Bear Head, As I Recall It, Sitting Here, Satisfied and Re-Charged: Part 3

Or, A Trip to Bear Head Lake State Park

Tuesday, Sept. 30: Coffee, Wolves, and SSSSssss - bloomp

As I mentioned, Sept. 30 is sort of the end of "prime season" in Minnesota State Parks. So it is, also, with many of the other somewhat remote facilities and attractions in northern Minnesota. As such, Tuesday was to be the final day of weekday programming at the International Wolf Center in Ely, about a 25 minute drive from our campsite. I'd never been to the center before, so didn't want to miss this opporunity; and they were offering an informal "Family Pack-Tivities" program at noon.

So, we woke up to another day of threatening, misty, cloudy skies (with odd, brief moments of tantalizing sun - a theme which would continue throughout our stay); and fixed some breakfast - which varied from tasty brown sugar & cinnamon oatmeal to homemade granola throughout the week. I will take this opportunity to mention that Sharon really outdid herself in the menu planning & cooking. We ate like royalty, with varied & hearty meals.

Anyway, on this morning, alone, we skipped coffee at camp, because our plan was to make it to Ely by midmorning and, it being a somewhat tourist-y town, find a coffee shop and have a nice sit-down cup while enjoying some of the local vibe. And we found just the place in The Front Porch Coffee and Tea Company. Just the sort of "home away from home" coffee shop we look for in our travels, everywhere. Unique & artsy, free wi-fi (not that we have a wireless device, but the idea), fair trade coffee and even with a little children's corner where Lucy & Rose could play around while we sipped at leisure. I resisted the (strong) urge to read the paper and check out the political horse race and just had a nice time sipping and listening in to conversations of the locals. Great coffee, and I saw some art for sale on the wall that I was truly moved to buy. I still regret that I did not, and I've half a mind to call the shop, see if they still have it available, and pay for the shipping. It was a watercolor painting/drawing of a little girl sleeping next to a watchful bear, based on a line from a poem called "I'll Go On Trusting." I'd love to hang it up in the girls' room.

We wrapped things up at about 20 minutes till noon, and headed off for the IWC (which really must have purchased the rights to their URL early in the game. We had a great time at the exhibit, though it was another stark, stark difference between the notion of a trip just consisting of Sharon and me (we once spent two and a half hours just looking at and reading "history of Minnesota logging" exhibits in Grand Rapids - a luxury which would now be unimaginable). We did a lot of kid-friendly exhibits (can you mimic different wolf vocalizations, and climb into a plaster wolf den?), and kind of whizzed through the more text-based and substantive parts. Then, a picnic outside and a pose with the IWC's famous pack of bronze wolves out front, then back to Bear Head.

Still spitty, rainy. Sharon went off for another run (more cabin-oriented fun for the kids & me). Then when she came back, I was permitted to dispense with the Scooby pole and try my own hand at some Grown-Up Big Game Fishing. I trespsed down to the lake with two tackle boxes in tow, as well as my rod (heh heh); and it was very evident I had not fished in the past five years. A comedy of errors, in fact. With a strategy of "working the weeds," (and on only my second cast) I hooked my favorite silver "weedless" spoon on a log that was just a little far our for me to wade to, and lost it as a result. I took it as a sign from God that I should put an enormous honking lure on and cast out to middle of the lake. I was so unprepared. It occurred to me that, were I to have hooked a northern or a walleye, they could have bit right through my measly 6 lb test line - as I did not have a metal leader at the end. So, I tied right to the lure - a big, snakeskin-ey red & gold spoon that was at least four or five inches long. I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Was the lure the right type of lure for the fish in the lake? WHAT fish were in the lake? Was the color of the lure the right type for these weather conditions and at this time of day? It occurred to me I could have researched at least some of this in the days prior to the trip.

Oh well, fishing with no real expectation of catching anything and me go way, way back; to which Mixx, in particular, can attest. There was still that fleeting sun, and a clear, pervasive silence throughout the surrounding world. The little docks and lakeshore were down a bit and out of sight from the cabin; and I couldn't even hear the kids. I strained my eyes to the other side, hoping against hope to catch sight of a careless moose wandering in the shallows, then just closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh, damp wind that filled my senses with a relaxing electricity.

Then, the cast. The very next cast (the third since I'd been at the shore).

SSSssssssssssssssss - bloomp.

My line, upon being cast out, immediately slackened and went limp, about fifty feet out across the lake surface. The gigantic lure, thanks to my ridiculous "knot," kept sailing. On and on across the lake. It came a lot closer to catching a fish in Lake Vermillion, to the West; or perhaps a loon, in mid-flight; than it did to pulling any fish out of the North Bay, that day.

I then did a little exploring around the bank, finding an old, almost submerged series of logs from an ancient dock, that extended out into the lake a bit, just down the embankment from a beautiful, hilly stand of pines. I played around with trying to create a jig with squirmy, plastic lures, but all hope of catching A Fish That Matters had fled. I just played around like a kid on his first fishing trip ever for awhile more, then headed back to the cabin.

I think it was chili for supper that night, and more attempts at having s'mores with that ratty-ass mass of marshmallows. Then off to bed. To bed at 8:30-ish was getting to be the norm. Without a doubt, had the weather been nicer, Sharon & I, at least, would have been staying up a lot later, enjoying the night sounds and the starry skies (it was in new-moon phase), and maybe even going on night hikes.

But as it was - a bit chilly and somewhat wet, going to bed seemed to be the thing to do.

Bear Head, As I Recall It, Sitting Here, Satisfied and Re-Charged: Part 2

Or, A Trip to Bear Head Lake State Park

Monday, Sept. 29: Canoeing, the First Day of Rainy Skies, and Thok!

The end of September is a pretty hard and fast end to summer season, as far as Minnesota State Parks are concerned. A number of running water supplies are shut off, and a number of summer rentals (specifically, canoes and other boating options) are closed down.

So we had pretty much the first two full days in Bear Head in which to get in on this fun. Interesting, that as I thought about this trip in the weeks leading up to the trip, I was bummed about the canoe rentals shutting down midway through our trip; thinking that it would have been fun to be out with the family all day, each day, enjoying the water, exploring, and fishing.

Duh. It didn't strike me (this is amazing, really), the difference between Sharon & me renting a canoe; and Sharon, Lucy, Rose, and me renting a canoe. Not until we were sitting there in the visitor's center, trying to decide whether we would rent for a four-hour half-day or a full day. Suddenly - duh - we'll be lucky if we can be out there fifteen minutes before we have a meltdown or - God forbid, a tipping of the canoe. Are we actually going to keep these two kids seated, and in one place (the middle of the canoe), while trying to maneuver around a 700-acre lake on a somewhat windy, misty day?

We decided on the half-day rental.

So, with an ambitious (and precious) cargo of fishing gear, digital camera, binoculars, rain coats, and lunch for the day, the four of us set off - with a goal of simply making it from the dock symbol with the little fish under it to the two islands in the channgel to the West. Those two islands, undeveloped, are home to some nesting pairs of loons (who, unfortunately, were pretty much at the close of their prime calling season).

We circled the smaller northern one and didn't find a place that was particularly inviting as a landing place; then headed down to the south island, actually making a successful landing and disembarking. Lucy was dead set on sitting in the aft seat - which was fine, except that it resulted in me having to sit with my arse on the bottom of the canoe - getting steadily more wet and chilly, as more an more water splashed into the craft. I was working hard to not only avoid splashing Lucy as I paddled from side to side, but also to avoid dripping any more water into the canoe. This was made all the more difficult as a result of me being low down in the canoe, with my back painfully braced against a thwart. Disembarking for an early lunch was allright for me.

