Thursday, December 31, 2009
Diminishing New Year's Expectations
12/31/07 - Everything's "Great" in 2008!
12/31/08 - We'll Settle for "Fine" in 2009!
12/31/09 - Please Don't Whup Me Again, 2010!
12/31/08 - We'll Settle for "Fine" in 2009!
12/31/09 - Please Don't Whup Me Again, 2010!
Quote of the Day
"What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog."
- Dwight Eisenhower
- Dwight Eisenhower
Eleven Addresses to the Lord
by John Berryman
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting.
Forsake me not when my wild hours come;
grant me sleep nightly, grace soften my dreams;
achieve in me patience till the thing be done,
a careful view of my achievement come.
Make me from time to time the gift of the shoulder.
When all hurt nerves whine shut away the whiskey.
Empty my heart toward Thee.
Let me pace without fear the common path of death.
Cross am I sometimes with my little daughter:
fill her eyes with tears: Forgive me, Lord.
Unite my various soul,
sole watchman of the wide & single stars.
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting.
Forsake me not when my wild hours come;
grant me sleep nightly, grace soften my dreams;
achieve in me patience till the thing be done,
a careful view of my achievement come.
Make me from time to time the gift of the shoulder.
When all hurt nerves whine shut away the whiskey.
Empty my heart toward Thee.
Let me pace without fear the common path of death.
Cross am I sometimes with my little daughter:
fill her eyes with tears: Forgive me, Lord.
Unite my various soul,
sole watchman of the wide & single stars.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Quote of the Day
Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.
~ Sir Winston Churchill
~ Sir Winston Churchill
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Hellooooooooo 1981 . . . . .
Rush's Moving Pictures album was a guilty pleasure from my late elementary / early Jr. High Years (as was Still Loving You by the Scorpions, all sorts of songs by Madness and Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now by the Clash) . Rush's Red Barchetta was one of my favorites.
(For the record - I much prefer James Taylor these Days . . .)
(song on the ipod in the margin)
Jeepers:
(For the record - I much prefer James Taylor these Days . . .)
Quote of the Day
The best part of being with my family is that I don’t feel like I have spina bifida all the time– I’m just me. I can be a dork, and they don’t care. (In fact, they embrace it! The dorkier, the better.)
- HOFAH
- HOFAH
Monday, December 28, 2009
Quote of the Day
Welcome to the season of the screwdriver. In the immediate post-Santa period, dads everywhere transform into assembly drones, with snips at the end of one robotic arm and a screwdrivers on the other. Squinting at indecipherable instructions printed in Thailand, dads are approached by a steady stream of supplicants bearing bulletproof blister packs. Almost every toy Santa delivered this year, must be first extricated from plastic packaging, then freed of twist ties, then pumped full of batteries, so that they may enjoy their twenty to thirty minutes of functional playtime. Overall, Santa has some quality control issues.
Once the toys have been assembled, broken, repaired and then terminally broken, Dad is then free to move on to the Ikea Phase of the holiday. Squinting at indecipherable instructions printed in Stockholm, Dad is presented by his spouse with a series of assembly projects and mop-up operations.
- DadLabs
Once the toys have been assembled, broken, repaired and then terminally broken, Dad is then free to move on to the Ikea Phase of the holiday. Squinting at indecipherable instructions printed in Stockholm, Dad is presented by his spouse with a series of assembly projects and mop-up operations.
- DadLabs
Sunday, December 27, 2009
The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip, and the Dog
by Alicia Suskin Ostriker
To be blessed
said the old woman
is to live and work
so hard
God's love
washes right through you
like milk through a cow
To be blessed
said the dark red tulip
is to knock their eyes out
with the slug of lust
implied by
your up-ended
skirt
To be blessed
said the dog
is to have a pinch
of God
inside you
and all the other dogs
can smell it
To be blessed
said the old woman
is to live and work
so hard
God's love
washes right through you
like milk through a cow
To be blessed
said the dark red tulip
is to knock their eyes out
with the slug of lust
implied by
your up-ended
skirt
To be blessed
said the dog
is to have a pinch
of God
inside you
and all the other dogs
can smell it
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Cornish Game Hens with Garlic and Rosemary
“Lemon-and rosemary-infused little game hens basted with a wine and garlic broth make any occasion special.”
RECIPE HERE
Quote of the Day
If a small thing has the power to make you angry, does that not indicate something about your size?
~ Sidney Harris
~ Sidney Harris
So Proud She Was to Die
Emily Dickinson
So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed.
So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
Almost to jealousy.
So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed.
So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
Almost to jealousy.
Friday, December 25, 2009
December
by Gary Johnson
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
At the University College of North Wales at Bangor
by Gerald Locklin
Most of my students here are very poor.
I seldom see them in the pubs: they
Cannot really afford the prices.
As winter hits they have to decide whether
To spend their shillings on the coin-operated heaters
Or on food.
I suspect that heat often wins—you can
Freeze to death quicker than you will starve.
Their incentive is that they will presumably
Have more comfortable lives if they survive
The minimalist conditions of college.
The government gives them a small grant
From which to buy books.
We are encouraged to require
Very few books.
A book is a valued art object here.
I never hear a complaint here
And no one misses a tutorial
Without the most profuse and formal
Of apologies.
In California my students and I and everyone else,
Also including the movie stars and politicians and
Pro-athletes,
Seldom stop for breath
In the midst of a constant bitching.
Most of my students here are very poor.
I seldom see them in the pubs: they
Cannot really afford the prices.
As winter hits they have to decide whether
To spend their shillings on the coin-operated heaters
Or on food.
I suspect that heat often wins—you can
Freeze to death quicker than you will starve.
Their incentive is that they will presumably
Have more comfortable lives if they survive
The minimalist conditions of college.
The government gives them a small grant
From which to buy books.
We are encouraged to require
Very few books.
A book is a valued art object here.
I never hear a complaint here
And no one misses a tutorial
Without the most profuse and formal
Of apologies.
In California my students and I and everyone else,
Also including the movie stars and politicians and
Pro-athletes,
Seldom stop for breath
In the midst of a constant bitching.
She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms
Emily Dickinson
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars --
And then I come away.
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars --
And then I come away.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Quote of the Day
"All the things I really like are either immoral, illegal or fattening."
- Alexander Woollcott
- Alexander Woollcott
Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht
by Peter Meinke
At Christmas, my sisters and I
learned to sing carols in German:
Grandpa would give us a quarter
apiece for performing, though
only Carol could carry a tune.
After the start of the War
Father forbade us to practice,
and when Grandpa asked for his songs
we told him they weren't allowed.
You are German, he shouted. Sing!
Singt, mein kinder, für mich!
