Category: blood

Family, easy!

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man’s men

Wrote this entire thing Sunday night along with the thing you might have read yesterday. I know already it’s going to be one of those weeks and I might not have a ton of evening time to write. I figure I should take advantage while the wheels are turning.

This year for Easter some friends of ours from church invited us to come eat with them at their folks’ place. Or, rather, their folks invited us to come eat at their place – one or the other. Their place is what we call “up the hill” around here; since we’re right at the feet of the foothills anything east qualifies. Easter Sunday was rainy, wet, windy when we set off up into the foothills following behind as neither of us had been there before. Half an hour or so later we wended our way around a few final wooded turns and climbed a steep driveway to stop in front of their place.

Oh man their place.

I was immediately transported back to my childhood. When we lived in Southern California my grandparents lived about an hour away on top of a mountain in a log home. No joke. A straight-up log cabin built from stacked timbers right out of a Lincoln Logs set. I used to love going to my grandparents’ place. It was quite literally “on top of a mountain,” and the inside was right out of a hunting lodge. Logs for walls, broad-mantled fireplaces made of rough-hewn rock and mortar, bearskin rugs, leather furniture, a poker table, and taxidermied animals at every turn. Looking back on it now, being a married homeowner myself, I can’t imagine what husband would have a wife accommodating enough to let him deck out a place with such testosterone. My grandfather, though, was a man’s man (for as much as I got to know him in my youth). A scholar, a hunter, a drinker, and an avid outdoorsman. He had that place appointed just how you’d imagine. Anyway, all this and more went through my head before I’d even stepped out of the car, just looking at their place.

Their place.

Fashioned of logs thicker and lighter in color than those that comprised my grandparent’s place, it was similar enough from the outside to evoke memories. Stepping inside, however, sealed the deal. Three mounted antelopes, what looked to be a bobcat, two birds in still flight hanging from strings, and in the corner a massive detailed installation featuring two brown bears locked in a frozen fight over a deer carcass. The rugs, the furniture, the old-fashioned knick-knacks attached to the walls (they had farm tools, my grandfather had gold pans) – it was like stepping into a facsimile of their place. No, it wasn’t a perfect match; this place had more of a woman’s touch evident in the decor while my grandparents’ place, at least in my memory, was all man.

The inhabitants hearkened too… our friends, her dad, he reminded me of my own grandfather in some way. A man’s man for sure; felled every piece of game that now decorates his homestead. Maybe not anywhere near as outspoken or hedonistic (on some counts, I suppose) as my grandfather, and certainly more God-fearing than he – yet still there were certain similarities. The thing that cinched it, though, for me… was this past Sunday morning at church. One full week after we’d been over for Easter dinner and this man walks up to me in church, shakes my hand firmly, and says, “David; I have to apologize to you for that dry chicken I served last week. I left it on the grill too long.” I chuckled, a real laugh, and replied, “Aww don’t worry about it. I stuck to the drumsticks and they were actually fine.” “Yeah, well,” he went on, “I’m awful sorry it was so dry. I apologize.”

Only a real man’s man takes his barbecuing so seriously that he’d seek another man out in church a week later and make it a point to offer a heartfelt and truly ashamed-sounding apology for the dry chicken.

Goodnight.

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was the week

Man what a weekend. If the minor west-to-east jetlag wasn’t enough, I think we both experienced enough emotional drainage to fill the void.

Mimi’s service was on Saturday, but staying at the house we were busy from the moment we arrived. I was a pallbearer; a first for me but a meaningful one – a fitting final service to a woman I truly loved. The funeral itself was good, leastways as far as funerals go, and although sad at points was overall a triumphant sendoff. I like to think Mimi was watching and approved.

Sharaun got up and spoke. She recounted a story of Mimi taking a then young Tyler (Sharaun’s brother, the baby of the family) fishing on the jetty. Tyler was too squeamish to bait the hooks himself and so Mimi was a trooper and stuck the worms and crickets for him all day. As they were leaving, Tyler looked up at her and said gratefully, “Mimi, you’re the best hooker.” And all God’s children give a heart belly laugh. Good job Sharaun.