The island was a little, isolated world of mystery and beauty (these remote, northern Minnesota lake islands always remind me of little sub-worlds in Myst). We didn't find loon nests, but we did find some amazing mosses, lichens, and fungi; as well as some possible moose droppings. I did a little panfish fishing with Lucy's Scooby Doo pole (with the idea that, were I to hook a fish, she could reel it in). A couple of bites, and a small adventure of me taking off shoes & socks & rolling up pants to wade out in the icy cold water to dislodge a snag; but no dice. We then sat down for a lunch of hummus on pita, at the end of which little Rose, decked out in her rain gear, looked like a grizzled veteran, back from the front lines on the Bean Wars (see right).

Back into the canoe, and with a continuing ambition; this time to head down south to the now-deserted beach, for another landing, a little exploring around the tall pines, and a good pee. Again, back into the caneo with the idea we might swing up into the North Bay to see our campsite from a different vantage point; but this time I demanded the opportunity to sit on the seat of the helmsman. Lucy & I had a major disagreement over the arrangement, and Rose got into the action. I came out on top with Lucy as a result of pure logic, but Rose became nearly apoplectic - as an exact result of what, I'm still not quite sure. But she simply did not want to get down low. She did not want to sit on a tackle box as a seat, and she did not understand the principles of What-It-Takes-To-Keep-A-Canoe-From-Flipping. A few touch-and-go moments, but when settled, we had both girls laying on the bottom of the canoe (having since dried out - mostly by being mopped up by the seat of my pants), and gazing skyward. We decided to head on back to the canoe landing.

Then back to the cabin, which - incidentally - is/was much superior to the cabins at Ingawanis. Smaller, to be sure, but clean and utterly mouse-proof. Thank God it was a cozy little enclave, since we retreated to it many times during our stay, as an escape from the near constant threatening or actively watery skies and somewhat chilly temps.

Many games of daddy climbing up the bunk ladders to "get" two squealing girls, much reading of stories, and a majority of our meals eaten at the tidy little built-in table.

At this particular time, Sharon, who is training for a 10k this next weekend, headed out for a trail run. Much daddy & daughter fun, till she returned. Then, I headed off on a trail run I'd been looking forward to for about two months.

Thok!

Extremely rocky terrain - should have been no surprised, except that I was actively watching out for the danger. Anyway - it was a kind of bad ankle turn (there would be no trail runs for me the remainder of the week), and - with heart extremely heavy, I limped on home and - as a consolation of sorts - was granted the opportunity to enjoy some kid-free meditation.

We wrapped up the afternoon with a little play around in the cabin, since it was spitting rain; and Sharon prepared the food.

The weather let us enough for us to get a fire going outside for s'mores, and we opened the fixins to find that we were dealing with The Worst Bag of Marshmallows in the History of Mankind. They had somehow become discombobulated and glued to one another and the interior of the bag. The only way to get at them was to slice the bag down the side, and the only way to get marshmallow out was to tear a piece away from the main hulk. And even then, they were so gooey and sticky, your fingers hands would later require excessive scrubbing to get the 'mallow off. More of it remained on your hands than you could actually mold and form around the end of your toasting stick. Unbelievable, really.

Cub Foods brand marshmallows, if you're interested.

Bear Head, As I Recall It, Sitting Here, Satisfied and Re-Charged: Part 1

Or, a Trip to Bear Head Lake State Park

Sunday, Sept. 28: Getting There, and Mineview in the Sky:

The previous week, with the opening of the new play fast approaching and trying to work ahead, as possible, at my job, we were really under the gun in trying to get packed and prepared. Nevertheless, we were pretty much ready to go by leaving-day; having actually even packed the car the night before with the exception of a few bare essentials.

We were ambitious in the packing with me throwing in my fishing gear (I'd not fished in about three years), as well as my daily yoga practice book and my knee brace for much-anticipated trail running. With Rose at a robust 23 months of age, we were hoping for our smoothest road trip in quite some time (even considering our expected total of four and a half hours on the road), as well as the opportunity to pursue assorted personal pleasures, free from the need to hover over kids constantly, and in a team effort.

We were able to get out of Dodge by about 9:00 am (not too shabby), and it was, indeed, a joy of a car ride, as both kids got involved in assorted freestyle art and imaginative play, all the way up I-35 past Hinckley (home of a fascinating, historic great fire, as well as the possible site of a future great fire, at Grand Casino Hinckley), past Banning State Park (where I precariously-led Sharon's 9-month pregnant belly up and down rocky, icy trails in February of '03), past Duluth (a few miles West), and up for a stop by Virginia, which lies in the heart of the Mesabi Iron Range.

Funny, but a number of years back, when I was in the process of becoming a Minnesotan and had a keen interest in geography, but pre-internet, I was a little confused by the "Mesabi Iron Range," thinking it referred to a group of large hills - possibly akin to the Ozarks of southern Missouri, but probably somehow connected to the Sawtooth "Mountain" range along the North Shore of Lake Superior. Now, I realize that the term simply refers to "range" as it relates to a geographic extent. This particular "range" is the area in which there were and still are vast deposits of iron ore, which has influenced Minnesotan political history and culture far beyond what one might expect at first glance. A majority of the historical and famous shipping trade out of the Twin Ports of Duluth (including the fateful journey of one Edmund Fitzgerald) has involved the transport of taconite pellets (iron-rich rocks) from Minnesota's iron range, the mining unions has produced an impressive rural Democratic voting block that has helped contribute Minnesota being the state that has gone longer than any other without lending its electoral votes to a Republican Presidential candidate, and the worlds biggest open pit mine is actually located right outside Hibbing. It's apparently quite a spectacle and I would loved to have seen it on this trip, but I wasn't quite that willing to trust my kids' temperment to that kind of roundabout excursion. As it was, we decided to stop by a similar, but slightly smaller, open pit mine & exhibit right outside Virginia, called Mineview in the Sky.

It should be noted that iron mining is not "your father's open pit mining." While digging gigantic holes in the ground where there used to be forests can never be considered, how do you say, "good for nature," you can see, in the years after a mining operation closes up shop in a particular area, that the result appears almost more like "terraforming" than "doing a Borg." Iron mining is a relatively clean operation, as the iron - in it's pre-milling state is a relatively soft metal, and close to the surface. And it is not poisonous. Case in point: there are actually game fish stocked in the Mineview in the Sky former pit. Dare I say, the I found the site rather breathtaking.

At that location, also, was a retired old son of a bitch who hauled over 17 million tons of taconite out of the mines for 80,000 working hours for 10 years. We paid our respects and my girls posed in front of 300,000 pound "King of the Lode."

Incidentally, this area and its industry was featured a fairly recent movie about a 70's-era sexual harassment trial, called North Country. Haven't seen it, but my impression is that it paints a very low-income impression of this blue-collar region. And there may be a history of this but - I can say only what I saw, but Viriginia was clean and friggin' well-off. Brand new big box stores (but even no-vacancy and spanking shiny strip malls), clean & fancy parks, and a well-maintained Mineview in the Sky exhibit, for crying out loud. In the midst of this shithole economy. My theory (rather uninformed, but a wild guess): rampant development in China = good to be in the steel industry.

