, doctor. i still work out three or four times a week. it's not enough, but it's not chopped liver, either.

what's happening here? where is all my time? why is my cholesterol too high? when did i become a health risk?

and who's gonna rake all those damn leaves?

calm. deep breaths. no need to elevate the blood pressure. wouldn't be prudent in my weakened condition.

frickin' doctors. they did this to me. i was fine before i went in. i'm ok. nothing wrong with me a re-write of this post wouldn't cure. a couple of good jokes is what i need.

no more doctor appointments. ever.

assorted sordid sagas

this is the story of mr. X, mrs. X, miss Y, and something i wish i didn't know.

it's a case of TMI (too much information) writ large -- it may as well be spray-painted on the side of the neighbors' garage.

mr. and mrs. X live right up the alley from us, and we've been friends for about three years. we've drunk wine together (sometimes lots of it), shared numerous dinners, even talked about vacationing together. their daughter is the same age as our girl, and they've had more play dates than you can count.

the takeaway is, we know the X family pretty well. or so we thought. because, as it turns out, mr. X has been having an affair with miss Y the entire time we've known him.

miss Y lives across the street from another family we've become friends with...we'll call them the Qs, for no particular reason.

the Qs have two children roughly the same age as ours, and our kids spent lots of time at their house this summer.

so to give you a sense of scale, this little drama takes place within about three minutes of our door, in either direction. it's right in our back yard. it's practically in our kitchen. which is to say, it's too close for comfort.

a few weeks ago, over a glass of wine at the Q residence, mrs. Q casually mentioned that she didn't think much of mr. X, because he's a bit of a womanizer. "he'll screw anything that walks," i believe were her exact words.

it was kind of a non-specific observation, and we didn't disagree with her. mr. X does seem to think the ladies find him interesting...we're not sure why. but, as i said, it was a non-specific observation, so we weren't obliged to take a position on it one way or the other.

then, a couple weeks ago, over still more wine, mrs. Q got specific. that mr. X is over at miss Y's place several times a week. that the affair has been going on for five years. and that his car was parked in miss Y's secluded alley driveway. right. this. second.

and it was.

now, we can rationalize a lot of things. we can overlook the obvious, when it suits us. but it's hard to explain away the neighbor's car, in another neighbor's driveway, when said neighbors are alleged to be getting busy, if you will.

at this point i'm not sure where the story goes, except to say i saw mr. X after work this week, and it was very awkward. it's not that i care, really, about who he's boinking. i don't know what goes on at the X household, after all. maybe mrs. X is celibate, or maybe they have "an agreement," or maybe mr. X is just a dog. i don't know.

what i do know is that this has been going on for a long time, and i was completely oblivious. it makes me question my own judgement, my own powers of observation, and that makes me uncomfortable. what else might be going on in this neighborhood, or, say, at my office, that i'm blissfully unaware of?

am i that blind? am i that naive?

no, don't tell me. i'm pretty sure i don't want to know.

the quiet poetry of action

i talk a lot about the desperate state of our nation.

and while it may be therapeutic to vent about the eye-popping stupidity afoot in the land, it's hard to imagine that howling at the moon is an effective agent of change.

so i recently made a donation to the democratic national committee. it felt good, like a small but smart investment. or maybe like a single brick in a low wall between reason and chaos.

it felt so good, in fact, that a few days later i made a similar donation to the campaign of darcy burner. burner, in a local '06 congressional race, lost a by a razor-thin margin to bush sock-puppet dave reichert. the '08 season is well underway, and burner is back to try again.

this time she wins.

on an unrelated note, this morning an escalade blew past me at the ballard bridge. the guy had to have been going 20 over the limit, which is a bad idea approaching the grating on a drawbridge. he began to slide toward oncoming traffic when he hit the bridge deck, and barely recovered in time to avoid a head-on collision.

heading down the approach on the other side, there sat one of seattle's finest on a motorcycle. brake lights were coming on all around, but the escalade never slowed until the cop pulled him over.

to sum up, the guy in the huge suv thought the law didn't apply to him, and he didn't change his behavior after putting other people at risk. he would've kept right on going if the cop hadn't been there to stop him.

pure poetry.

we have ink

ladies and gentlemen, honu are in the house.

which is to say, i'm in the house, and the honu are on my arm. four of them. the largest in green, a smaller one in maroon, two, smaller still, in blue and orange.

the girl's name curves along one side of the vignette.

i got an orca tattoo to celebrate the birth of the boy, more than nine years ago. i said all along i'd get one for the girl as well...it just took a few years longer than expected. now that it's done, my inking is complete.

there was more pain involved this time. or, more pain than i remembered, anyway. more color this time. more area covered.

