it’s good being here now

moonJust you and me and the white moon in the sky above tonight.

Just you and me and this hammock and the kinda-wet grass that’s got my feet damp and chilly in the breeze of our sway.  Everyone else gone home and our family sleeping; we still got this moon and this black sky and this clean-smelling air and each other.

It’s good being here now.

It’s better that we fit tight; makes it feel like my tongues are meant for your grooves and your tenons were made for my mortises.  This string binds up our arms and legs and hangs us under the stars and the moon like trussed game.  Even though your hair tickles my nose and my whiskers poke at your cheek, they’re good tickles and pokes.

So I’ll just breathe and stare and you’ll just stare and breathe and that’ll be enough.  The cricket and frog olde-tyme chorus will cheer us in our cocoon, and even the little invisible bugs alighting on our arms and legs won’t be uninvited.

Collaborating together on nothing, and busy letting the Earth spin despite our collective indifference, I’ll be here for a while if you’ll be here for a while; OK?

But really, have you ever looked at the shape of your own hips?  They have this kind of ideal bend to them, some perfect curve maybe based on that one magic ratio they taught me about in math class.  You know, the number you can find in pinecones and sunflowers and nautilus shells – also maybe in the arc of your hips.

I’ma trace that line with my finger and pretend I’m the Lord God with a sketchpad.

So let’s just swing here for a few more minutes; the stress of today is nearly erased from my mind and that’s nice.  It’s really good being here now.

Goodnight.

ushered into the ether

Goodbye.Hi internet, we be back.

Vacation, aged 10 days, passed away peacefully on May 10, 2009.

Vacation began her life as a twinkle in the eye of her father, and entered this mortal realm without incident on the 3rd of May, 2009.  Though it may seem it, do not count her time here as short; Vacation outlived near all her kin and was blessed with longevity moreso than typical of her kind.  Throughout her time, Vacation brought untold joy to those graced by her presence.  She lifted hearts, freed minds, and strengthened bonds.  In short, Vacation was a Godsend, and it’s with gratitude and fond memories she’ll be ushered into the ether.

Vacation is survived by a group of intensely close friends:  David, Sharaun, Keaton, Ami, and Pop-Pop; all of whom vow to maintain close relationships with Vacation’s own extended family in the years to come.

Services will be held this Friday at 5pm at a local watering hole to be determined.  In lieu of flowers, please consider complimenting our tans; Vacation would have wanted it that way.

Mmmm…. Aruba still fresh on my mind; but we’re back at home now.

Feels good to be here, honestly.  The rows of Spanish tiled roofs lining our procession homeward from the airport were welcoming – and the sunshine and blue skies made California look really, really good.  I’m tired, we all three are; but our skin has a bit of color and our heads still swim remembering the fun times to boot.

Aruba was fantastic.  A getaway that, as it transpired day by day, seemed blissfully long and drawn out, but that, on the eve of our departure, seemed, in retrospect, not quite long enough by half.  (Look, I think that sentence is right, even though it’s comma-laden… and really, I think if you re-read it you’ll find it actually sounds pretty nice).

Most of our days went like this: Around 7:30am I’d head down to the pool area, still dripping sweat from my 6am workout (if it was a gym day; in the end about half of them were), and pick five chairs to “tag” for us that day (the resort used a chair-tag reservation system, which was actually really nice as compared to just doing the usual early-morning chair-hunt stakeout).  After that I”d head back to the room and have breakfast and coffee, watch a couple cartoons with Keaton, and do the general all-day-at-poolside readiness routine until around 9am.  At that point we’d all head downstairs and begin the day.

The “day” consisted of a lounge-chair centered rotation of aquatic-fun sorties.  You had the chair-to-lazy-river run; the chair-to-kiddie-pool run; the chair-to-waterslide run; and the the chair-to-beach run.  Each of these were enjoyed in turn, the frequency of each destination rotation decided solely at the discretion of Vacation Director Keaton.  With simple yet authoritative orders, she’d command her troops: “Dad, can we please go float?; Mom, I want to go down the waterslide please!; Ami, do you want to go look for seashells with me at the beach?; Pop-Pop, can you please take me to the kiddie-pool?”  Breaks were sparse and strictly need-driven: potty, snacks, lunch, sleep.

Every day; every hour.  The adults entertained Keaton in shifts (and, in truth, enjoyed themselves as well), one or two watersliding or seashelling or lazy-rivering, while the others lounged around reading books or dozing or enjoying a drink from the poolside bar.  It was a simple and easy routine, but one I looked forward to each morning as if it would hold something new every day (usually did if you count the “Name That Tune” contests, the iguana-feedings, the water-aerobics, the bead-making for Mother’s Day, etc., etc.).  Yup, simple and easy.