We stood mute, unhappy, ashamed,
between father and son locking eyes
while the U-boats were nosing the currents
and propellers coughed in the skies
like angels clearing their throats.
At Christmas, my sisters and I
learned to sing carols in German:
Grandpa would give us a quarter
apiece for performing, though
only Carol could carry a tune.
After the start of the War
Father forbade us to practice,
and when Grandpa asked for his songs
we told him they weren't allowed.
You are German, he shouted. Sing!
Singt, mein kinder, für mich!
We stood mute, unhappy, ashamed,
between father and son locking eyes
while the U-boats were nosing the currents
and propellers coughed in the skies
like angels clearing their throats.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Going to Bed
by George Bilgere
I check the locks on the front door
and the side door,
make sure the windows are closed
and the heat dialed down.
I switch off the computer,
turn off the living room lights.
I let in the cats.
Reverently, I unplug the Christmas tree,
leaving Christ and the little animals
in the dark.
The last thing I do
is step out to the back yard
for a quick look at the Milky Way.
The stars are halogen-blue.
The constellations, whose names
I have long since forgotten,
look down anonymously,
and the whole galaxy
is cartwheeling in silence through the night.
Everything seems to be ok.
I check the locks on the front door
and the side door,
make sure the windows are closed
and the heat dialed down.
I switch off the computer,
turn off the living room lights.
I let in the cats.
Reverently, I unplug the Christmas tree,
leaving Christ and the little animals
in the dark.
The last thing I do
is step out to the back yard
for a quick look at the Milky Way.
The stars are halogen-blue.
The constellations, whose names
I have long since forgotten,
look down anonymously,
and the whole galaxy
is cartwheeling in silence through the night.
Everything seems to be ok.
Friday, December 18, 2009
The Seven Ages of Man
William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
When I First Saw Snow
by Gregory Djanikian
Bing Crosby was singing "White Christmas"
on the radio, we were staying at my aunt's house
waiting for papers, my father was looking for a job.
We had trimmed the tree the night before,
sap had run on my fingers and for the first time
I was smelling pine wherever I went.
Anais, my cousin, was upstairs in her room
listening to Danny and the Juniors.
Haigo was playing Monopoly with Lucy, his sister,
Buzzy, the boy next door, had eyes for her
and there was a rattle of dice, a shuffling
of Boardwalk, Park Place, Marvin Gardens.
There were red bows on the Christmas tree.
It had snowed all night.
My boot buckles were clinking like small bells
as I thumped to the door and out
onto the grey planks of the porch dusted with snow.
The world was immaculate, new,
even the trees had changed color,
and when I touched the snow on the railing
I didn't know what I had touched, ice or fire.
I heard, ''I'm dreaming ..."
I heard, "At the hop, hop, hop ... oh, baby."
I heard "B & 0" and the train in my imagination
was whistling through the great plains.
And I was stepping off,
I was falling deeply into America.
Bing Crosby was singing "White Christmas"
on the radio, we were staying at my aunt's house
waiting for papers, my father was looking for a job.
We had trimmed the tree the night before,
sap had run on my fingers and for the first time
I was smelling pine wherever I went.
Anais, my cousin, was upstairs in her room
listening to Danny and the Juniors.
Haigo was playing Monopoly with Lucy, his sister,
Buzzy, the boy next door, had eyes for her
and there was a rattle of dice, a shuffling
of Boardwalk, Park Place, Marvin Gardens.
There were red bows on the Christmas tree.
It had snowed all night.
My boot buckles were clinking like small bells
as I thumped to the door and out
onto the grey planks of the porch dusted with snow.
The world was immaculate, new,
even the trees had changed color,
and when I touched the snow on the railing
I didn't know what I had touched, ice or fire.
I heard, ''I'm dreaming ..."
I heard, "At the hop, hop, hop ... oh, baby."
I heard "B & 0" and the train in my imagination
was whistling through the great plains.
And I was stepping off,
I was falling deeply into America.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Quote of the Day
They say time will
Make all this go away
But it's time that has taken my tomorrows
And turned them into yesterdays
And once again that rising sun
Is droppin' on down
And once again you my friend
Are nowhere to be found
And it's so hard to do
And so easy to say
But sometimes
Sometimes you just have to walk away
Walk away
And head for the door
You just walk away
Walk away
- Ben Harper from Walk Away
Make all this go away
But it's time that has taken my tomorrows
And turned them into yesterdays
And once again that rising sun
Is droppin' on down
And once again you my friend
Are nowhere to be found
And it's so hard to do
And so easy to say
But sometimes
Sometimes you just have to walk away
Walk away
And head for the door
You just walk away
Walk away
- Ben Harper from Walk Away
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Quote of the Day
"But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"
- Mark Twain
- Mark Twain
Sunday, December 13, 2009
"Ungabe *Nclock* *Nclock*!"
Annabelle knows the dawg's name. If you say, "Where's Buckley?", she will swivel her head on cue and look directly at him. She also knows Where's "Mommy?", "Daddy?" and "the Christmas Tree?" She cannot, however, say any of these words herself.
The dawg is still something of a mystery to her but every now and then, when she wants his attention, she will reach out her hand and make a high-pitched squeal.
The dawg, loves Annabelle. He is allowed to eat anything she drops, but not to touch anything on her tray. He is allowed to lick her within reason as one full swipe of his tongue could cover her chin to forehead and ear to ear. As a consequence, we are constantly telling him to "leave it" when it comes to food on her tray but allowing him to eat the same food off the floor. We say "how nice" when he gently touches the tip of his tongue to her hands or forehead but "Whoa, whoa, leave it!" when he goes into full tongue-bath mode. All of this makes the baby still something of a mystery to the dawg.
This morning, Annabelle REALLY wanted Buckley's attention and she was reaching and squealing, but the dawg was locked in "leave it" mode as Annie had just finished a snack.
So there is Annie squealing and reaching, me telling her to "Say Buckley", which of course she is no where near saying - all the while I am trying to get the dawg to "Give kisses" to her outstretched hand while he nervously paces the room in circles not understanding anything that is happening . . .
*Squeal!* *Squeal!*
"Buckley, give kisses!"
"Annie, say 'Buckley'!"
*Pace* *Pace* *Pace*
I felt like a missionary trying to converse to two different tribes who had never seen a white man before . . .
We never did bridge the divide this morning - and now it's time to get ready for church . . .
It was one of those moments when you ask yourself, "Is this insanity? or just fatherhood?"
Cousin David's Slow Cooker Brisket
"This is a family recipe passed along by my late cousin David. It is so simple...just four ingredients thrown in the slow cooker! Not only is it great to come home to a hot delicious meal...your home will smell wonderful too! It is great with the extra gravy spooned over egg noodles or mashed potatoes."RECIPE HERE
UPDATE:
We actually made this one with garlic mashed potatoes (red) and it was a HIT! And SO easy!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Listen
I wasn't going to write about this but then I stumbled onto a short film this morning and thought, well maybe I should (video at the end).