Anyway - we'd considered stopping by the town of Tower either on the "there" or the "back again" portion of the journey, for a visit to the Soudan Mine (Minnesota's oldest, deepest underground iron mine - and now a state park); but elected on this day to continue on to our destination to try and make it before dark. About smack dab between Tower and Ely, but a few miles to the south of either, is the remote Bear Head Lake State Park, home of the lake by that name, as well as resident populations of wolves, bear, moose, and loons. A few months back, as the four night blocks of available state park camper cabins were dwindling, I'd managed to eke out this spate of time from Sept. 29 - Oct. 2. And here we were, at about 3 pm, rolling into the fruits of that forethought. Sunday night in a state park. Hardly the time when a park is buzzing - even a popular park in prime camping season. Bear Head Lake was nearly deserted. Maybe two to four other sites in use at any given time during our stay. Wonderfully quiet and remote, and our cabin was just up the hill from a beautiful little inlet from the larger lake. Colors were just getting to about 100%. The timing was excellent, except for the forecast of clouds & rain. This afternoon, anyway, there was some spotty sun, and in a little foray down to the lake, I was able to break out the fishing gear and help Lucy catch her first fish ever: two little bluegills, right near the tiny fishing dock. Note: these would be the last two fish this party would pull out of the lake.

Ivey!!!!!

This is not going to mean a lot to much of anyone, except those in local theatre circles but...my theatre company just won an "Ivey Award;" the Minneapolis equivalent of the Tony Award.

The rest of my company went to the award ceremony last night whilst I stayed home with my kids. Apparently, they announced our name and our show and it was an utter surprise to everyone. The award was for our most recent show, last spring, "'night, Mother;" and it was one of only two awards for "overall excellence" (out of one hundred and some odd theatres producing hundreds and hundreds of plays).

Apparently, Workhouse's name was read off, and our artistic director went up & gave a worldbeater speech - like, in front of the folks at the Guthrie, and Ordway Center, and de la Jeune, and Jungle Theatre, and Mixed Blood, and Brave New Workshop, and Penumbra, and Children's Theatre, etc. etc. etc. The rest of the company were holding the award in their hands backstage as they gave me a call.

This is seriously friggin' huge.

article in Star Tribune, here. (Particularly funny, since they mention 4 of the 5 companies winning awards have performance budgets under $150,000. Yeah, like about $6,000.)
article in Pioneer Press, here.




Wow.

Ruminating on the So-Called "Career"

(and not my own)

I've sometimes wondered about the job security of some of those weird pseudo-careers, the kind which are rampant at my place of work. They're constantly developing new, specialized teams to work on new initiatives - you'll get an email that such-and-such was just "promoted to the position of "SVP Customer Creation" or "Executive Director of 'Sharing Memories'" WTF?

What happens when that initiative dries up and your job no longer exists? What's out there for you with a silly resume like that? I suppose, folks in that sort of world just have an instinctual ability glom on to whatever the next hot thing is. But I couldn't live like that.

And I wonder how much longer it is for the world.

In these times where, suddenly, so much in Wall Street and the financial world is beginning to become exposed for the charade it actually is; and we may be facing a world where we return to the nuts and bolts of what it actually takes to make the world go round - I wonder what the future holds for those folks whose expertise is in - really - nothing?

Opening Oct. 3

And There You Go...

Wonkerific Election Polling Blog FiveThiryEight.com (thanks Mixx), just posted a validation of my Palin post from the beginning of the week; albeit with a little more science behind it.

Here we go, boys. Contribute just a little more - do some kind of volunteering, something. Let's help Obama put his foot down on the McCain campaign's throat and finish this thing off.

Holy Cow, That Was Fast

Using Your Best Deductive Reasoning Capabilities...

Please Explain...

Suddenly, Feeling Better About the Whole Thing

The Palin "bounce" (so to speak) appears to have crested. Everybody who would or could ever support her did, for a couple of days.

The magic is wearing off.

People (enough people) are coming to their senses, as reality sets in.

She's beginning to embarass herself, and the McCain candidacy.

Even those who question Barack Obama's experience take him seriously; and in that regard, there is no comparison between the two of them.

McCain bet the house. Much like Kirk in The Galileo 7, he burned the rest of his rocket fuel to create a solar flare in hopes of getting noticed. He did, but now the orbit is beginning to decay.

Until the Palin selection and the Republican National Convention, I could still defend him somewhat, on some level. But no more. Oh, no more.

(McCain tangent)
Running an ad accusing Obama of teaching sex ed to Kindergarteners because he supported a bill to teach kindergarteners about inappropriate touching? You fuck. You fucking fuck. So - to be clear - the Republican Party is now the pro-molesting kids party. I mean, officially.

He has, in fact, NO HONOR. It has gone the way of his shame.

(back to Palin)
She scared the hell out of me; I'll admit it. But no more. Seven more weeks is a long time for her to avoid interviews and for not one of these percolating scandals and/or beyond-the-pales to catch fire.

Bill Clinton was right. Obama is about to take this fucker to the house.

Then, she will be a supremely confident, yet intellectually incurious, evangelical supermodel footnote in history.

Good fucking riddance, you awful, awful thing.

100

From your whole life, from all you've ever done, felt or thought...what is the one thing you treasure most? Imagine that you must choose one single memory from your life - everything else will be erased forever. That choosing this memory is your only way of passing through to eternity. That you have one hour to choose. Choose now.

October 3-18

I Shit You Not

One of Rose's first three-word combinations. She unveiled it last night, when being served tempe stir fry for supper:

Want...Pizza...Much


That's my girl!!!!

I Don't Get It

I’ve tried – REALLY TRIED – to be congnizant of those moments in which I am trending towards demagogary (sp?) or “hearing what I want to hear.” I try to think of the freest, most pure “Republican” there might conceivably be. One who is not evil, but truly believes in economic theory behind smaller government. Maybe even one who - for reasons beyond their own control - has views on some social issues that are different than mine. But when I get to that place, I don’t see how this mythical person can buy into all the anti-intellectualism and mean-spirited, chest-thumping jingoisnm.

The hipocrisy of the last two nights of the Republican National Convention has been incredible. Running on a message of "shaking up Washington" not one speaker has offered up anything that strays from the Bush administration's policies of the past eight years. Surely, any swing voters watching would see this, right? I'm not sure I can trust in much of anything, with respect to how "the average American sees things." Strange days, indeed.

Big Girl

Today is Lucy's first day of Kindergarten. It's not as monumental an occasion for her (from her perspective) as is probably is for most kids in her shoes, as she will be returning to the same school, in the same classroom, and with a lot of her old friends. In Montessori, children 3-6 (e.g. through their Kindergarten year) attend "Children's House" classes in the same classroom. The main difference for Lucy will be that she is attending all-day; and in a new building, since her private preschool achieved charter school status this year and relocated to a new, bigger building.

Nevertheless, she will be forging ahead into more advanced skillsets and subjects of interest, and entering that world in which she is held accountable by the educational system.

It will be a little hard for Sharon, who has spent the last number of years with a certain portion of each day, or each week, with a little creature in whom the bright flame of childhood imagination, industry, and inquisitiveness burns hot. Their times together were usually good, sometimes bad, but ultimately precious and irretrievable.

And hard, too, for little Rose, who is losing a constant companion she worships. She has a big, loving sister sister and follows her lead in almost all instances. At the risk of sounding melodramatic while paraphrasing Sam from Lord of the Rings, Lucy is going where she can't follow. For another year, anyway.

As for me, I am celebrating the 15th annual "I Don't Have to Go to School" Day.

Skin-Deep

Akin to how the GOP seems to run campaigns (and govern) on the premise that people just aren't paying all that much attention, they seem to think that people are willing to vote for a person based on a very superficial quality (be that race or gender) unrelated to policy that matters in their constituents' lives. This reminds me, by the way, of the line from U2's "The Fly" (It's no secret that a liar won't believe anyone else).

