Mid-Life Crisis...Over?

Thank God...some men do some pretty crazy shit that they probably spend the rest of their lives regretting.

Now - I don't want to say my theatre (or performance, in general) career is over, but I am sitting here (Sat. Nov. 22, 2008) realizing that I may have spent the last couple of years of my life in pursuit of something that is ultimately a lot less fulfilling than the time I spend at home, with my family and personal pursuits that can be indulged within the four walls of my own home (e.g. music listening and - hopefully - making, movie watching, crazy little projects ala "Johnny Seedcorn," etc.).

This all came about quite recently. I was actually in the weekend prior to the auditions for our spring show (which I was planning on being in), when there was a malfunction with the regulator on my dad's oxygen unit. Ultimately false alarm, but for a short bit there, I was faced with the reality that I could be put in an extremely difficult position, were he to take a serious turn for the worse in the middle of my production or performance schedule. A risk that suddenly seemed not at all worth taking. I need to be subject to head out of town at any given moment, were I to be needed in Iowa over the next couple of years.

But, upon pulling out of the commitment for the upcoming show, I felt a great weight lifted from my heart. I'd been subconsciously dreading the time away from my family and actually feeling some premature guilt in anticipation of the busy schedule that would be pulling me away. Since then, I've been enjoying time with my kids about as much as I can remember, and spending a lot of time doing whatever the hell strikes my fancy, for entertainment, after the kids go to bed; not feeling all stressed out about cramming "responsible things" or "making progress" on some home improvement project into every second of my free time. Weird - not all that long ago, I'd been torturing myself with thoughts of "When am I going to have the chance to get on stage again?!" Now, I'm seeing that way of thinking almost like it was some kind of stranger. What was I trying to prove, and to whom? Ah, well, such is the roller coaster of hot & cold that is Dan.

All I know is that the past two weeks have been like a like a friggin vacation (including the T-Clog visit which - by the way - may have been about my favorite Cory visit ever - thanks, Clog!!!), and I don't want it to end.

Sitting here, at 5:50 pm, having spent the majority of the day with my kids preparing for Sharon's birthday celebration tomorrow, and finally having been given an hour to hole myself up in the computer room, listening to iTunes shuffle with headphones, blogging, and stealing a few games of FreeCell; sipping a Summit Winter Ale.

Cheers!

Nearest Book Thing

(with thanks to Facebook)
Rules:
* Grab the book nearest you. Right now.
* Turn to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post that sentence in a comment, here.
* Don't dig for your favorite book, the coolest, the most intellectual. Use the CLOSEST.

I'll go first with the one I needed to use when posed this question in Facebook, moments ago, though it's not too exciting.

The Year of the Podcast

Just as 1999 was my Year of Basketball and 2001 was probably The Year of Baldur's Gate.

Crazy levels of wonkery. Sharon & I listening to political podcasts while doing household chores and/or putting Rose down for the night, then discussing what we've heard. I'll miss the late night Sarah Palin "jam sessions," but the wonkery will continue as the Obama cabinet fills up and legislation is initated.

On a side note - if any of you do get regular podcasts, and political ones at that, if you get a single one, make sure it is NPR's "It's all Politics" with Ken Rudin and Ron Elving. You don't learn a ton, if you've been paying attention for the week, but they ARE the CarTalk guys of politics.

Second favorite political podcast: Slate's Political Gabfest.

Other oft-listened to casts: NPR's "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me" and "Radio Lab," as well as MPR midmorning shows that I've missed (which are few). And "The Economist" magazine's look at the week ahead.

All on a little $25 Sansa Express mp3 player.

Did this year kick off a lifestyle I will keep for all time? Hard telling. Probably in some fashion or another. It's just crazy that my five year old daughter asks if my "podcaster is charging?" Sounds insanely 21st century (from a 20th century perspective). But little did I know in my youth about DVDs, digital file sharing, or using computers to look up everything. It is what it is and that is a brave new world.

Forthcoming

Another Year...

Another toast to the man (or woman) who invented the mulching mower.

Wow. What would have been about as six hour leaf-raking job that would have used rarely-used muscles resulting in a half week of soreness was a two hour mowing job over the weekend. Plus, we have a nice layer of mulch on our grass, some extra mulch for the garden and our new alfalfa & oat patch (back where the gravel used to be), and contribute nothing to the Minneapolis Munincipal Waste process.

The Visit...

It looks like T-Clog has picked up the torch of Official Recounter (it seems to be the mode for the visitor to recount the trip, and not the visitee), so I won't spend a lot of time here, in this forum.

Not worrying about that, also, has freed me up to do some video editing. As soon as Amish Internet Boy can find a way to send me two 10-second video clips to use for special features, I will be ready to burn and send out a feature-length movie we made Saturday night.