Back at the house there were wheelbarrows of food. Some women from the church came during the service and setup a spread. The family came back from the cemetary and reminisced, read the will, and over-induldged. It was nice in that there was no abrupt “end” to the thing, rather a nice drawn-out day not unlike a lazy Thanksgivig or Christmas with family.

And out of nowhere some friends offered to “lighten our spirits” by offering us free admission to Disney World today. So, although I have work to do and feel a tinge of guilt doing so, we’re on the road as I write this to get an early start on a long day of fun. We’re surprising Keaton with it. She’s a lucky girl because we also have free tickets for our planned August visit. A bonus trip.

And that friends, was the week. I’m still having a hard time writing consistently but I’m trying to shake the slump.

See ya.

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birthday from scratch

Sunday night and I’ve got the place all to myself so the music is loud and I’m on the couch in my boxers.

After four days with just Keaton and I, I dropped her off at a friend’s place this evening for a slumber-party and all-day hang-out tomorrow.  I’ve got an all-day meeting at work with an after-work dinner get-together in the evening.  Not only are our friends watching Keaton all day (and Sunday night) but they’re picking Sharaun up at the airport too.  Sure nice of them.  And me, I’m feeling lonely.  I miss my little girl.

Spending a few all-day days with her was quite an experience, and gave me a good bit off appreciation for just how tiring it can be and how little time there is to “get things done” in between (without feeling guilty for completely ignoring her whilst doing so).  I’ve done the Mr. Mom thing before and I’ve always liked it, but each time I do I feel a little worse for harping on Sharaun over days-undone laundry.  It’s OK though, I’m a male and I forget fast.  Soon again I’ll be calling my work “work” and her “work” “work” (italics/quotes for snide).

Since Saturday was Keaton’s fourth birthday and Sharaun wasn’t going to be able to be here I wanted to make sure she had a good day.  I asked her Friday what she wanted to do and she said she wanted to make a “princess cake” and maybe see her friends.  So Saturday after taking her to dance class I told her we were going to stop by the store to pick up the things we’d need for our cake.  “No dad,” she said, “I don’t want to go to the store.  Let’s make the cake with stuff at home.”  Not sure we had enough “stuff” at home to make a cake (having never made a cake from “scratch” before), I decided to risk it.

Once home I did some internetting and found decent-looking recipes for both yellow cake (not the kind Iran is making) and butter cream frosting.  I did a quick ingredient tally and found we were setup right to make it happen, and then we dug in.  Previously on Friday I’d asked her what kind of “princess cake” she’d want and she mentioned a castle and some jewels and the color pink (go figure) and that she really wanted to somehow integrate her Polly Pocket Ariel doll.  I had the idea to make a tiered round “princess dress” cake and shove the little plastic doll into the top (the whole thing becoming her dress).  Instead of making one large sheet cake I did two rounds and a single cupcake.

In the end everything tasted fantastic and the only real “failure” was that I got gunshy on the sheer amount of powdered sugar that was supposed to go into the frosting (it seemed so sweet already).  It ended up too runny and more like icing, but it was still pink and yummy so I don’t think Keaton cared (plus she got to smear it on so she loved that).  We shared some pieces Saturday and Sunday and are trying to save a little for Sharaun, dried-out as it may be, for when she gets back tonight.  Anyway, check out the fun in the pictoral recap below:

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I have to stop this habit of only taking photos with my cellphone anymore.  The quality is so obviously crap but it’s just so convenient when it’s always in your pocket.  Maybe the next iPhone will ugrade the optics and resolution enough that they’ll be more passable.  Not sure I’ll ever get “good” pictures out of a cellphone, though.

Anyway, we had a lot of fun making cake, coloring, working on puzzles, dancing, watching Scooby Doo, cooking & eating spaghetti, and doing all manner of other adult-tiring things.  Kudos to my wife for doing that every day.  It’s fun, but it’s not all fun and it’s a lot of work.

Goodnight.

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chill and bright

10:30pm and I decided to put on Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks.

There was a semester in college, sometime around my third year or so, where this record was everything to me.  I can remember listening to “Madame George” over and over again.  The parts of the song that sounded like nonsense, wordplay, syllabic musical accompaniment… were the parts that most amazed me.  Never have I read a review that so closely captured my own personal emotional response to a record more than did than Lester Bangs’ famous essay on Astral Weeks.  Read it; before or after you read this – either will work.  But read it.