Yesterday the wife apologetically asked if I could run by the supermarket for baby food. Seems she had been running errands all day herself but Annabelle was finished before the errands were. "No prob", I said and headed for the market near my office.
As I walked in one end of the store, I couldn't help but notice an extraordinarily good looking woman dressed all in skintight black. The market near my office is one of the closest to the university as well so it is not uncommon for it to be bustling with good looking, in shape men and women but this caught my eye. She was talking to 3 other gals all dressed in skintight black as well, they all had some sort of white writing down the sides of their spandex pants. That's when one of the gals noticed me and said in a perky voice, "Would you like to try Activa?" or some such thing. Turns out that they were shilling for the latest flavored water product.
It occurred to me these gals all had to try out for this job, that they were chosen, in part, because of their appearance and here they were decked out in spandex from head to toe hawking their wares in the supermarket. They weren't friends, they were co-workers - thrown together in skin tight costumes to bat their eyes and woo customers. I wondered if any of them were standing there thinking, "How did I end up here?" I wonder what the story is there . . .
I completed my treasure hunt for all the right jars in the baby food aisle and passed by the meat counter. There was a tall good looking man chatting with the butcher while his order was being wrapped up. The butcher wanted to know; "Do you have kids?"
"Three", the man said.
"Boys or girls?"
"Two girls and a boy"
"Wife?"
"She died".
"Oh, I'm sorry," the butcher stammered.
The good-looking man had a far-off gaze and he said flatly, "She died this past September", as if he was delivering the news to himself.
Jeepers, I thought to myself. This is their first Christmas without her . . . You would never know just passing him in the checkout line . . .
I paid for my groceries and headed out the other end of the store and there was a fresh-faced coed in a red Salvation Army apron so new it still had the creases. She was ringing the bell next to her Kettle and on the apron it said something to the effect, "Become a bell-ringer, Ask me how". Here was a college gal, ringing a Salvation Army bell on a Friday night in the rain. There must be a story there . . . I thought . . .
It was no longer raining as I walked to my car but the parking lot was glistening wet - like all the roadways in movies. I thought to myself, "This looks like one of those movie sets and, in a way, all of us are actors playing our parts. My character interacts with their characters - all the while we miss the story of real life lying just under the surface."
Here's the link to the film: Part 1
Improv Everywhere
I was reminded this weekend of Improve Everywhere which is the brainchild of Charlie Todd. Their whole purpose is to act out improvisational "gags" in New York City (in public) in an effort to bring joy to those who witness them.
Check out their "Where is Rob" Mission (minor language warning):
Check out their "Where is Rob" Mission (minor language warning):
Friday, December 11, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
108 Years Ago Today
First Nobel Prizes awarded
The first Nobel Prizes are awarded in Stockholm, Sweden, in the fields of physics, chemistry, medicine, literature, and peace. The ceremony came on the fifth anniversary of the death of Alfred Nobel, the Swedish inventor of dynamite and other high explosives. In his will, Nobel directed that the bulk of his vast fortune be placed in a fund in which the interest would be "annually distributed in the form of prizes to those who, during the preceding year, shall have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind." Although Nobel offered no public reason for his creation of the prizes, it is widely believed that he did so out of moral regret over the increasingly lethal uses of his inventions in war.
The first Nobel Prizes are awarded in Stockholm, Sweden, in the fields of physics, chemistry, medicine, literature, and peace. The ceremony came on the fifth anniversary of the death of Alfred Nobel, the Swedish inventor of dynamite and other high explosives. In his will, Nobel directed that the bulk of his vast fortune be placed in a fund in which the interest would be "annually distributed in the form of prizes to those who, during the preceding year, shall have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind." Although Nobel offered no public reason for his creation of the prizes, it is widely believed that he did so out of moral regret over the increasingly lethal uses of his inventions in war.
Spicy Candied Bacon
Nothing trumps the bacon I had at Café Pasqual's in Santa Fe. Sticky, spicy and sugary, this was a step into bacon heaven. And it's easy to create at home.
RECIPE HERE
Quote of the Day
The nearest shortest way to glory is to strive do your best to be become what you wish to be thought to be.
~ Socrates
~ Socrates
Monday, December 7, 2009
Proving Once Again That Small=Mean
The world's most aggressive dog breeds.
Give me big and dumb any day.
I guess I like my dogs like I . . . . . err . . . . uhh . . . . myself .
Give me big and dumb any day.
I guess I like my dogs like I . . . . . err . . . . uhh . . . . myself .
Have You Got The Time?
This is an art instillation - them image on the clock is a video of the artist redrawing the time every minute.
More info here.
Veggie Roast
Okay, so this is not technically a recipe but it sounds like a good idea (and the photo included bacon).
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Oh baby, I am so sorry . . .
What's missing from this photo?
If you answered "Vomit" you are correct!
Annie has this habit of jamming her fingers so far into her mouth that she gags and pukes. She doesn't do it often but this past week has been one for the record books. I showed up at the sitter's Wednesday evening to discover Annie had gagged and spewed in her car seat. The whole thing got dismantled and thrown in the wash once we got home.
Thursday: Rinse. Repeat. As the saying goes.
If you answered "Vomit" you are correct!
Annie has this habit of jamming her fingers so far into her mouth that she gags and pukes. She doesn't do it often but this past week has been one for the record books. I showed up at the sitter's Wednesday evening to discover Annie had gagged and spewed in her car seat. The whole thing got dismantled and thrown in the wash once we got home.
Thursday: Rinse. Repeat. As the saying goes.
I think she is doing it to get attention from the three boys. She starts to put her fingers in her mouth, they start to tell her "No". She giggles and, well, mom and dad ( and Wendy ) do extra laundry that night.
But that was not the cause of the spewage in the high chair last night - it was just one of those spontaneous eruptions - perhaps brought on by eating too much dinner. So the whole thing got dismantled and washed. I am now an expert on how plastic chairs and nylon straps fit together.
Annie has also come down with a cold. We elevated the head of her crib mattress but could still hear her periodically hacking and coughing throughout the night.
This morning I drew breakfast duty and Annie sat in her (now clean) high chair gacking on phlegm and coughing, with big booger bubbles inflating and deflating from her nostrils with every breath. Every now and then a sneeze was thrown in for good measure sending crud everywhere.
But that was not the cause of the spewage in the high chair last night - it was just one of those spontaneous eruptions - perhaps brought on by eating too much dinner. So the whole thing got dismantled and washed. I am now an expert on how plastic chairs and nylon straps fit together.