I don't want to set the bar too high, but I'm just going to say it: "BETTER THAN MOSSYBACK!"

urp...

I’ve been eating so much Halloween candy that people brought into the office that I’ve actually taken to sprinkling the wrappers into various trash cans that are not my own, in order to minimize the evidence of my own horrifying crapulence.

Of course, I do not forsee doing my body too many favors this coming weekend, either.

Let's see: 4:54. About one hour till supper. And about five hours till a second, larger supper of pizza and (Crazy Bread Equivalent).

Now on to Other Business: WSDACD (An Open Thread)

T-Clog visiting Dan this weekend. What should they do for their version of NSE?

Patrying with Whom? And When? And Where?

For me, nothing too special. Hopefully, I won't miss out on too much excitement, as I work to put one or the other of my daughters to bed. Should be free to glue myself to PBS by eight or so.

Shortly thereafter, partying with Sharon, hopefully. I have a super-special 1L bottle of beer (I don't even remember what at this point - isn't that funny?) I just asked Sharon to throw in the fridge. We'll drink some beer. I may call Mixx around 9-ish CST.

Tomorrow? I'd debated coming in at all. I think I will, but somewhat leisurely, I think. There's likely to be a festive mood in North Minneapolis on the morrow.

Of course, if the 1.1% chance of the unthinkable comes to pass tonight, all bets are off. Though the beer consumption may even be greater.

Can you smell it?

Borne on winds from the East. A sweet, sweet smell.

Victory is at hand...

Survey Says...

Movies that were in my queue that I just deleted.

My Netflix queue, over time, has become rife with a particular couple of subsets of movies - particularly of both the documentary and "eclectic arthouse" varieties - that are in there because, though the subject matter is fascinating, they are ultimately movies I feel that I should see.

It took me a long time to get over feelings of guilt for simply bumping a movie back a few places in the queue. Now I'm finally at a point of liberation; realizing I don't have anything to prove to anyone, least of all myself.

Perhaps my schedule will clear up and the tiny hedonistic bucket wtihin me will be filled and I will seek out "Why We Fight" again, someday. But for the meantime, I'm going to charge forward with only movies I will be genuinely excited to see in my mailbox, and enjoy life a little more.

A Puzzle For You...

What do the following eighteen movies have in common?

1. Oldboy
2. Mysterious Skin
3. Why We Fight
4. Smoke
5. Running with Scissors
6. The Goebbels Experiment
7. Confetti
8. Daddy's Little Girls
9. Sweet Land
10. Ghost World
11. Chalk
12. Rocket Science
13. Little Big Man
14. Greenfingers
15. Romance and Cigarettes
16. Kurt Cobain: About a Son
17. Boys Don't Cry
18. Beautiful Thing

A Rosie Compendia

This coming weekend, little Rosie will hit the 2-year milestone. In light of my dad's condition, they're not going to be able to make it up to share in the planned festivities, so I put together this 12 month to 24 month retrospective of some favorite shots of my littlest girl; which I'm now happy to "share out."

Truly, she is my "littlest girl." Note the scant size difference between her and Audrey, who was born over the summer.

And enjoy!

Rose: Age One Retrospective

The Official Word on Jack

So, more officially, we know that my dad has the mysterious and insidious “Pulmonary Fibrosis.” Progressive, terminal, and no cure; with the average life expectancy after the onset being 2-4 years.

I've been more or less mentally preparing myself for the concept that my dad does not have a lot of time left here with us. But this kind of smacked me in the face, yesterday. Especially, the dredging up of my own past regrets of not being able to get to know my grandparents until they were very, very old (and a couple of them, much at all), and the knowledge that - in all likelihood - Rose will never remember the grandad with the twinkle in his eye. And Lucy is just going to remember this old man with chapped hands and tubes going into his nose that sat in a chair in the corner of the living room.

Tangentally...cause I don't want this to be nothing but a bummer of a post...

I just finished the documentary "49 Up," last night. And the timing couldn't have been more perfect. Checking in every seven years on about fifteen different lives, from the time they were seven until age 49. In the special features, the filmmaker (the same guy through all 42 years) spoke of these folks' collective transformations through the years, and how they all coalesced at a point when they were about 35 (me, being 37), when their parents (and lots of relatives and peers of their parents) started to die and they are first beginning to be faced with a sens of their own aging and mentality.

I'm looking forward to the peaceful acceptance they all got back to, by age 49.

A Foreign Affair: Pass It Along

OK, so those few readers of The Oliopolis know that my preference is to use my posts more as a journal, or as a forum for my assorted musings and ruminations, as opposed to propogating media I may have come across elsewhere in this e-world.

However, an article I just read, by Jonathan Freeman from The Guardian, struck such a powerful chord with me, I feel compelled to pass it along in hopes it will inspire others to consider the sentiment, and pass it along as well.