There were days in Gainesville in the kind of winter Florida gets where it was actually quite cool.  Even then it was usually sunny.   It’s that combination of chill and bright that seems stuck in my head listening to this song.  The little fluttery string bits about a third in, wowing and hesitating underneath.  If you’ve never heard this 1968 album, you owe it to yourself to buy it.  When you do, try and get some time to really listen.  Try headphones.  Try somewhere removed if you can.  If not I suspect it’ll adapt to your surroundings anyway.  Why, though, am I writing about Astral Weeks?

Tonight the choice seemed inspired.

Sharaun arrived in Florida after midnight east coast time.  I’m so glad she finally decided to go.  The first thing she said to me from there was a tired, teary admission, “Not being here has given me a false sense security.”  It will be a tough next couple of days being apart from her and hearing her upset.  I tried not to cry when she told me how real things have become to her since getting there.  It’s not that I want to seem unflappable or strong or brave; I think it’s more some fool man notion around conveying a sense of calm.  There will be a time when I’ll go wailing right along with her, I’m sure of that as sure as I love her grandmother as my own.  Tonight wasn’t that time though.

Astral Weeks is not a sad album.  It’s all shimmery and freckled with emotion almost giddy.  But over all it’s contemplative.  Tonight is all about contemplating.

Part of me wishes we would’ve all gone.  Not being there it truly is easy to misunderstand the gravity or reality of things.  Nothing substitutes for experience.  Sharaun said she wished we were there with her; said she thinks it’d make things easier.  Maybe so.  On the other hand I feel like her having time alone with her family is important.  It’s not an easy thing, “planning” in this regard.  Everything seems inconsequential by comparison and any rationalization feels callous or self-serving.  Start thinking maybe you shirked the one responsibility that’s clearly definitive of humankind.  Nasty thoughts, gauging what you stayed back for; not thoughts that make a body feel real good.

Tonight the end of this record feels like sad prophecy.

Goodnight.

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i’ll cook the pancakes

Been a busy week blog.

Up in Oregon for the first couple days and then opted to stay home Wednesday to deal with all manner of decision-making prior to returning to work.  It’s ’round about 10pm on that same “work from home” Wednesday now and I’m just sitting down to write.  Sharaun’s watching bobsled on the Olympics.  I don’t get bobsled.  Feels to me like I’m watching someone ride a roller coaster.  What’s the skill?  The internet says it’s braking and steering.  OK fine, but cross-country skiing it ain’t (and hey, even cross-country skiing is a boring “sport” to watch, in my opinion).

Sharaun leaves tomorrow for Florida.  She’s going to be with her family and visit Mimi.  Mimi’s still in the hospital; still in ICU.  It’s frustrating to not entirely know what’s wrong with her, and to have things seemingly vary so much from day to day.  Being so far away from it all only compounds that frustration.  I’ve been urging Sharaun to go for a couple days, but I don’t think she was “ready” until just today.  Ideally I’d love for Keaton and I to be able to too, but it seemed important to me that at least she go now.  I know it will be a stressful and maybe emotional trip for her but I also think it’ll be worth it.   And, God willing, when Mimi makes it through she’ll perhaps thank Sharaun for coming.  Anyway she leaves in the afternoon, and Keaton and I will be on our own.

Keaton turns four this weekend.  I think that was another big factor in Sharaun not wanting to go.  I know it pains her to not be here for the actual day.  She’s informed folks that any sanctioned party will be delayed, but not being able to wake up and cook her some birthday pancakes for breakfast is tough for her.  So I’ve promised I’ll give her a fun day.  I’m trying to think of something creative for us to do… something that’ll make good memories and that’ll (being honest here) earn me some more of that “you’re such a great dad” praise I so love from Sharaun.  I’ve promised her I’ll cook the pancakes, I’ll bake a cake, I’ll get her a card.  Even still, I know she’ll miss being here.  I would too.

Goodnight.

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everyone calls her mimi

It’s like and infirmary around here.

Sharaun’s sick, Keaton’s sick, and I’m left wondering if I’m overtired because I didn’t sleep well or if I might be fending off whatever’s taking them down.  Monday morning I’ll be off for an overnighter up north, joining the other sawmill managers for a big manager-moot where we’ll presumably be motivated.