Annie has also come down with a cold. We elevated the head of her crib mattress but could still hear her periodically hacking and coughing throughout the night.
This morning I drew breakfast duty and Annie sat in her (now clean) high chair gacking on phlegm and coughing, with big booger bubbles inflating and deflating from her nostrils with every breath. Every now and then a sneeze was thrown in for good measure sending crud everywhere.
Annabelle feeds herself dry cereal in the mornings and more than once she curled her little tongue like babies do when they cough and there would be a piece of cereal on her tongue "locked and loaded" which would go flying across the room to the waiting dawg who, as always, was on floor cleanup duty. The whole thing was a pitifully disgusting affair.
As I stood at the sink doing dishes and Annie sat in her highchair playing and bleching and sneezing and coughing, I had one of those first-time-father-firsts: I smiled at the wee one and said, "Oh baby, I am so sorry you don't feel well". But even as I consoled her, I knew this wasn't serious. I knew it would only last for a time, that colds are inevitable but they, too, shall pass.
I am able to smile and console with a calm assurance because I, of course, have been down this road many many times myself, even if she hasn't. It reminded me of all the times as a child when I was so miserably sick and yet my parents exuded such a calm, quiet strength; changing the bedding and fixing soup and doling out spoonfuls of remedy all the while convinced that I would be just fine in time (even though I was convinced I was dieing).
I think about other trials and difficulties in my adult life that are of far more significance than head colds and it causes me to pause. I hope that 30 years from now I am able to calmly soothe Annabelle in the face of her far more significant fears and stresses and heartaches which seem to be inevitable in this life; to calmly reassure her with as much grace and ease as cleaning upchuck for the third time this week.
I hope I am able to smile and say, "Oh, baby, I am so sorry you don't feel well" and have her look into my eyes and know that somehow it will all be okay - even if she is not sure how.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The Perfect Tree
The tree is up!
The wife and I have a tradition of sorts. On "Tree day" we pick up some tasty seasonal snacks (nogg and what not), dress up generally festively, put the Christmas tunes on in the car and head to the tree lot. Every year it is the same, we pick a tree in under 15 min. (many years we just buy the first one we lay hands on - what's the big deal?) We con someone into taking our photo, we pay, we lug that sucker home.
I saw the bottom off the tree in the yard, jam it in the stand and drag it into the living room. I run the electrical cord up the trunk (the one with plugs all along it) and the wife takes it from there.
Its not that I don't enjoy decorating the tree - I love it. But what I love is the decorating - I don't concern myself too much with the finished product. In my bachelor years, my roommates and I would load up on the nogg, blare the Christmas tunes and try to finish the tree before we were finished ourselves - singing the whole way through. One December morning we roused to find a beautifully decorated tree with a fistful of tinsel just globbed in the middle - apparently the last man standing hucked it at the tree from across the room before calling it a night. When I admire a tree I have decorated, I don't necessarily look at it and say, "That's beautiful", I usually look at it and say, "Man, that was fun".
The wife wants it to be fun and beautiful. I don't have as much patience for beautiful as the wife does.
So the wife decorates the tree while I haul the boxes and cook the meal and generally try to stay out of the way. And darn it all if it isn't the most beautifullest tree I have ever seen - every year.
Our first year of marriage, we had a Christmas budget of exactly $75. The wife took 32.50 and I took the other half. We split up at the mall. All the gifts fit in our stockings. Amongst a handful (literally) of other items, the wife gave me an ornament. And a tradition was born.
For the past 17 Christmases we have given each other 33 ornaments - last year we gave Annie her first three. It is getting to the point that every single ornament on our tree is imbued with the meanings of the years. When the day comes for Annie to trim her own tree in some apartment somewhere, she will have her own set of 40-some-odd ornaments to get her started.
Where was I going with this? . . . . oh, yeah, This got me started. Then this and then This
Merry Christmas.
The wife and I have a tradition of sorts. On "Tree day" we pick up some tasty seasonal snacks (nogg and what not), dress up generally festively, put the Christmas tunes on in the car and head to the tree lot. Every year it is the same, we pick a tree in under 15 min. (many years we just buy the first one we lay hands on - what's the big deal?) We con someone into taking our photo, we pay, we lug that sucker home.
I saw the bottom off the tree in the yard, jam it in the stand and drag it into the living room. I run the electrical cord up the trunk (the one with plugs all along it) and the wife takes it from there.
Its not that I don't enjoy decorating the tree - I love it. But what I love is the decorating - I don't concern myself too much with the finished product. In my bachelor years, my roommates and I would load up on the nogg, blare the Christmas tunes and try to finish the tree before we were finished ourselves - singing the whole way through. One December morning we roused to find a beautifully decorated tree with a fistful of tinsel just globbed in the middle - apparently the last man standing hucked it at the tree from across the room before calling it a night. When I admire a tree I have decorated, I don't necessarily look at it and say, "That's beautiful", I usually look at it and say, "Man, that was fun".The wife wants it to be fun and beautiful. I don't have as much patience for beautiful as the wife does.
So the wife decorates the tree while I haul the boxes and cook the meal and generally try to stay out of the way. And darn it all if it isn't the most beautifullest tree I have ever seen - every year.
Our first year of marriage, we had a Christmas budget of exactly $75. The wife took 32.50 and I took the other half. We split up at the mall. All the gifts fit in our stockings. Amongst a handful (literally) of other items, the wife gave me an ornament. And a tradition was born.For the past 17 Christmases we have given each other 33 ornaments - last year we gave Annie her first three. It is getting to the point that every single ornament on our tree is imbued with the meanings of the years. When the day comes for Annie to trim her own tree in some apartment somewhere, she will have her own set of 40-some-odd ornaments to get her started.
Where was I going with this? . . . . oh, yeah, This got me started. Then this and then ThisMerry Christmas.
Quote of the Day
In the realm of ideas everything depends on enthusiasm.. in the real world all rests on perseverance.
~ J.W. von Goethe
~ J.W. von Goethe
Friday, December 4, 2009
Quote of the Day
Story In Snow: Rabbit tracks. Coyote tracks. Rabbit running. Coyote tracks on rabbit tracks. Disturbed area in snow. No more rabbit tracks.
- Daily Coyote
- Daily Coyote
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The Rock House
The wife and I lived three blocks from the beach in Orange County for a year. Many nights we would pour ourselves glasses of wine and walk to the sand to watch the sun fade.
Some days I came home so whipped that I didn't say a word to anyone, changed into a swimsuit and walked to/into the water without so much as a towel to dry-off with.
For some reason this video brings it all back . . .
Some days I came home so whipped that I didn't say a word to anyone, changed into a swimsuit and walked to/into the water without so much as a towel to dry-off with.
For some reason this video brings it all back . . .
Quote of the Day
"It is a good thing that we do not get as much government as we pay for."