tattoo people, i decided while waiting, are outliers. i don't count myself among them, even now. i'm talking about people who have ink all over their bodies. ink sleeves on their arms, spider webs on their necks, elaborate murals on their backs. often there is a direct correlation between ink and piercings. ears, of course, but also tongues, and noses. lips and eyebrows have gone mainstream as well. scalps were new to me, as was the sternum stud on the girl at the front desk. i wanted to ask, "where does that anchor?" but i didn't.

others in the shop had large disks in lips and ears, like africans last seen in national geographic. i have no insight on the existential purpose of such fashion, across cultures, across continents. i don't feel part of whatever clique this describes. they have their reasons. i have mine.

a young man nearby, he must've still been in his teens, was having a major, intricate creation done on his side. he looked to be an athlete, a basketball player, by his build and his accoutrements. he was clearly in considerable pain, wringing a rolled-up towel in his strong hands when the needle was particularly pernicious. "always loved, never forgotten" his tattoo said. someone close to him had died, i not-so-cleverly surmised. if it's true, then why would the tattoo be necessary? pain on top of pain. i suppose we all have our ways of commemorating our humanity.

my tattoos, i like to think, are life-affirming and joyous. a lifelong reminder of unpredictable events set in motion long ago.

for more than nine years, owing to the presence of children i never dreamed i'd have, one day has rarely resembled another. but then, change keeps us young, lest we get too set in our ways. and it's good not to be too predictable.

so, after a long wait...there are honu in the house.

things i can almost see

early in the morning, watching my son yawn sleepily at the table, i can almost see the very young boy he once was.

back then he was kinda round, with blond hair that stuck up in every direction and a smile that melted hearts. he was guileless and carefree, with an endearingly close orbit around me and his mom. he also had a hint of an independent streak, which was only slightly worrisome. surely he would always be this boy, and life would always be so good.

today the boy is getting tall. he's skinny, like his uncle was at the same age, and like his uncle, the independent streak is strong. it will probably serve him well, one day. down the road. i can almost see that. until then, i see a boy who has to do things his own way, no matter the cost. it's now slightly more worrisome.

our back yard has changed dramatically in the last six months. gone is the grass and half a foot of topsoil, taken up by the shovelful and hauled off one wheelbarrow at a time. there is a verdant array of trees and plants in this small area, linked by an expanse of two-foot pavers. at about 60 pounds apiece, the pavers are unwieldy; they nestle heavily into the fine gravel hauled in, dumped and leveled...one wheelbarrow at a time.

i can almost see the haven this little oasis will become. it'll be cool and quiet, hidden from the outside world by a delicate lace of greenery. in summer, a bamboo shade on our pergola will provide all the cover we'll need from the sun settling behind the olympic mountains. in fall, a propane patio heater will let us extend summer's warmth just a bit longer, before the rains come.

my dogs spent lazy, languid days back here. i can almost see them now, curled up in a shady spot near the deck. they would've liked this purlieus, i think, had they the luxury of just a bit more time. it would've been nice to share it with them, for a little while.

even now, their collars and leashes hang patiently on the garage wall. their familiar, big-dog scents still linger on the faded canvas, filling the moment with warm memories.

but things happen and time passes. it's now a year that they've been gone, and many changes have come in the interim. as easy as it is for me to revisit the end of their time with us, i think it would be healthy if i did something forward-looking instead.

the boy and a new dog now roughhouse in the front yard. he smiles and laughs, feints and dodges, as she gives chase on little-dog legs. time does strange things as i watch them through the kitchen window, flashing forward and back, stitching together something important and intangible. surely he will always be this boy, and life will always be so good.

and now i recognize the loose end untied in my heart. it's a ritual i've put off for a year, and it's time to take care of it. today, amid the work and the change and swirling of time, i'll add my dogs' ashes to the haven we're creating out back. there they'll be in a well-loved place, and underfoot. as always.

it's merely symbolism, but sometimes symbolism is important. and necessary. and healing.

this feels like one of those times.

mahalo, maui...

...aloha o'ahu.

maui was very nice. it doesn't live up to the hype, but how many things in this life do? except alice cooper, perhaps, whom we saw at the makena golf club. but besides him, not much.

so, i'd go back, but rather than be redundant, we'll head to o'ahu, in november.

never been to hawaii in my life, now we're going twice in 4 months. go figure. but mrs. spaceneedle scored some cheap tickets online, and it's too good an opportunity to pass up.

o'ahu has a reputation for tourists, traffic and some other t-word to be named later. as long as it isn't "temperance."

we'll do our homework a bit more diligently this time. we've already bought an "insider's guide" to the island, which may be a joke the natives play on tourists. no matter. whatever we learn will be more than we know now.

i'll also head into the nearest dive shop to update my gear. turns out the equipment purchased second-hand in 1993 is slightly out of date. pity...it worked perfectly well 4 years ago.

time flies, whether you're having fun or not. i need more fun in my life.

aloha.

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.