We got to do some other stuff too:

Sharaun and I got two adults-only “date nights,” which we used well.  First night we walked down the beach to a sushi joint and then hit a casino afterward.  At one point I was up $200 on an initial investment of $100, but later was right back down to zero.  Somehow, my brain counts that as only losing $100, when in mathematical-land be-spectacled nerds shout that it’s really a loss of $300.  Pish-tosh, says I.  Won-money that’s not realized winnings just plain don’t count, it’s all just trade for fun times.  Blackjack was the game, and Sharaun even took a seat with me for about half the hands – betting on her own and not doing bad at all.  Fun.

And, near the end of our trip we hired a taxi for about four hours and had the local driver (employed in his trade for near twenty years) take us on a private tour of the little island.  On the recommendation of some friendly folks we met floating along the lazy river one afternoon, we opted to go the cabbie route instead of doing the sardine-can bus tour.  Forty dollars an hour and cheaper at four hours than the bus tour would’ve been per-person.  Was good advice.

Not that we took the bus tour to compare, but we had a great time and a great guide in our born-and-raised Aruba-native driver.  In fact, he offered so much local color to the place we’d stayed for near a week already, we found ourselves wishing we’d done the tour earlier in our trip.  We gained a whole new respect for the island, it’s people, and culture – and spent the last day or so seeing things through a slightly improved lens (not that things ever looked bad, but lifting the viel of tourist ingornance helped a lot).

Anyway, was an absolute joy.  Glad we went, hope to do it again sometime real soon.  Until tomorrow, I’m all writing’d-out for today.  Goodnight.

scenes from aruba

Just some quick pictures of the week.  More to come (and a proper update covering Easter and the past few missing weeks in picture-town) once we return.

Here we go:

[nggallery id=25]

Catch ya later.

lotsa iguana

PoolsideAruba.

Each day so far has started early at the fitness center, which, actually, is really nice.  And, with my back worse than it ever was hairy – all broken out in a blooming acne-like rash where the hair once was (read here if that makes no sense) – it’s occurred to me that the folks who see me in the gym at six o’clock in the morning and then later shirtless in the pool might think I’m a hardcore juicer.  “Oh, there’s that steroid guy,” they’ll say… “I see him every morning in the gym and just look at that back acne.”

Sigh… waxing: for me, not a good idea.

So far the weather here in Aruba has been a bit overcast and cloudy, and we’ve got spotty Florida-like thunderstorms that come and go in a blink every day so far – although only lasting for a half hour at the most.  Honestly it hasn’t dampened my spirits at all.  Floating around the lazy river with Keaton has been a blast, and when the sun does peek out it feels wonderful on my jacked back.  Keaton wore herself out yesterday, and as soon as the early morning rain breaks today I’m sure she’ll be more than ready to do it again.

We took a taxi into town yesterday to stock the kitchen in our room for the week.  Spent a small fortune on groceries for our little room, but will still be cheaper than eating each meal out every day.  Plus, it’s convenient and kinda fun doing meals in the room – especially with Keaton. The father-in-law and I got a small styrofoam cooler and a case of 10oz Budweiser cans and we save some money before and after happy hour quaffing cheap supermarket beers instead of the poolside marked-up versions of the same.

And, since sitting around writing on the computer isn’t really part of my planned vacation routine, I’m gonna sign off now and holler at you guys later.  Hope work is treating you workers well.

See ya.

some such nonsense

Batch.Keaton and I are alone tonight.

Sharaun abandoned us for a New Kids on the Block concert somewhere down south (uh-huh, another one).  She carpooled with some other New Kids freaks she met on the internet.  Did you know they have a whole social-networking site just for New Kids fans?  They do.

Actually, speaking of the New Kids… I have to admit that I’m impressed with their marketing.

First, they know their former tween and teen fans are now in their thirties, and have recognized they have disposable cash they are only too happy to burn to steal away from their kids and families and relive those boyband crushes, if just for a night (or… an endless string of nights, perhaps).

Next, they’ve really taken advantage of modern “marketing 2.0.”  Seriously, I would not give these guys credit if it weren’t due.  However, they use the internet to it’s maximum, they use text and voice messaging to cellphones, they use social networking – all these things to whip a fanbase into an excited cash-burning frenzy.  And, it works… it totally works.

Eh, but they still piss me off.  At least they make Sharaun happy.  I got this text from her around 10:30pm: “I touched Joe’s hand!  It gets better and better.”  Sheesh.

Anyway, with Keaton and I on our own for the evening I decided I’d take her on a “date” to one of her favorite places for dinner.  There’s a Ruby Tuesday so close to our house you can hit it with rocks if you aim right (and don’t throw like a girl, as I do).  Around 6pm we walked down there together, holding hands as we crossed the two streets on the way.  I had a wonderful time, and judging by the macaroni and cheese in her blonde hair, she seemed to enjoy it too.  Almost makes $20 for a salad and small bowl of macaroni and cheese seem tolerable.  Almost.

Goodnight guys, I’m not waiting up for Sharaun… they are gonna hang out after the show in hopes of meeting up with the “band” and going for waffles, or some such nonsense.

Love and kisses.