- Will Rogers
- Will Rogers
One Need Not Be a Chamber to Be Haunted
Emily Dickinson
One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.
Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External ghost,
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.
Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The stones achase,
Than, moonless, one's own self encounter
In lonesome place.
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror's least.
The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
More near.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.
Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External ghost,
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.
Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The stones achase,
Than, moonless, one's own self encounter
In lonesome place.
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror's least.
The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
More near.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Quote of the Day
Went to work with a song in my heart - unfortunately, it was one of those Fleetwood Mac tunes where Lindsay Buckingham just grinds his teeth and his guitar, because it’s a dull song he’s obliged to play.
- Lileks
- Lileks
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Quote of the Day
The way to gain a good reputation, is to endeavor to be what you desire to appear.
~ Socrates
~ Socrates
Monday, November 30, 2009
55 Years Ago Today
Meteorite strikes Alabama woman
The first modern instance of a meteorite striking a human being occurs at Sylacauga, Alabama, when a meteorite crashes through the roof of a house and into a living room, bounces off a radio, and strikes a woman on the hip. The victim, Mrs. Elizabeth Hodges, was sleeping on a couch at the time of impact. The space rock was a sulfide meteorite weighing 8.5 pounds and measuring seven inches in length. Mrs. Hodges was not permanently injured but suffered a nasty bruise along her hip and leg.
The first modern instance of a meteorite striking a human being occurs at Sylacauga, Alabama, when a meteorite crashes through the roof of a house and into a living room, bounces off a radio, and strikes a woman on the hip. The victim, Mrs. Elizabeth Hodges, was sleeping on a couch at the time of impact. The space rock was a sulfide meteorite weighing 8.5 pounds and measuring seven inches in length. Mrs. Hodges was not permanently injured but suffered a nasty bruise along her hip and leg.
On Looking up by Chance at the Constellations
Robert Frost
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drouth will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drouth will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Let it Rain
Here in So. Cal, seasonal weather can be hard to come by. Depending on who you ask, we basically have 3 months of spring, 6 months of summer and 3 months of fall. In an exceptional year, we may get 2 weeks of below 50's weather. I love our climate although I do miss waking up in Seattle every now and again, looking out the window from our bed and shaking the wife awake, "Honey! Look! It snowed!"
Even though I love a warm Thanksgiving - picking out the Christmas tree in 80-degree weather can take some of the twinkle out of a person's Christmas Spirit.
Well this weekend it rained - not much - but we will take it! All thoughts of yard work were postponed. Saturday the wife came home from work and said, "I am ready for Christmas! Let's get it started!" So out the door I went.
I withdrew our weekly grocery allowance (we are trying to only use cash so we stay on budget) and headed to the store. It was raining and I was in jeans and a flannel with a ball cap (standard fare from my Seattle days). The cold felt good, the rain felt good. Most days, walking into the grocery store does not register a change in temperature (unless it is summer and they have the AC cranked up). This time, I stepped from the wet parking lot and was greeted with a flow of warmth from the store. Christmas music was playing.
Cozy in my weather-wear (which I will likely not donne again for weeks) and cozy in the warmth of the store, I picked up the handful of items we were in need of and headed back into the rain and home.
The wife bathed the wee on and bundled her in fleece PJ's while I made dinner and got the this year's first batch of Wassail brewing. Wassail is our traditional Christmas treat:
One part Cranberry Juice
Three parts Apple Cider
One clove and one allspice berry for every cup of Apple cider
Slice up a couple of granny smith apples
Add a cinnamon stick for good measure
Put the whole thing on the stove to simmer
Serve with a splash of Brandy if you are so inclined.
As I stood over the stove finishing up dinner preparations I thought, "Me too - I am ready for Christmas - the spirit of it - the joy of it - the simplicity of it (if you can keep a hold of it - good luck)"
We had a fine dinner followed by left-over Thanksgiving pie and steaming mugs of Wassail while watching the first Christmas movie of the year (The Family Stone).
This morning we are all lingering in our PJ's - the soundtrack to Charlie Brown Christmas is playing. Yep, I am ready - bring it on - but bring it quietly, bring it softly, like a soft cooling rain on a drought-parched soul. Come on rain.
Season's Greetings everybody.
Even though I love a warm Thanksgiving - picking out the Christmas tree in 80-degree weather can take some of the twinkle out of a person's Christmas Spirit.
Well this weekend it rained - not much - but we will take it! All thoughts of yard work were postponed. Saturday the wife came home from work and said, "I am ready for Christmas! Let's get it started!" So out the door I went.
I withdrew our weekly grocery allowance (we are trying to only use cash so we stay on budget) and headed to the store. It was raining and I was in jeans and a flannel with a ball cap (standard fare from my Seattle days). The cold felt good, the rain felt good. Most days, walking into the grocery store does not register a change in temperature (unless it is summer and they have the AC cranked up). This time, I stepped from the wet parking lot and was greeted with a flow of warmth from the store. Christmas music was playing.
Cozy in my weather-wear (which I will likely not donne again for weeks) and cozy in the warmth of the store, I picked up the handful of items we were in need of and headed back into the rain and home.
The wife bathed the wee on and bundled her in fleece PJ's while I made dinner and got the this year's first batch of Wassail brewing. Wassail is our traditional Christmas treat:
One part Cranberry Juice
Three parts Apple Cider
One clove and one allspice berry for every cup of Apple cider
Slice up a couple of granny smith apples
Add a cinnamon stick for good measure
Put the whole thing on the stove to simmer
Serve with a splash of Brandy if you are so inclined.
As I stood over the stove finishing up dinner preparations I thought, "Me too - I am ready for Christmas - the spirit of it - the joy of it - the simplicity of it (if you can keep a hold of it - good luck)"We had a fine dinner followed by left-over Thanksgiving pie and steaming mugs of Wassail while watching the first Christmas movie of the year (The Family Stone).
This morning we are all lingering in our PJ's - the soundtrack to Charlie Brown Christmas is playing. Yep, I am ready - bring it on - but bring it quietly, bring it softly, like a soft cooling rain on a drought-parched soul. Come on rain.
Season's Greetings everybody.
Breakfast Made Easy
Wondering what cereal to eat? Well with this handy-dandy flowchart you will wonder no more! (it actually worked pretty well for me . . . except I only have one type of cereal in my house - apparently it's the wrong one . . .)
A November Sunrise
by Anne Porter
Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air,
Glory like that which painters long ago
Spread as a background for some little hermit
Beside his cave, giving his cloak away,
Or for some martyr stretching out
On her expected rack.
A few black cedars grow nearby
And there's a donkey grazing.