Anyway, This is a quick post, so I don't enter very many instances as evidence, other than what we can witness from the last two campaigns against Barack Obama.

In 2004, there was Alan Keyes.

And now, Sarah Palin.

Five-Star Book: Tale of Two Cities

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
Great, great, and great. For me, reading this book by choice and at my leisure was almost some sort of repentance for having watched a "Tale of Two Cities" cartoon in high school, rather than read it as assigned.



If there is any criticism of this book (as I'm sure there is), it would be a criticism that could be levied at most Dickens works; that many of his heroes are two virtuous and pure, and villains too treacherous. That said, Dickens masterfully uses the backdrop of the French Revolution to shift readers' sympathies from one side to the other over the course of the book; making a statement about perspective and shades of grey in any seemingly cut and dry political/historical event. In doing this, he does manage to add a layer of depth to many of the characters that start out somewhat caricaturish; and along the way, the development of the enigmatic Sidney Carton becomes quite compelling/



On top this profoundly historic setting - the real treat for me was to enjoy Dickens characteristic wry humor and skewering of the foibles of the human condition; in particular, mob mentality. Word by word, line by line, as I made my way through this book, I became more and more spellbound. I was in the hands of a master.


View all my reviews.

Saying What Really Needs to Be Said, Here.

How about the whole Hillary Clinton & her ridiculous delegates & supporters? All along, I’ve been thinking, c’mon this is a media-driven much-to-do-about-nothing. But now, as the convention is nigh, polls are still suggesting the Hillary Clinton supporters are not on board. What is the deal with that? I mean, I know what the deal is. But these people, if they’re considering voting for McCain, are zealots in the worst sense of the word.

Now - before any Hillary Haters decide to jump in a pile on and find some sort of kindred discussion, take a breath. Let me be very clear: this is not about Hillary at all. This is about those folks that can't get over it.

All along, I’ve always said that people who are opposed to Hillary Clinton tend to oppose her in a very rabid, irrational way that, really, defies logic. And I’ve generally defended her along those lines. But I’m finally going use that same descriptor about her supporters. Those people really, really think that this was our one chance to get a woman in the White House. Or that her experience so uniquely qualifies her for the presidency. Or that Barack Obama ran such an unbelievably dirty campaign. So much so that they’re willing to vote to continue policies of war, appoint Supreme Court justices to overturn Roe vs. Wade, extend Bush tax cuts, etc. etc. etc. Bascially, flush down the toilet everything that Hillary Clinton ostensibly stands for stands for in what is probably the most defining presidential election of our times, to make a point. Are they really that detached from reality? Is the world really no larger than their own hurt feelings? This is why Republicans call Democrats angry, whiners, and "victims." Your candidate didn't win. Pick yourself up off the matt and do what you can do to make this country better, for the sake of children in poverty, a groaning natural world, and huge, suffering continents; for God's sake don't put a Republican back in the White House.

My God. I mean, really.

My Dad: 1952

Another in the series of tribute pictures I treasure of my dad.
My dad was 23 years old here, stationed at Fort Benning, GA; having been drafted for the Korean War. Little was he to know, at that time, that he would follow this success with three more kids, go into a career of education, and live well over forty of his years on Earth in Waterloo, IA. Additionally, if he knew just a few more things then that he knows now, he might not picked up smoking during his time in the service - but who know s. What I do know as I look at him looking down at his new, beautiful, two-month daughter in this photo, is that he is thinking"life is good." What I can really appreciate now, as a father of two of my own girls, is what is going on in his mind. 56 years later, spanning our respective, disparate histories and vastly different worldviews, I can see his smile and loving gaze and say, "Oh yeah, I know that look, dad! High-five!"

Rocky at Three Weeks

What I know and have learned about my new friend.

• He thinks he's a dog. Unlike any cat I've ever known, he will flop over on his side so you can rub his belly. He follows you everywhere. And - in a subtle but very dog-like indicator - he has no fear. If his butt is in the way of the fridge when you start to open it, he won't move. The end effect is the fridge door slowly pushing him along until it slides him out of the way.
• He has a water fetish. He drinks water out of dirty pans that have water in them to soak. He places one paw in his water dish while he drinks. And, like many pets, he'd drink out of the toilet if it was left open. Worse, this sicko will try to drink out of the toilet while you pee. As the sole male human in my household, this is a particularly awkward occurrence indeed, and requires me to remember to shut the bathroom door even when stumbling downstairs for some 2:00 am bladder reflief.
• He is amazingly tolerant, and calm. This may be akin to #1 (he thinks he's a dog). But he see Rose shambling towards him, squealing in delight, and does not flee. Girls pet him and drape over him while he eats and drinks. He relaxes luxuriously in the middle of the floor while people fly in and out of rooms, over him, and/or if carrying large objects. Basically, all kinds of behavior that would have send the late Saraki into a case of the hives.
• Not a lap cat, yet. This may change. Maybe through the passage of time, or maybe just when the weather gets colder. But for now, he'll seek your company, and do the ol' walk in & out of the legs & so on, but he won't clip up and hang out ON you.

All in all (water fetish notwithstanding), ours has been a happier, more interesting household for the past three weeks.

Thanks to Brown Shoes and a Green Shirt

Announcing My Retirement

While I appreciate the opportunity my employers have given me through the years, it has become increasingly apparent that I am no longer able to approach my daily work with the passion and energy I know it deserves. That I know my employers deserve.

Additionally, it has been difficult for me to find the time I feel I need in order to be the father I'd like to be for my kids; the husband I'd like to be for my wife. And I have a number of pursuits in which I have a long-standing interest; but for which I've never been able to dedicate much time.

And so, it is with mixed feelings that I announce my retirement. I will regret the fast pace, the comraderie involved with being a member of a team, and the exciting potential for growth - both for me as an employee, and for growth of the various businesses that have employed me - that I was able to be a part of, day in and day out. But I am definitely excited to turn the page and enter this next phase of my life.

Thank you.

P-QN4

Lucy, taking on four-and seven-year old sisters in a game of giant chess during the first half of a recent daddy-daughter day. Parental intervention called the game a draw, when both ranks were decimated to one King and one bishop.

That Rare "10": Brief Encounter

Another month, another idea for chronicling my movie-watching endeavors.

It does seem to be overkill to post my capsule reviews, since they'll be sent out en masse, at year's end. However, I am going to plan to go ahead and make special mention of movies that achieve that slimmest end of the mighty bell-curve of my ratings, getting a "10."

Of the 110 or some-odd movies I've seen in the past two years, only three have have gotten this rating: Mary Poppins, The Third Man, and - now - a film I watched the other night with Matt of Panko Crumbs: David Lean's Brief Encounter.

It's a film I actually first first saw in college; and even then, in a more immature state, I was struck by the magnificence of this film, which is based upon a stage play by Noel Coward, is an intimate story of two more or less indescript folks in 1945-era Britain, a housewife and doctor, who meet and strike up an affair they both know cannot continue due to obligations, duty, and - yes - happy marriages in each of their respective lives. Beautiful is the best way to describe it: beautifully told, beautifully shot, beautifully cast and performed (by a collection of not-too-well-known players).

The gentle manner in which this most lurid and commonly filmed topics (the illicit love affair) is treated, as well as the depth of character we are shown in all interested parties (including an innocent, caring husband) is a refreshing breath of air, from before what would prove to be a 60-year run of lowest-common-denominator filth that has only sought to debase and ridicule the instituion of marriage.

Watch it. As soon as you can.