It very eloquently lays out the heart of an issue I find to be of great important, but about which I have seen very little discussion: that of the profound impact the selection of our next president will have, not just within our borders, but from without. In these days where we Americans - and indeed all Global Citizens, find ourselves at the brink on so many fronts - from (as is becoming increasingly apparent) our entertwined world economy; to the "War on Terror;" to arguably the most ominous issue of all, climate change; this election is, indeed, a referendum on America's collective sanity, cause for an optimistic future, and grasp on reality. The world is watching.

So, with no further ado:

A FOREIGN AFFAIR
Jonathan Freedland, "The Guardian"

If Sarah Palin defies the conventional wisdom that says elections are determined by the top of the ticket, and somehow wins this for McCain, what will be the reaction? Yes, blue - state America will go into mourning once again, feeling estranged in its own country. A generation of young Americans - who back Obama in big numbers - will turn cynical, concluding that politics doesn't work after all. And, most depressing, many African - Americans will decide that if even Barack Obama - with all his conspicuous gifts - could not win, then no black man can ever be elected president.

But what of the rest of the world? This is the reaction I fear most. For Obama has stirred an excitement around the globe unmatched by any American politician in living memory. Polling in Germany , France, Britain and Russia shows that Obama would win by whopping majorities, with the pattern repeated in Africa, Asia, the Middle East and Latin America . If November 4 were a global ballot, Obama would win it handsomely. If the free world could choose its leader, it would be Barack Obama.

The crowd of 200,000 that rallied to hear him in Berlin in July did so not only because of his charisma, but also because they know he, like the majority of the world's population, opposed the Iraq war. McCain supported it, peddling the lie that Saddam was linked to 9/11. Non - Americans sense that Obama will not ride roughshod over the international system but will treat alliances and global institutions seriously: McCain wants to bypass the United Nations in favour of a US - friendly League of Democracies. McCain might talk a good game on climate change, but a repeated floor chant at the Republican convention was "Drill, baby, drill!", as if the solution to global warming were not a radical rethink of the US's entire energy system but more offshore oil rigs.

If Americans choose McCain, they will be turning their back on the rest of the world, choosing to show us four more years of the Bush - Cheney finger. And I predict a deeply unpleasant shift.

Until now, anti - Americanism has been exaggerated and much
misunderstood: outside a leftist hardcore, it has mostly been anti - Bushism, opposition to this specific administration. But if McCain wins in November, that might well change. Suddenly Europeans and others will conclude that their dispute is with not only one ruling clique, but Americans themselves. For it will have been the American people, not the politicians, who will have passed up a once - in - a - generation chance for a fresh start - a fresh start the world is yearning for.

And the manner of that decision will matter, too. If it is deemed to have been about race - that Obama was rejected because of his colour - the world's verdict will be harsh. In that circumstance, Slate's Jacob Weisberg wrote recently, international opinion would conclude that "the United States had its day, but in the end couldn't put its own self - interest ahead of its crazy irrationality over race.

Even if it's not ethnic prejudice, but some other aspect of the culture wars, that proves decisive, the point still holds. For America to make a decision as grave as this one - while the planet boils and with the US fighting two wars - on the trivial basis that a hockey mom is likable and seems down to earth, would be to convey a lack of seriousness, a fleeing from reality, that does indeed suggest a nation in, to quote Weisberg, "historical decline". Let's not forget,McCain's campaign manager boasts that this election is "not about the issues."

Of course I know that even to mention Obama's support around the world is to hurt him. Incredibly, that large Berlin crowd damaged Obama at home, branding him the "candidate of Europe " and making him seem less of a patriotic American. But what does that say about today's America , that the world's esteem is now unwanted? If Americans reject Obama, they will be sending the clearest possible message to the rest of us - and, make no mistake, we shall hear it."

Saint Rocky

So, we thought getting a one-year-old cat would give us a number of years blissfully free of veterinarian bills.

Not so.

Over the course of the two months that we've had him, he's had fairly deep puncture wounds in each of his front two paws, costing (now) us upwards of $400 in assorted ver expenses (some of the expense came as a result of us having to board him during our vacation so they could administer daily meds). Two months - two wounds. Very similar. One in each paw.

Totally weird!

We were trying to figure out what's going on - weird, loose, sharp hardware or screws in the basement? Centipede bites? (we've got a doozy of a centipede living in the cracks of the foundation in the recording corner of the basement) What?

And then it hit me....STIGMATA.

Unfortunately, according to Sharon, the Catholic Church does not provide any sort of cash reward for manifesting the crucifixion wounds of Jesus. Something about the reward being "the edification of the spirit" or something.

Whatever.