Small craftsmen, steeped in anonymity like bees,
Gilded their wooden panels, leaving fame to chance,
Like the maker of this wing-flooded golden sky,
Who forgives all our ignorance
Both of his nature and of his very name,
Freely accepting our one heedless glance.
Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air,
Glory like that which painters long ago
Spread as a background for some little hermit
Beside his cave, giving his cloak away,
Or for some martyr stretching out
On her expected rack.
A few black cedars grow nearby
And there's a donkey grazing.
Small craftsmen, steeped in anonymity like bees,
Gilded their wooden panels, leaving fame to chance,
Like the maker of this wing-flooded golden sky,
Who forgives all our ignorance
Both of his nature and of his very name,
Freely accepting our one heedless glance.
Thanksgiving Drama
We spent a wonderful Thanksgiving with friends this year. Always the creative types, one of the boys (Cory) had written a play for the kids to perform. Even Annabelle had a part in the play!
Another great production!
Here is Cory playing the part of the narrator:
It was really more of a Reader's Theater production since all but one of the actors read from their script. Annie's part was to sit quietly in her jumper while the action took place all around her:
It was really more of a Reader's Theater production since all but one of the actors read from their script. Annie's part was to sit quietly in her jumper while the action took place all around her:
Riley got to play the part of the family dawg. Here the scene takes place in a car. Riley was instructed to sit in the front seat and hang his head out the window (a part he greatly enjoyed):
And finally, here is the whole cast:
And finally, here is the whole cast:
Another great production!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
In Sickness and Health
by Alicia Suskin Ostriker
My friend whose husband
will soon succumb to cancer
loves to lie next to him at night
to smell him and feel the warm
stomach and flanks through his pajamas
the two of them are glad
he can still walk the streets of New York
still get tickets to the Philharmonic on impulse
they never fight any more
My friend whose husband
will soon succumb to cancer
loves to lie next to him at night
to smell him and feel the warm
stomach and flanks through his pajamas
the two of them are glad
he can still walk the streets of New York
still get tickets to the Philharmonic on impulse
they never fight any more
914 Years Ago Today
Pope Urban II orders first Crusade
On November 27, 1095, Pope Urban II makes perhaps the most influential speech of the Middle Ages, giving rise to the Crusades by calling all Christians in Europe to war against Muslims in order to reclaim the Holy Land, with a cry of "Deus volt!" or "God wills it!"
On November 27, 1095, Pope Urban II makes perhaps the most influential speech of the Middle Ages, giving rise to the Crusades by calling all Christians in Europe to war against Muslims in order to reclaim the Holy Land, with a cry of "Deus volt!" or "God wills it!"
Quote of the Day
One of the blessings of having children is that you get to remake yourself. Here, suddenly, midstream in life, are people who look to you, depend on you, love you more than anyone ever has, and in ways you barely understand, and they don't care who you were. All that matters is who you are to them now, how you treat them today, and if you were an ass in some previous life, if you lied and cheated and hurt the myriad of strangers and so-called friends that passed through your space in some B.C., well it can all be dismissed now. Just don't do it again, Dad.
-TMST
-TMST
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Giving Thanks
Thanksgiving feels like the saying of grace before the big feast of Christmas. A pause, a reflection, an admission that things are actually not quite as bad as all our complaining might make them out to be. Thanksgiving is a day when we stop, we pray,we clasp hands and say "Thanks".
I am so especially thankful this year for the many friends, family members, friends of friends and family members of friends that have prayed, sweated and given on our behalf the past 18 months. I am thankful for my wife, my daughter, my lousy dawg, our home, our jobs, those close to us and those who are scattered far and wide.
Blessings upon you this Thanksgiving day.
Thanks.
I am so especially thankful this year for the many friends, family members, friends of friends and family members of friends that have prayed, sweated and given on our behalf the past 18 months. I am thankful for my wife, my daughter, my lousy dawg, our home, our jobs, those close to us and those who are scattered far and wide.
Blessings upon you this Thanksgiving day.
Thanks.
Poems and Prayers and Promises
By John Denver
I've been lately thinking
About my life's time
All the things I've done
And how its been
And I can't help believing
In my own mind
I know I'm gonna hate to see it end
I've seen a lot of sunshine
Slept out in the rain
Spent a night or two all on my own
I've known my lady's pleasures
Had myself some friends
And spent a time or two in my own home
And I have to say it now
Its been a good life all in all
Its really fine
To have a chance to hang around
And lie there by the fire
And watch the evening tire
While all my friends and my old lady
Sit and pass the pipe around
And talk of poems and prayers and promises
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long its been since yesterday
And what about tomorrow
And what about our dreams
And all the memories we share
The days they pass so quickly now
Nights are seldom long
And time around me whispers when its cold
The changes somehow frighten me
Still I have to smile
It turns me on to think of growing old
For though my life's been good to me
There's still so much to do
So many things my mind has never known
I'd like to raise a family
I'd like to sail away
And dance across the mountains on the moon
I have to say it now
Its been a good life all in all
Its really fine
To have the chance to hang around
And lie there by the fire
And watch the evening tire
While all my friends and my old lady
Sit and pass the pipe around
And talk of poems and prayers and promises
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long its been since yesterday
What about tomorrow
What about our dreams
And all the memories we share
I've been lately thinking
About my life's time
All the things I've done
And how its been
And I can't help believing
In my own mind
I know I'm gonna hate to see it end
I've seen a lot of sunshine
Slept out in the rain
Spent a night or two all on my own
I've known my lady's pleasures
Had myself some friends
And spent a time or two in my own home
And I have to say it now
Its been a good life all in all
Its really fine
To have a chance to hang around
And lie there by the fire
And watch the evening tire
While all my friends and my old lady
Sit and pass the pipe around
And talk of poems and prayers and promises
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long its been since yesterday
And what about tomorrow
And what about our dreams
And all the memories we share
The days they pass so quickly now
Nights are seldom long
And time around me whispers when its cold
The changes somehow frighten me
Still I have to smile
It turns me on to think of growing old
For though my life's been good to me
There's still so much to do
So many things my mind has never known
I'd like to raise a family
I'd like to sail away
And dance across the mountains on the moon
I have to say it now
Its been a good life all in all
Its really fine
To have the chance to hang around
And lie there by the fire
And watch the evening tire
While all my friends and my old lady
Sit and pass the pipe around
And talk of poems and prayers and promises
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long its been since yesterday
What about tomorrow
What about our dreams
And all the memories we share
This Day in History
68 Years Ago Today
FDR establishes modern Thanksgiving holiday
President Franklin D. Roosevelt signs a bill officially establishing the fourth Thursday in November as Thanksgiving Day.
147 Years Ago Today
Alice in Wonderland manuscript is sent as a Christmas present
On this day in 1862, Oxford mathematician Charles Lutwidge Dodgson sends a handwritten manuscript called Alice's Adventures Under Ground to 10-year-old Alice Liddell.