Welcome to the Family

Rocky, age 1 1/2.

Bearing a likeness to our dear, departed Saraki that is downright freaky, you must believe that did not play into the choosing of our newest friend & de-facto family member.

We were visiting the Gentle Touch Animal Sanctuary yesterday, to get a lay of the land and, hopefully, meet some a potential new adpotion or two. The facility is perfect for our purposes, as the multitude of cats are free to wander about and get to know you or avoid you as they choose. In that format, the reaction by cats as you walk through the door with two kids, ages five and one, speaks volumes about the viability of the various candidates. So, immediately after walking through the door, this guy - Rocky, by name (the name he came with: I wasn't immediately too sure about the name, but have since become quite sold on it) - wandered right over to us and made his aquaintance; with Lucy in particular. He even seems fine with Rose and, although I'm sure there will be a few moments in ensuing months when the two of them (Rocky & Rose) will have to test and discover their respective limits & boundaries, so far so good. He's such an amazing mixture of boldness and casualness that he had completely made himself at home within an hour or so of living here.

I gotta say - though there'll always be a place in my heart for Saraki - there's something about being able to actively choose a cat based upon personality type. Rocky doesn't mind being in a cat carrier (nearly gave Squeaky heart attacks), doesn't mind being picked up (Squeaky would rake and claw you), and is cool with strangers (Squeaky, not until her later, later years). In short, he is one cool cat.

Amazing, how natural his presence has already become around the house. We're looking forward to years of yet undiscovered joys and companionship.

My Dad

Just a little commemoration of him, from back when he kicked a little more ass.

My family is notably sparse on pictures from 1929 to about 1989, but I've always liked and sort of treasured this one, which seems to indicate a pretty playful and vibrant character, as he appears to have chased my mom up to the top of a slide. Probably circa 1948 or so.

There's another picture of him right after he was drafted and my sister was born (1952). It's amazing to look at him holding his precious daughter in his arms and looking down into her face with an expression I, now as a father, can understand. I don't seem to have a copy here, but I'll see if I can locate & post at some point in the future.

Goodbye, Old Friend

I went down this past weekend to do the big move for my parents. In a nuts & bolts sense, things went extremely well. Everything got moved in a single day, and everything pretty much seems to fit in the (much smaller) new place. ALSO - and this is actually a very big thing - this "moving my parents along to their next stage of life" has seemed to really bring out the best in my brother & sister's families. From willingness to pitch in and do whatever to an absolute absence of any bickering over "who gets what" as my parents downsize, there was been very little intra-family stress in these past couple of months

But other than that - it was a pretty emotionally draining weekend. I went down by myself; partly because my kids would have just been in the way of the work; but partly also because I had a lot to process, both on the way down and on the way back up. Though the choice to move was fairly proactive on my mom & dad's part (on their proverbial "own terms"), it was not a celebratory event. Nobody is under any illusions. They are simply too old to keep up with the rigors of maintaining a large house and yard, and my dad is far too unhealthy to live in a house with more than one level.

It was a very painful scene for me to witness - my dad, this once vital, powerful man who moved into a house in Waterloo, IA with his two kids in 1967, at age 37 (my age, coincidentally); now ancient and withered appearing, with tubes up his nose, sitting on a lawn chair in the garage watching his offspring carry the accumulations of his past 41 years past him and onto a moving van; too helpless to even assist. We stayed busy enough through the day, though, that there was not a ton of time to dwell on anything, and various interactions the rest of that day and evening prevented me from dwelling on the psychology of the whole weekend.

It was the next morning, when I made my long-planned "last visit" to the old place, all alone, when I was consumed by memory. Undoubtedly, the circumstances of my parent's leaving played into my feelings, but my parents aside, it was a sad enough parting just between me and the house. As I moved room to room, I was frequently overcome, remembering (burning memories, actually) past times; particularly those ones from my young childhood - those times when we all had a moment-to-moment, almost meditative absorbsion of our surroundings: tracing a path between the bumps of spackle on the walls, interpreting the patterns on a tile floor, the rough grating feel of that part of the carpet you can only reach by tunneling your finger in between the individual pieces of pile ,the distinct smell that only comes from smashing one's nostrils right up to a heating vent and inhaling completely. The minuteae of your immediate environment which, at that time in your life, is pretty much just the house you live in. All this came back to me in wave after wave of intense recollection, and I worked to get my head around two of the greatest pieces of evidence I've ever experienced, supporting the notion that I simply don't live in a protected, ageless bubble. The truest "home" I've ever known, gone; and my dad's mortality. Father Time marches on, and he is wearing Vasque Sundowners.

I spent a while in the old house. I may have even spent the time I needed there. At the end, I bid tear-stained farewell, and was off.

What Did I Do to Deserve This?

Behind the Music

Dear God, Stephen, you're right.

44: 1998

44: 2008

We Want MORE 44!!!

Not a whole lot to say about this. Only - the old gang got together for our first performance in the past eight years. Six songs, acoustic (except for electric bass): The Shirt, Against the Background, Thank You Though, Green Pink & Blue, One Way Flow Jet, and Anxiety. A smattering of the olde tyme contingent came out to see us, and much fun was had.

Not a Cop-Out: My Next 10 in Netflix

I enjoy this, as an exercise in trying to remember why I added these movies when I did:

Just returned:
Dragon Lives Again / Star of Stars

So, I did end up seeing this. I can say more at another time but -let me simply say: there's a reason this movie is not found under the heading "classics."

1. Seven Samurai
Japanese director Kurusawa's masterpiece inspiration for "The Magnificent Seven." I'm surprised I haven't seen this already, actually. But it certainly seems to be in that "must see" category for a guy like me. So here it is.

2. MST3K: The Giant Spider Invasion
I have sprinkled MST3K episodes (ones that are rated by others at 4.5+ stars) throughout my queue, at the rate of about one out of every 10. Here comes another. And I can't wait.

2.My Son the Fanatic
Indie film (comedy, I think) about a Pakistani living in England who turns to Islamic Fundamentalim as a result of stresses in his own life. Just seemed pretty interesting, the write-up I read. Seems like it would be fun to read & compare how someone with similar stresses as me handles it very differently in the context of another culture.

3. Me Myself I
Fairly recent film taking on the "what would my life have turned out like, had I made a different choice?," a subject with which I have endless fascination.

4. Kung Fu Hustle
Crazy, comedic, madcap martial arts movie. Seems like it should have Jackie Chan in it, but it doesn't. This was recommended by Mixdorf, if I'm not mistaken.

5. Of Mice And Men
Hmm. I'm not excited about this movie, at the moment. Retelling of tale by (Steinbeck?) that came out in the early 90s. I remember the movie's heyday being when I was renting movies out back at Title Wave, and people I aspired to be seemed to be the ones renting it. Here's that obligation I've never been able to shake coming to pass, I guess.

6. 49 Up
Amazing documentary undertaking as filmmaker interviewed a group of seven year olds in 1964, then again 42 years later. It's been sitting in my list of "Watch Now" possibilities for some time, with me passing over it again and again. But only when it arrives on my doorstep, will the watching truly be inevitable.

7. The Squid and the Whale
One of Jeff Daniels' quasi-indie endeavors, which bodes well. I'd forgotten anything about it - I have no idea why (only because of the marine-related title?), I was confusing it with that Bill Murray movie, Life Aquatic. I guess this one has to do with relationships.

8. Oldboy
Kind of wild movie, the summary of which I just must have stumbled across, about a guy who was drugged, imprisoned, and tortured for 15 years by he knows not who. He then decides to exact revenge (but, again, on he knows not who). The summary seems to indicate some sort of mind-blowing finale. Overall, a departure for me. But I'm game.