Al Raton

Lucy lost her first tooth over the weekend. With it loose over the past couple of weeks, she’s been preparing for her first visit from a tooth fairy contemporary. We checked out a book about different losing-teeth traditions around the world, and she picked up one from Latin America where you put your tooth in a glass of water and a rat named El Ratón visits in the middle of the night, drinks the water, takes the tooth and leaves candy or money.

I’m pretty sure she thinks the rat’s name is Al Ratón, which makes him sound like a burly NYC sewer worker with plumber’s crack.

Bear Head, As I Recall It, Sitting Here Satisfied and Re-Charged: Part 5

Or, a Trip to Bear Head Lake State Park

Thursday, Oct. 1: Get Out of There!, Dan Gets His Walleye, and....My Friends....

Special "Webinar" Edition

Episode 1: Get Out of There!

Episode 2: Dan Gets His Walleye

Episode 3: ...My Friends...

Bear Head, As I Recall It, Sitting Here, Satisfied and Re-Charged: Part 4

Or, A Trip to Bear Head Lake State Park

Wednesday, Oct. 1: Kick-Down Mode

One of the surest proofs that I simply do not belong in the workaday world is how seamlessly I slip into a comfort zone during extended times away from work. Not only am I disengaged from what is going on back in the office, I believe my brain would short-circuit, were I to try to listen in on messages from afar. So, on the third full day of the North Woods adventure, I was wholly and truly taking it all in and content in going with the flow.

Weather reports from the International Wolf Center had suggested a progressively drier forecast for the remainder of the week; and our loose plan was to have a leisurely breakfast at camp, then head out for a family hike & picnic around the piney hill-surrounded trout lake, Lake Norberg; around which Sharon had scouted during her trail run two days prior.

When we got out there, things had truly dried out enough that we were able to enjoy alternating skies of fast-moving stratocumulus clouds with with brilliant streaks of fall sun. A short, vertical hike brought us to, perhaps, the visual feast of the trip. It was simply spectacular, as this striking and ever-changing light display I described played amidst the tree color (which was hitting peak) and innumerable ripples on the pristine lake. We spent some time there while the kids (much more concerned with the world on a macro level) noticed minnows in the water and a young water spider trying in vain to make a lunch from them.

We then hiked around two directions of the lake from our starting point, getting mulitple perspectives almost all the while keeping within sight of Norberg; and at some point during which we ate a big ol' lunch.

Afternoon included another trail run by Sharon, I think, as well as another failed fishing attempt by me. My second solo foray to the lake was not so buffoonish, and a little more satisfying. Truly, my expectations for a catch were different (non-existent?); but I was there to appreciate the solitude which - of course - can be a bit hard to come by with the girls in tow. For the rest of the afternoon, it kept truly looking like the skies were going to clear out for good on this, the final day of our stay. The last remnants of clouds would disappear to the southeast, opening up a brilliant, completely blue sky...only to have a rolling mass of gray and white utterly obscuring the sky, not more than 20 minutes later. While I concede that I'm usually not in a position to follow such things as completely; I'm not sure I've ever seen such an odd, alternating (and, yes, tantalizing) display of rain-heavy cloud cover and blue skies as I did over the final two days of our stay. Most of the pictures we brought back were taken in sunlight. You'd never know.

Anyway - homemade pita pizza for supper (yum! though the portions could have been bigger for a hungry woodsman like myself) and Raspberry Crumble for desert. Yes. THAT raspberry crumble. The same package we bought for Escalante, three years ago; and that I was conned into paying for upon our return. Well, the laugh is on you, my friends: it was delicious.

By the very end of supper - of course - it was beginning to look like skies were clearing up, finally, for good. Sharon & I made a discreet plan to meet back out by the smouldering firepit after the girls were asleep for our first opportunity at stargazing in the entire vacation. I'd actually found a 70x telescope & tripod at a thrift store recently, and we'd brought it along with - thus far - absolutely no chance to use it.So...girls to bed and, after a little bit, they fell asleep. Sharon & I snuck outside and sat next to the fire, which we stoked with a couple of new logs. How nice! Looking up at the sky, we saw stars, but...curiously, they weren't as brilliant as we were expecting. Then less brilliant. Then hardly visible. Ah, cloud cover was obviously moving in. Final proof of this was when the first few drops of rain (you're effing kidding me!) began to come down on us. Moments later, it was a steady rain and we were back in the cabin, nestled snugly in our bunks.

This last photo is kind of as an addendum, and I actually took it with special permission from Lucy. She'd had a really rough little patch of time, and was still quite upset, but just beginning to calm down and come into herself again.

I noticed this really tender moment when her little sister was doing her best to offer her comfort, and I asked Lucy if she minded if I took a picture. Amazingly, she did not. And now I share it with you.

It's awesome - they really seem to have a pretty special relationship.

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