– Postscript –

Sharaun walked in the door and fell into bed about thirty minutes before I left for the gym this morning.  I start my workout at 6am sharp.

like a wrung-out rag

Looking back at Grandpa's resting place.Back from Oklahoma and the early flight and past stressful days saw me sleep straight through some gorgeous windows-open sunny Northern Californian weather this afternoon.

Grandpa’s funeral was an experience; to be sure.

It really was something otherworldy.  Partly I think because of locale: the middle of America is much different from the west coast; and partly because of the fact that my folks, my brother, and a cousin were the only blood-family present.  That’s not to say Grandpa didn’t fill out the little mausoleum  where they held the services with friends and acquaintances, but the combined feelings of being among a different kind of America and being family yet likely the least close to the man we’d came to pay tribute to had me feeling a little bit like an explorer from another planet; misplaced.

On top of all of this there was tension, doubt, grief.  I returned home today and realized I felt like a wrung-out dishrag; like a spring that’s been coiled and is finally getting to relax.  I guess I didn’t realize it while we were all there, but there was a lot to keep my mind busy and a lot of physical hither-and-thither too.

Grandpa’s viewing was the first I’d ever been to.  In fact, this is the first funeral for a blood-relative I’ve ever attended.  I either lost my other grandparents when I was too young, or they had no services.  The viewing was held at a brown-brick funeral home in the central Oklahoma countryside.  A pretty building, all angles and lines, set amongst the scrub just off the road.  As we walked in a pale overweight man greeted us.  Experienced with grief, he was as sober as any man could have been – and I think welcomed us.

Mom and Dad had already been, but John and I had not. They led us around the corner into a room with several smaller rooms opening from multiple doors around the perimeter.  I walked past the first door and caught a quick glimpse of the gentleman in repose the room: A flag-draped coffin and a stark white face flashed by.  Each little side room had the deceased’s name on a plaque near the doorway.

We passed into my Grandfather’s room and there he was: Peaceful, eyes closed and hands clasped, he looked thinner than when I last saw him and he was clean-shaven.  His head cocked slightly to the side and the smallest hint of a smile on his thin lips.  His ears were just as big as I remembered them, and seeing his face brought instant recognition.  He was in a nice gray suit and tie, and his skin looked clean and tight, although not so tight as to look unnatural.   In my immediate reaction, a huge smile split my face.

Not a normal smile; I immediately recognized it as the same kind of sad-proud smile I’ve experienced with Keaton before.  It may sound silly to relate the two, but I remember when Santa broke Keaton’s little heart this past year in Florida, and I was so sad for her, yet so proud of her for trying to play it tough – that I can remember smiling this same sympathetic smile.  I was happy to see Grandpa, and I was sad to see Grandpa.  I was proud of Grandpa’s life, and I was sad to have it be over.  It was that kind of smile.

I walked close to the casket and looked at him for a bit, trying to remember some of the times we’d spent together.  I didn’t have much, but I could recall his voice the last time Sharaun and I went to visit him.  As the family began to leave, I stayed in the room an extra minute and said a little prayer of  my own; something to say goodbye.

The service itself was the next day.  Everyone crammed into a little mausoleum near the center of the cemetery.  The plaster on the walls was shedding and the place had the smell of age.  Grandpa’s coffin was arranged in the corner and a few rows of folding chairs sat facing it.  The minister had met Grandpa through a hospice ministry program he runs, and had come to visit with him over the past year or so.  He stood behind the casket.  One of Grandpa’s hospice nurses sat back there too, in her scrubs.

The service was simple and nice.  We sat in the front row.  The nurse had wanted to sing for Grandpa.  At a couple points during the service she sang hymns, acapella; she had a gorgeous voice.  The minister mentioned conversations he’d had with Grandpa about God and Heaven and salvation – all things I’d have loved to had an opportunity to talk to him about myself.  Too bad.  Age always imparts such keen views on things.  He read a few passages.  My brother got up to speak, he did a great job… just a short funny story about a roadtrip he’d taken with Grandpa.  The folks who took care of him spoke; heartfelt and short.

At the end they asked my brother and I if we could lend a hand lifting the coffin onto the hoist that would allow them to put Grandpa in the wall.  He’d share a slot with his wife, her ashes already in the casket alongside him.  As I lifted my Grandfather’s body over my shoulder and positioned him to be sealed in the wall behind a white marble marker, I could only think about how light the casket seemed.  Before we all left I said “goodbye” one last time.

And that, along with a few hours at the blackjack table on Indian land – to blow off some steam, was the extent of the long weekend.

It’s good to be back home.

goodbye grandpa

My Dad’s dad passed away early Wednesday morning; the last of my living grandparents.

I’m on my way to be with Mom, Dad, and my bro for the services.

I never was particularly close to my Grandpa.  He lived in a different state from our family for my entire life; counting the times I can remember spending with him requires just barely more than the fingers on both hands; and I haven’t seen him since Sharaun and I drove to CA from FL some nine years ago.

Still, I expect the trip to be an emotional one.

Goodbye Grandpa.

Goodnight.  Bye Grandpa.