9. Mysterious Skin
Indie flick about the relationship between two weirdo friends not all that promising of a premise, but Netflix seems to think I'll give it a 4.1, even though the average rater has given it a 3.5. Those are some pretty good odds.

10. The Conformist
1970s Italian action adventure. Seems like I've heard good things about it, but I cannot recall at this date.

One Stress Off the Plate

My parents found a place. For those that know the area (and, I guess, care), about a half block to the southwest of Hoover, so in the general area where they already live - which is great. It's a duplex they'll be sharing with a retired woman. Everything on one floor, no yard work/shoveling, and much, much cheaper than any decent retirement community. Though I haven't seen the place yet, it seems like about as good a scenario as could have happened, considering he current state of the rental market in communities along the Cedar River.

Also - also - apparently, in a checkup yesterday, my dad was told that the oxygen has been doing wonders for him. When he went in originally, they (the medical staff) say his face was beet red from his lungs having not been able to process enough oxygen., and that the differece is night and day.

yay - on those two things, and here's two a couple of stresses, at least, that won't be hanging over my head in the immediate future.

A Soul-Baring Post, Like in the Old Days

And why I haven't been posting with reguarity or substance, of late.

Things are rough here. Work really, really getting me down, as is the situation in Waterloo with my dad's health and my parents' impending move (though it’s hard for me to know how much each factor is contributing) I’ve been depressed in the last few weeks. Had to send a note to my theatre group telling them I need to pull back for awhile. I’m completely overloaded at work – pursued with shit as I stumble out of the door each night and have no energy to be the father I want to be. And Rose & Lucy are having trouble going down for the night, so I’m finding that my day begins at 6:30 (when I leave home) and doesn’t slow down till 9:30 or 10:00, though I'm moving like a broken shell of a man during the hours when I'm not in at work. The stress seems to be building by the day. I was so blasted and incapable of function at home last night I told Sharon I felt like I needed to be institutionalized. Not true, probably, but I felt like it.

Trying GoodReads HTML Cut & Paste Review Function

Genghis Khan: Emperor of All Men by Harold Lamb

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
The first of a number of books passed on to me from my grandmother's collection, this was a generally informative, though a tad sympathetic, chronicling of the rise of young chieftan-son Temujin of the Gobi Desert into a merciless supreme emperor and arguably the most successful military commander of all time. The author has managed to compile a surprisingly complete account of events from a culture largely without a written history. Indeed, a majority of the historical accounts of his battles are from the records of the defeated; somewhat remarkable as when the Mongol Horde ovverran your civilization, they tended to put an end to everything.


View all my reviews.

Knock on Wood

About what? Discuss...

More Waterloo News, of a Different Sort

Two pretty big things:

One, my dad's health is poor. He's had some type of blood/oxygen thing going on for some time that they've actually had some trouble pinpointing; but his lungs have been quite stressed, and he's not able to catch his breath after even some pretty low key activity. They've finally got him on oxygen 24 hours a day (like, a machine with a tether and a tank and the whole nine yards). I'm not sure where all this is headed, but I don't have a very good feeling about it. You guys have known him personally, to various extents, throughout the years - so, keep him in your thoughts, as you are able.

Two, my parents' house just sold. I'm wondering if the fact they were high & dry through the recent flooding made their neighborhood suddenly seem like a very desireable location or what, but there it is. Mind-blowing, as again - this is the only house I have ever known them in. They still haven't landed on the apartment or condo to which they'll be moving, but that'll be figured out sooner as opposed to later, one would think.

The Incredible Shrinking Newspaper

Obviously, this is good in an environmental/paper waste sense, but other than that – I find the struggles of news organizations to thrive in the world of “new media” one of the great, ominous issues of our age; and one that – due to the lack of a true political motivation one way or the other –one that no one (other than journalists themselves) really gives that much thought to.

Carried Away, As Usual

So, I got so excited about creating intro music for my new podcast, I never got around recording anything else:

http://media.putfile.com/Poliopolis-Bump-Music

Hello, Old Friend!

Tomorrow, 10 am, a bearded Mixdorf will knock on my round, green door.

I will say, "Go away, I do not want any well-wishers, or distant relations."

And he will reply "And how about very old friends?"

and...well, you get the picture.

Actually, I'll be meeting him at the airport. And though the Hilron house in a bit of disarray and maybe with hot water running in only one of four taps (with the one not being the shower), I will receive him and we will have an amazing joyride, nonetheless.

Full report down the line, no doubt.

I Will Not Die Tonight

Quite apropos, I think, this amazing poem I heard yesterday on Garrison Keillor's Writers' Almanac. Especially in light of the subjects covered in Mixdorf's post about China.

"Borrowed Time"
by David Moreau from Sex, Death and Baseball
© Moon Pie Press, 2004

I will not die tonight
I will lie in bed with
my wife beside me,
curled on the right
like an animal burrowing.
I will fit myself against her
and we will keep each other warm.

I will not die tonight.
My son who is seven
will not slide beneath the ice
like the boy on the news.
The divers will not have to look
for him in cold water.
He will call, "Daddy, can I get up now?"
in the morning.

I will not die tonight.
I will balance the checkbook,
wash up the dishes
and sit in front of the TV
drinking one beer.

For the moment I hold a winning ticket.
It's my turn to buy cold cuts
at the grocery store.
I fill my basket carefully.

For like the rain that comes now
to the roof and slides down the gutter
I am headed to the earth.
And like the others, all the lost
and all the lovers, I will follow
an old path not marked on any map.

I'm Actually Not Kidding Here (Well, All That Much, Really)

As I read the report of the robot, ASIMO (who can also recognize faces, walk on uneven terrain, and respond to most basic commands), directing the Detroit Symphony orchestra; I had the recurrence of a long-time and growing fear that I will live to see entire races of sentient, intelligent robots enslaved.

And again, my views on a matter will place me in the category of "fringe element."

As I Mentioned Recently...

There is an additional source of stress, of late.

Happy Mothers' Day!

Ouch

I hope that was just not having my basketball legs under me yet, and not age. It was pretty brutal this morning.

The bad:

• Pretty much every time I tried to drive, I got stuffed. I just had no spring in my step - it was like I knew what I wanted to do, but my body couldn't do it.
• I missed everything in sight. I remember (in the olden days!) being pretty much dependable from just inside the three point line on in. I had a stretch this morning where I am positive I missed more than 10 in a row.

The good:

• When I was not driving, I seemed to be able to get any open look I wanted. That may have had something to do with them not thinking I was worth covering (see the missing, above), but people usually aren't as focused in on your bad day as you are yourself, so I don't know if they were familiar with me enough to make that sort of judgement.

I also got totally gassed. I can go out and run four miles without thinking twice, but Mixx is right - this is a toally different sort of exercise. And all those baskets (actually, not all that many baskets) I've been shooting in the back yard over the past seven years don't do a whole lot to prepare you for a full-court game of four on four.

I really do think a lot of it has to do with re-familiarizing myself with the game - and my limitations. And I do think/hope that whole "getting my b-ball legs under me" thing plays a part, too. I probably won't ever be able to do what I used to, in terms of driving the lane. But I can pick my spots, start hitting shots, and distribute the ball.

We'll see if I can have a better outing next week.