FDR establishes modern Thanksgiving holiday
President Franklin D. Roosevelt signs a bill officially establishing the fourth Thursday in November as Thanksgiving Day.
147 Years Ago Today
Alice in Wonderland manuscript is sent as a Christmas present
On this day in 1862, Oxford mathematician Charles Lutwidge Dodgson sends a handwritten manuscript called Alice's Adventures Under Ground to 10-year-old Alice Liddell.
Quote of the Day
Jumping at several small opportunities may get us there more quickly than waiting for one big one to come along.
~ Hugh Allen
~ Hugh Allen
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Quote of the Day
I love Thanksgiving, but I always feel useless. The womenfolk do all the cooking; the kitchen is a hen party non pariel, and the menfolk just wander at the margins like beaten wolves skulking at the perimeter of the campfire. I don’t watch football anymore, so I don’t have the option of sitting in front of the TV and watching big guys run into each other. But I still like football, if need be, so if I have to join in the reindeer games, I will.
- Lileks
- Lileks
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Quote of the Day
When the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, it may be that they take better care of it there.
~Cecil Selig
~Cecil Selig
Monday, November 23, 2009
Quote of the Day
Confidence comes not from always being right but from not fearing to be wrong.
~ Peter T. Mcintyre
~ Peter T. Mcintyre
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The First Supper
We have always mixed Annabelle's dishes in with ours. What I mean is, instead of having all the kiddie stuff on one shelf in the kitchen, we put her bottles with our stemware, her bowls side-by-side with our bowls etc. Partially because I have a pointless opinion that's how it should be, and party because I think it is funny that you have to reach around the baby bottles to grab a wine glass . . .
Baby bottles.
Annie hasn't used a baby bottle in probably 6 months and yet they are still rattling around on the stemware shelf. A while back I felt the time had come, I pulled the bottles down and put them on the counter. And there they have stayed. For weeks . . .
I can't toss them out. It's as if part of my earliest memories of fatherhood are somehow contained in these BPA-free bottles.
Baby bottles.
Annie hasn't used a baby bottle in probably 6 months and yet they are still rattling around on the stemware shelf. A while back I felt the time had come, I pulled the bottles down and put them on the counter. And there they have stayed. For weeks . . .
I can't toss them out. It's as if part of my earliest memories of fatherhood are somehow contained in these BPA-free bottles. When we brought the wee one home, the wife would handle the midnight and 6am feedings while I took the 3am shift. Our family room still consisted of bare drywall, a bare concrete floor and no stairs but that is where we had moved all the furniture for the baby shower and we hadn't gotten around to moving it back to the living room yet.
I remember changing the diapers, heating the bottles in the dark and then sitting on the couch in that half-finished family room with the warm little football on my lap. I watched the entire Firefly series during those pre-dawn feedings - TWICE. As well as the John Adams miniseries and various other netflix I knew my wife was not interested in. To this day the theme song from Firefly makes me think of bare drywall and baby bottles (song is on the Ipod in the right-hand margin if you want to have a listen).
So the other night the time had come for another milestone. For the first time ever, the whole family had the same thing for dinner: Macaroni and Cheese.
We usually spruce ours up a little so the wife browned some ground for Annie's and added tuna to ours. Everyone got broccoli mixed in.
From my usual spot at the table I could still see the baby bottles on the kitchen counter . . .
They really are fine there . . . they don't take up that much space . . .
I remember changing the diapers, heating the bottles in the dark and then sitting on the couch in that half-finished family room with the warm little football on my lap. I watched the entire Firefly series during those pre-dawn feedings - TWICE. As well as the John Adams miniseries and various other netflix I knew my wife was not interested in. To this day the theme song from Firefly makes me think of bare drywall and baby bottles (song is on the Ipod in the right-hand margin if you want to have a listen).
So the other night the time had come for another milestone. For the first time ever, the whole family had the same thing for dinner: Macaroni and Cheese.
We usually spruce ours up a little so the wife browned some ground for Annie's and added tuna to ours. Everyone got broccoli mixed in.
From my usual spot at the table I could still see the baby bottles on the kitchen counter . . .They really are fine there . . . they don't take up that much space . . .
46 Years Ago Today
John F. Kennedy assassinated
John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, is assassinated while traveling through Dallas, Texas, in an open-top convertible.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, is assassinated while traveling through Dallas, Texas, in an open-top convertible.
XI.
by Wendell Berry
Though he was ill and in pain,
in disobedience to the instruction he
would have received if he had asked,
the old man got up from his bed,
dressed, and went to the barn.
The bare branches of winter had emerged
through the last leaf-colors of fall,
the loveliest of all, browns and yellows
delicate and nameless in the gray light
and the sifting rain. He put feed
in the troughs for eighteen ewe lambs,
sent the dog for them, and she
brought them. They came eager
to their feed, and he who felt
their hunger was by their feeding
eased. From no place in the time
of present places, within no boundary
nameable in human thought,
they had gathered once again,
the shepherd, his sheep, and his dog
with all the known and the unknown
round about to the heavens' limit.
Was this his stubbornness or bravado?
No. Only an ordinary act
of profoundest intimacy in a day
that might have been better. Still
the world persisted in its beauty,
he in his gratitude, and for this
he had most earnestly prayed.
Though he was ill and in pain,
in disobedience to the instruction he
would have received if he had asked,
the old man got up from his bed,
dressed, and went to the barn.
The bare branches of winter had emerged
through the last leaf-colors of fall,
the loveliest of all, browns and yellows
delicate and nameless in the gray light
and the sifting rain. He put feed
in the troughs for eighteen ewe lambs,
sent the dog for them, and she
brought them. They came eager
to their feed, and he who felt
their hunger was by their feeding
eased. From no place in the time
of present places, within no boundary
nameable in human thought,
they had gathered once again,
the shepherd, his sheep, and his dog
with all the known and the unknown
round about to the heavens' limit.
Was this his stubbornness or bravado?
No. Only an ordinary act
of profoundest intimacy in a day
that might have been better. Still
the world persisted in its beauty,
he in his gratitude, and for this
he had most earnestly prayed.
Quote of the Day
It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else's eyes.
~ Sally Field
~ Sally Field
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Close Encounters of the Redneck Kind
If the movie was more like this, maybe it wouldn't have put me to sleep . . .
Close Encounters of the Redneck Kind from Marc Bullard on Vimeo.
145 Years Ago Today
Lincoln allegedly writes to mother of Civil War casualties
Legend holds that on this day in 1864, President Abraham Lincoln composes a letter to Lydia Bixby, a widow and mother of five men who had been killed in the Civil War. A copy of the letter was then published in the Boston Evening Transcript on November 25 and signed "Abraham Lincoln." The original letter has never been found.