I couldn’t make it to last year’s manager-moot because I was sick, and I might just be sick at this year’s.  Maybe I’m allergic to self-congratulation and mutual-masturbation.  I suppose I’ve made the wrong career choice, if so.  Although I’m envisioning a resume bullet-point on “strives under adversity” or somesuch.  What?  Let’s go.

Sharaun’s grandmother had a fall about a week and a half ago, and she’s been in the hospital since.

I love this woman.  I lost my paternal grandmother when I was very young, and had moved across the country and been removed  from my mom’s mom for years when she passed.  As such I didn’t really get to experience a “grandmotherly” relationship in my more “mature” years (when you learn to appreciate those things).  Sharaun has always had an amazing relationship with her mom’s mother, her name is Anne but everyone calls her Mimi.  And having been with Sharaun in one way or another for something like sixteen years now I’ve come to be close with her myself.  In fact, Mimi has become like the grandmother the adult-me never had.

Mimi is penultimate southern widow.  Loves God, is practical, wise, still in plainly and admirably in love with her gone-too-soon husband, has a great sense of humor, and dotes over all her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  Marrying into the family I’ve been adopted into that first class of the doted-upon.  Spending some time with Mimi is always one of the highlights of our too-infrequent trips home to Florida.  I have some great memories of mornings after spending the night at Mimi’s, sitting downstairs drinking coffee and eating danish while working the crossword puzzle together with her.

After the fall, things were not good.  Mimi’s liver was bleeding badly and she underwent a series of emergency surgeries to staunch the flow.  For more than a few nights Sharaun and I both slept lightly, worrying we’d hear the phone ring at a foreboding hour.  After the surgery ultimately proved successful, things appeared to be looking up but she experienced another setback when she was unresponsive after coming off anesthesia.  For another couple of long days we waited for news of anything, but nothing happened to report.  It was a stressful time for Sharaun, and I tried to be as sensitive as a I could.

Yesterday, though, Mimi finally showed signs of waking.  Then, around 5pm our time Sharaun’s mom called in tears to say she’d opened her eyes more than once. It may sound small but for us it was a huge relief.  I’ve never been more happy to hear about someone doing something so simple as opening their eyes.  A ways to go yet yes, but hearing that took some of the weight off my mind and warmed things up in my chest.  And we pray.

Goodnight.

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head for the hills

Like the old days.How can this weekend be over already?  I need another couple days please…

Sometime on Friday Sharaun mentioned that she’d like to “get away” as a family over the long weekend.  Since we’d already made Saturday night St. Valentine’s Day plans (and were going to be kidless for the night thanks to friends), we decided, rather hastily, to steal away Sunday morning after church.  We’d head up to the mountains and stay in a little lodge overnight and spend Monday playing in the snow with Keaton.  There’s a mountain lodge up there that we used to go to back in the early days of our life together in California.

It was back in those early days… man, it really seems so long ago – before the house, before Keaton, before so much… that we found ourselves just the two of us for our first Thanksgiving and unsure what to do.  It seemed silly to cook a whole huge dinner just for the two of us, but both of us have such fond memories of family linked to the holiday that it also seemed silly just to do nothing.  In the end we settled on starting a “new” tradition by trying to find a nice place we could go spend a couple nights and get a nice home-cooked meal.  That’s how we found this place up in the mountains.  An former Pony Express stop hard on the side of the road up the mountain towards Tahoe, they offered rustic rooms and a package Thanksgiving meal deal.  We tried it that first year and fell in love with the place.  We did go for a few years running, but after that we had family visiting or were out of town ourselves.  Since then we’ve taken my folks there for a night I think, but we haven’t been much recently.

Sunday after church we got the snow gear together, threw some lunch stuff in a cooler, and packed a spare set of clothes.  We spent the weekend playing games in the room together, drinking hot chocolate, and enjoying some fine food at some of our favorite places in Tahoe.  Sharaun took some pictures of Keaton and I in the snow, and because I hardly post anything anymore in the way of images (and need to get in the habit for when baby #2 comes in July), here are some of them:

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Yeah man I had a great time with them.  Was a fantastic weekend.

Goodnight.