The Full Monty and Back into the Fray

All along, they've been indicating that we will be receiving an Economic Stimulus Check that gives us $600 apiece (Sharon and me), and up to $300 per child. Some scary wording, there: up to. Well, I'm pleased to announce that I just checked the ol' bank statement and it's a full $300. Seeing as our tax lady told us we could claim 10 dependents and still come out even, this should not have been surprising. But you never want to count those chickens till they hatch.

In other news, I tracked down the old wake-up basketball league I last played in 10 years ago and asked them if they'd have need for an occasional sub. Things worked out much better than I'd hoped, as they put me in the "draft" for the summer league. My first game is tomorrow morning, 6 a.m. sharp. I remember how creaky and non-limber I felt playing at that hour when I was 29. I can only imagine what it's going to feel like tomorrow morning.

Relax, He Doesn't Care!

As was touched on in comments to my post yesterday, my father-in-law is redoing our hot water piping. We may not have a family on either side that's going to leave us a whopping inheritance, but in the practical skills and boundlessly generous nature of my father-in-law, we are truly blessed. He's helped us on numerous other home improvement items in the past, but this is the biggest - almost certainly beyond my skills at present; though, even if it wasn't, the chance of me finding the time to do this work is slim to nil. So thanks, Ken.

And so, yet another long-overdue item of home improvement (old hot water pipes were just about rusted through) out of the way; but also yet another non-visible item of home improvement out of the way.

It's a bit of a thorn in my craw that of the thousands and thousands of dollars I've dumped into making my house more up-to-code, energy efficient, and generally livable; we have yet to do any aesthetic improvements to our house since painting Lucy & Rose's room about six years ago. Perhaps we're employing some of the same wisdom that put us in that class of folks who did not take out a aubprime mortage; but it would be nice, for once, to be one of those people that have a newly remodeled kitchen or bathroom to enjoy. As it is, we're living in the same old shithole. But a shithole that's got it where it counts. Ala the Millenium Falcon.

Sharon & I are also in the process of taking on a major feng shui-driven cltuter clearing that's made us evaluate all that we have assumed or held dear about not giving/throwing away for the past 10 years (more on that in a later post), and - as we sit in the midst of this endeavor (don't forget - every household endeavor with two kids under the age of five moves at a glacial pace), the aesthetic condition of our home seems all the more hopeless.

I've actually started getting a bit stressed, with a visit from Mixdorf on the near horizon. I wish the patio was done! I wish we'd just slapped a coat of paint in the hall! I wish we had our new steel roof! (look for that in summer 2009) Etc, etc.

I think I just need to chill out. I'm long past the point of being judged by close friends (e.g. the judgements are long since rendered). Quality times are made by company kept and ephemeral happenings; not by showing off a cork-floor kitchen. I just need to make sure potential hazards are out of the way and rest up for some potential late-night skullduggery. About the appearance of my property? Relax, he doesn't care.

For Joy (sort of)

Easy come, easy go on the battery re-charging.

A buttload of stresses, ranging from our hot water currently being in & out of service to an external source of stress I will undoubtedly be blogging about in the next few days, to some odds & ends around some customer service-related nagging issues we're trying to resolve - but probably mostly related to my chronic condition of being underslept, led to be being near the flipping point last night. Sharon suggested I take a day off.

A call into work this morning, and I was free. As of 11:48 am, I've already biked to Steamworks for a waffle, coffee, and read of the morning paper; and then down to the Theodore Wirth mountain bike trails for a trail run and then bike home. It would have been pure "for joy," but for me rolling my ankle twice; the first one just a tweak, and the second one somewhat more severe. I had to walk it off for about five minutes, then gingerly run/limp back to my bike.

I'm getting around OK now, and I think I'm going to be spending the rest of the day attending to some household maintainence things at a leisurely pace.

Peace out.

Valentine's Day

This past weekend. The first opportunity Sharon & I have had to get away for the evening since before the actual Valentine's Day. In one sense, it's not as bad as it sounds. I've had the opportunity to be away many nights for theatre-related stuff, and once to hang out with a friend. And Sharon has been taking a weekly Pilates class, and just last week attended workshop on rain gardens.

But a chance to get away together - ah, there's the rub. It had all the makings of an evening for which our sights were set way too high...

We'd planned to go down to the West Bank (University of Minnesota West Bank), see eat Indian food, then see a play. We got down there and got Indian food in our bellies all right, but both realized we were so exhausted we were going to be battling sleep if we tried to sit through any sort of two-hour form of passive entertainment. It was sunny & cheery out (still only 6:30 or so by that time), and since we were only a couple of blocks from crossing over 35W (and two blocks south of the historic bridge collapse), I suggested we do a river walk down one side of the Mississippi, cross the Stone Arch Bridge , and back up the other side to check out the reconstruction efforts for the I35W bridge.

It ended up being a glorious two hour walk, with a lot of new redevelopment sights to see with in the Guthrie Theatre area. We were down there last year to go to a nearby farmer's market, but didn't get upstream & downstream quite so far. It's quite an amazing little area of riverfront; something Minneapolis should be quite proud of, and something I'd recommend to visitors to my city. You could definitely spend a whole day just wandering down along one side of the river and up the other, if you really took time to digest the various pieces of history and maybe took in an attraction such as the Mill City Museum.

As it was, the only couple of places we stopped were once on the Stone Arch Bridge (recent days of heavy rainfall had made for a spectacularly powerful St. Anthony Falls, with huge, white, rolling waves and a fine mist drifting down from the falls at least a half mile or so), and on the Cedar Ave Bridge for views of the construction. If you haven't checked up links thus far, do check out the first one, above, to see our proximity to I35W. Literally, you're a hundred or so feet over from all the work, and it was quite a sight to see. This massive concrete columns where shifts of workers are toiling 24 hours a day to create a marvel of first-world civil engineering. They're not going to screw this bridge up.

Anyway - they have actually created a pedestrian & bike lane over Cedar Ave, where I do not believe there was one before - just to accomodate folks wanting to get a look at the work, replete with historic marker-type signs indicating exactly what's going on. Stuff like the fact that this bridge is going to have one arch that spans the entire 504 feet of the river (no columns in the water!), and in the arch during that stretch, there will be 150 row beam segments, each weighing between 150 and 200 tons. Cool, mind-blowing stuff like that.

After the bridge, we headed over to the Freight House for coffee & a treat, where we hung out for a couple of hours. It's worth noting that there was a really cool series of paintings there by a guy named (I think) Alex Pederson. Unfortunately, I can't find anything out about him on the web. But the whole series depicted Sasquatch in various settings in and around Minneapolis, and were all really well done. T-Clog would have loved it.

Anyway - though we remained sleepy at the conclusion of the evening, our batteries were charged.

Exibit A

Subjects characterized by precipitous mood swings, calm and peaceful at one moment, wtih fits of almost psychotic rage the next.

A way to think of a house with a five-year-old and one-and-a-half-year-old in it is something like the British considered their mental institutions in the late 1800's.

So much so, that I've started occasionally referring to Lucy and Rose as "the mental patients." Only in the company of Sharon, of course. And now you.

The New Media

Music composed & performed by yours truly.

Tot-Couteur and My Thoughts Again on the Future

My family went out last night to see Mrs. Pigglewiggle at the Children's Theatre, which is an amazing institution - widely regarded at the premier one of its kind in the country. A special birthday gift for Lucy - we really love the ephemeral kind that ends up taking up shelf space only in your memories.

About a thousand people were in attendance, the production value was sky-high - quite spectacular, really, and a wonderful time was had by all. So here you have it; within a span of 10 days, my family experiencing both ends of the spectrum: the bad (if not the worst) and the good that is Urban Living.