Legend holds that on this day in 1864, President Abraham Lincoln composes a letter to Lydia Bixby, a widow and mother of five men who had been killed in the Civil War. A copy of the letter was then published in the Boston Evening Transcript on November 25 and signed "Abraham Lincoln." The original letter has never been found.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Medical Update - 11/20/09: Eyesight
Children with SB typically have trouble with their eyesight. Naturally, it is one of the many functions that the doctors want to watch closely. The first time Annie went in to be checked, they said that they thought she would need glasses sooner rather than later. Let's just set aside the whole question of "HOW IN THE WORLD DO YOU CHECK AN INFANT'S EYESIGHT?" It's not as if they can hold a spoon up to one eye and read the "third line down". But anyway . . . .
The next time we had Anna-ba-lu checked by a more specialized Dr. and he thought her optic nerves etc. looked pretty good but wanted to see her back in 3 months. Today was the checkup.
I myself wear progressive lenses (think fancy bi-focals) as does the wife. The wife also makes her living selling eye wear so it is not as if the thought of glasses is some sort of big stress point for us. But still. The thought of a 15-month old in glasses can weigh on a person. Not to mention that Annie might have some thoughts and opinions of her own on the matter.
The diagnosis at the checkup this morning? PERFECTION. The Doc says her eyes, optic nerves and whatnot all look "perfect"!
This is a relatively small thing but the instances in which we have taken Annie to a Dr. and had the Doc pronounce "perfect" are far and few between (this may be the first, actually).
So there - she's perfect!
I always knew she was . . . .
Quote of the Day
The trouble with most of us is that we would rather be ruined by praise than saved by criticism.
~ Norman Vincent Peale
~ Norman Vincent Peale
Diagnosis
by Sharon Olds
By the time I was six months old, she knew something
was wrong with me. I got looks on my face
she had not seen on any child
in the family, or the extended family,
or the neighborhood. My mother took me in
to the pediatrician with the kind hands,
a doctor with a name like a suit size for a wheel:
Hub Long. My mom did not tell him
what she thought in truth, that I was Possessed.
It was just these strange looks on my face—
he held me, and conversed with me,
chatting as one does with a baby, and my mother
said, She’s doing it now! Look!
She’s doing it now! and the doctor said,
What your daughter has
is called a sense
of humor. Ohhh, she said, and took me
back to the house where that sense would be tested
and found to be incurable.
By the time I was six months old, she knew something
was wrong with me. I got looks on my face
she had not seen on any child
in the family, or the extended family,
or the neighborhood. My mother took me in
to the pediatrician with the kind hands,
a doctor with a name like a suit size for a wheel:
Hub Long. My mom did not tell him
what she thought in truth, that I was Possessed.
It was just these strange looks on my face—
he held me, and conversed with me,
chatting as one does with a baby, and my mother
said, She’s doing it now! Look!
She’s doing it now! and the doctor said,
What your daughter has
is called a sense
of humor. Ohhh, she said, and took me
back to the house where that sense would be tested
and found to be incurable.
Campbell's® Green Bean Casserole
"This traditional casserole made with cut green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and French fried onions is the perfect addition to your holiday table."
Thursday, November 19, 2009
O Me! O Life!
Walt Whitman
O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
Slow Cooker Turkey Breast
"Quick and easy way to cook turkey in the slow cooker. With only two ingredients, the only hard part is waiting."
RECIPE HERE
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
O Captain! My Captain!
by Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Which Reminds me: Dead Poet's Society: The O Captain My Captain Scene:
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Which Reminds me: Dead Poet's Society: The O Captain My Captain Scene:
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Office (Conversations overheard from my cubicle)
(After returning to the office after a false fire alarm)
Co-Worker #1: I have never been in a burning building. Has anyone else?
Co-Worker #2: Our house almost burnt down once when I was a kid.
CW #1: Really? What caused it?
CW #2: My dad wouldn't get out of bed so my mom set fire to the sheets
CW #1: Are they still married?
CW #2: Yep, still married
CW #1: See, those are the best relationships - where people express themselves instead of holding it all in and becoming resentful . . . .
Sunday, November 15, 2009
It's a Pity
In Michael Perry's book "Coop", he writes about his brother Jed and the time Jed's little boy drowned:
"Jed reads the eulogy straight through. When he nears the part about the stars, tears are streaming down my face because I know what is coming, but he takes it absolutely and resolutely home. Then there is the terrible closing of the casket, and we leave the church. At the cemetery little Skidrock says loudly, "Jakey drowned and now they are burying him", and you can feel the collective instinctive move to say "shush!", but then the ebb on the heels of it as we know it is a time when the truth should be left as it is."
Most highways in America are well-marked. There are mile markers and signs of all sorts to help you know where you are. Even if you have never been on a particular highway in your life, chances are you can navigate it with a minimum amount of fuss because someone has gone before you and left pointers along the way.
Being a first time parent of a child such as Annabelle sometimes feels like you are on a highway where they have taken down half the markers. Oh sure, there are all the usual parenting questions such as which diapers are best and what did you feed your child when they were this age and so on which friends and family that have gone before you can help with. But then there are the moments that catch you by surprise and you have to just go with your gut because there are no markers, there are no signs and no one you know has been this way before . . .
One such moment happened on a trip to Sacramento a couple of months ago. We were visiting friends that are more family than some of our actual family. They have two beautiful little girls who we love so much it hurts and who fervently prayed for Annabelle all throughout the pregnancy and on through some of the bumps in the road this past year. The girls were thrilled to meet Annabelle for the first time and at one point I thought, "If those girls don't stop hugging and kissing Annie, they are going to wear her through". It was a great weekend front to back.
But here is where the quote above hits home for me. When the oldest of the two girls met Annabelle, she took Annie's legs in her hands and exclaimed, "Poor thing . . . Poor little thing . . ." over and over again - as if Annie was some sort of wounded bird found under a tree out front. It was like chewing tin foil to hear it and my initial reaction was to tenderly and kindly use this teachable moment to instruct the girls that we wanted to emphasize the things Annabelle CAN do - not dwell on the things she can't.
But then I stopped and tried to put myself in my little friend's shoes. This is a girl with an aching love for Annabelle - one of Annie's youngest and most faithful prayer warriors - meeting Annie for the first time. I interpreted my little friend's pitying statements as her own rudimentary expression of grief. In the midst of all her excitement and love and joy my little friend was grieving the obvious. Now was not a time for "shush!" Now was not the time for instruction. Now was the time listen to the true words of a child ringing clear - as anathema as they may feel to me. "Poor little thing . . ."
Of course if an adult in the checkout aisle says the same thing a week from now, I am going to need someone to help me post bail . . . .
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