Lucy, through her school and with her family, is getting exposed to such a wide array of experiences - and for that, I am so happy for her. Thus far, there's not any one activity she is particularly hooked on that couldn't be done on the backyard swing, snuggling on the couch, or at the kitchen table. So no ballet classes, soccer camps, or piano lessons for the time being; which is totally fine by us. But she knows there's a larger world out there and that's good enough for now.

On a side note - but related to the Children's Theatre: damn. damn damn damn. I was struck with such an intense feeling of "I should be doing that"/"I belong up there on that stage," that it still had a pretty strong hold on me after the show, while we were driving home with Lucy asleep in the back seat. I was waxing a little regretful at the childless years I didn't spend pursuing this particular field, and having those feelings mix wtih those of a growing restlessness my current "career," and Sharon reminded me that it's never too late. I couldn't pin her down on specifics, but we both tend to believe, quite unscientifically, that things happen for a reason. She wonders if my simultaneous growing unrest and re-inspiration in pursuing a future in the arts aren't totally unrelated. Perhaps more on that later.

Victimized!

I would be remiss if I did not mention that we suffered the assholery of a car break-in last weekend.

Having lived 10 years in my current neighborhood as of this August, this is the first time we have experienced any crime upon our property; and, in the big scheme of things, this may have been as the result of me being a bit lazy. I'd finished doing some work in the garage (building some wood storage hanging units from the rafters), and just elected not to park the car in the garage. I left the stereo face on, and come CDs visible in a compartment between the front seat and in a visor sleeve. All of it added up to be, it seems, too irresistable a target for some ne'er-do-well who must've been out wandering in the dark, early hours of the A.M.

When I woke up last Monday morning and went out to the car, the driver's front window had been bashed in. The fool (for fool it was) had knocked out the vent unit above the stereo, but was unable to get the stereo. They had then ripped off the mirror I use to check on the well-being of my children in their carseats, then wrenched off the visor to get the CDs in it (rather then just unvelcro-ing the thing, which would have been easier and probably faster.

Considering they were hell-bent on doing everything in the most destructive manner possible, I incurred a surprisingly small amount of expense in this all. Actually, nothing at all, so far. Glass was totally covered. Vent console popped right back in. Visor has not been replaced, but that'll be pretty cheap at U-Pull-R-Parts, I would think. The only real "loss" (beyond my sense of innocence), was the CDs. Actually, only one pre-recorded CD, and the rest, home recordings.

If it hadn't been for the irreplaceable nature of the home recordings, it'd have made me smile to think of the look on the guy's face when he checked out his haul: Bird of Minnesota double CD set, a recording of the "Versati Scenes" from The Underpants I had for going through my lines, and at least three CDs of me playing acoustic guitar.

The End of an Era (yay!)

That does it for that.

This is all the more remarkable, since Sharon quit her job 17 months ago, and we've been making due with about $15,000 less in yearly take-home pay ever since. In a nickel-and-dime sense, I could list a few things we've been doing to cut back, but I honestly am at a loss for our ability to have paid off about $6,000 of credit card debt in just over a year.

Chaos Theory

It's late - maybe going to ramble on this, but...

The world is being run by advertisers.

Think a minute about how products are marketed - they are qualitatively defined, the full measure of truth and information about them are strategically sliced down to a brief space of time/space, and they are funded so as to be an ubiquitous reminder of what you should believe. Likely, this has had a lot more to do with our various associations and feelings about the products we buy than we - even we who would consider ourselves skeptics - would like to admit.

But what about what we understand about how the rest of the world works? Like "Directors of Brand Management" in the world of advertising, there are a lot of people pulling the strings in the much bigger and scarier world outside of product placement that stand only lose as a result of a wider dissemination of knowledge. Open up Yahoo! randomly and count the number of news stories suggesting you should be frightened of something (that you actually realize is statistically less of a threat than being hit by lightning), and then the number of "news" stories that are actually recounting events that transpired on a reality TV show from the previous night. What does this say about our appetite for information that puts us in greater touch with the world that affects us and those we should care about? Further, where does this seem to be leading us, as a people?

In a best case scenario (and a sad, sad "best case scenario" this is), this simply suggests that the masses are asses and tend to consume at the lowest common denominator. What I fear is that it's a concerted effort: Knowledge is power, and knowledge by everybody slows things down. When we're out of the loop; when we're kept fearful and frantic, or confounded to the point of apathy; or unable to distinguish between a genuine source of information or a unique selling proposition; that's when bastards could really make hay, couldn't they? That's when one of those qualitative, classic advertising pitches could really catch fire.

Furthermore...

In addition to not being able to abide bottled water, I cannot/will not abide getting hot tea at a coffeeshop.

For whatever reason - I rarely (rarely!) am able to make coffee at home that is as good as coffee in a coffee shop. And I have yet to figure out exactly why (it may be because of the temperature of the water when it is being brewed).

But tea! C'mon! Order a green tea at Caribou and they give you a cup of hot water and a tea bag. And charge you about $2.

I've said all I need to say.

The Daddy Daughter Day

We held off a day to wait for the weather to improve before taking a special birthday daddy-daughter day. Many more activities occurred, of course, but I had a camera along only for our exploits at French Regional Park and a stop for games & smoothies at Caribou on the way home.

Select shots below (I think I formatted these as "enlargeable").

Holy Cow...5

Lucy will be 5 tomorrow morning. Wow.

Beyond all the standard "where has the time gone" feelings, I am awash with a feeling of pride in my daughter, and a general sense of satisfaction in a job well done, so far.

I will also note that - though the transition from infancy to toddler was momentuous (pure stimulus-response to exploring boundaries, helpless to almost dangerous, non-talking to talking), the transition Lucy has gone through over the past year and a half - that of toddler to that of little girl - has been more amazing to witness. Here, anyway, is the entire progression over the past five years, encapsulated in five simple photos:

Lucy at 1. With an unfortunate shrunken-headed Easter Bunny.

Lucy at 2. Taking tea and toasting "To London!" and "To Monkeys!"

Lucy at 3. In front of the space heater.

At 4. With friend Riley and the best children's story reader in the world.

Lucy at 5. Curses! Do I really not have any pictures of me with her in the past month? Anway, here's her demonstrating some of her work at a recent visit I made to her school.

Happy Birthday, little girl!

(wakka wakka) I am Gandalf, and He is ME!!!

For quite some time, I've been looking forward to Lucy's 5th birthday (next Tuesday) as being her first major introduction to the world of Middle Earth; namely, with a viewing of the Rankin & Bass animated "classic," The Hobbit. Before the actual viewing, though, I wanted to sit down & do a parental pre-screening of the content.

What I remembered was a cute little hobbit running around and some nice songs. What I saw was some crazy-ass animation over a soundtrack with half the songs sounding like they were written and performed by Art Garfunkel, and the other half sounding like the people who put the music together for The Electric Company. The setting is the middle ages, but all I could think was: 1977, man.

With the exception of the Art Garfunkel-inspired songs, the whole thing was pretty dark, and the relatively simple message of the actual The Hobbit was buried in some pretty clumsy retelling of a lot of the individual escapades Bilbo weathers on his way towards The Lonely Mountain. Then there's the old thing (blogged, or at least spoken about before) about these far-eastern animators needing to brush up on their Western history, as they are drawing middle-ages-era people wearing sandles and robes; more The Ten Commandments than The Lord of the Rings. When the adventuring party came upon the men at Lake Town, I thought they'd stumbled across The Masada.

Alas - I may try to come across some of the movie stills on the web and do a dramatic retelling of the story via Powerpoint, with my own words and explanations. Then, read the book a couple of years down the line.