Category: lil’ chino

the coming spawn

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let’s get to vacating

10:22pm on vacation eve and I’m just now sitting down to write.

What? You already thought I left for vacation?

I know, you guys get confused with the times on this here blog. It’s easy: I write at nights, usually the night before I post. However, being cheeky, I adjust words like “today,” “yesterday,” and “tomorrow” for the time when you’ll actually be reading the post. So, even though it’s Monday night while I write this, I’d refer to Tuesday as “today” when I write. Unless, that is, I’m writing about something I’m doing in real-time, in which case I’ll usually say something explicit like “Monday night.” See, simple?

Anyway, I’m pretty much all done getting things together… I’m bed-packed (which means everything I intend to take with me is laid out neatly in stacks on the bed, waiting to go into a suitcase). Sharaun just got home from her MOPS thing (that’s the mother’s group thing she does I always talk about, she runs the one for the teen girls – what a humanitarian I married, eh?), and she’s yet to get packing. And, with an early 5am departure planned from here tomorrow, she better get going. Ahem, I also cleaned up the joint and did dishes while she was gone – I can’t stand coming home to a messy house, kills me. So, in a word I am: ready. Let’s do this, let’s get to vacating.

I haven’t mentioned it much here on the b-to-the-l-to-the-o-to-the-g, but some friends of ours are actually joining us in Florida this time around. That’s right, we’re bringing some California folk into the sticky South. For me, this is unique collision of circumstances, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a little excited about showing someone the place that holds such a special place in my heart. I want to take them drinking with my Florida friends, want to show them my old haunts, tell stories with immediate context as we drive down the road. I know, it’s not that special of place to go visit… maybe even looks broken-down and busted to high-falootin’ west-coasters… but I’m still excited.

Besides, the prospect of bringing your “now” friends to your “then” place is a concept I think I could get on board with. In fact, the close group of thugs we run with out here has even floated the idea of a rotating “hometown vacation series” thing a few times. Each of us in turn inviting the other friends to come visit our hometowns, staying in various family-held cabins and properties, experiencing the local color, and witnessing firsthand the loins which birthed those who are now seem so attached to us it’s hard to remember they led other lives before the clique. Personally I think it’s a great idea, I eat culture like Asians do rice, and a vacation series like that would serve it by the heaping plateful. Maybe one day…

Before I go, a funny story: Sharaun’s home with Keaton this week when Keaton alerts her that she has to pee. She takes her into the bathroom, as usual, and removes her pants and diaper, as usual. But, instead of sitting down on her little potty like she always does, she instead moves in front of it, standing up, and just stares down at it. “What are you doing?,” asks Sharaun. “I wanna make a peepee,” she answers. “But you have to sit down to make a peepee,” Sharaun notes. “I wanna make a peepee like a big girl, like Daddy does!” Ha, I liked that. Yeah, I know, maybe it’s a little “Chicken Soup for the Whatever,” but I liked it. Suck on it.

And, because I’m way behind on posting new pictures of Keaton, here’s a small set from Bill and Susie to keep you going. Heave a sigh of relief though, as I dumped the last unsorted batch to the laptop before leaving for Florida with intent of weeding through and posting a new set while there. Look for it, OK?

Goodnight, until the sunny soupy Florida air is in my lungs.

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until then, she’s mine

Hiiii internet. It’s me again. Back for another round of typing. You wanna hang out for a while? I think I may download some music and eat a bowl of cereal. Sit for a while and keep me company, OK? Yeah… you do what I say.

This past Friday we went to a wedding. I’ve written before about how I get at weddings, but, this time, I thought the story of my almost-tears was good enough to expand on a bit.

First off, the wedding itself was set square on the south shore of the incredible Lake Tahoe. The scenery made for quite a backdrop, the endless lake and snowcapped peaks towering all around was the vista from within the reception hall, where the entire back wall was glass.

So, the mood was already somewhat established by the whole man-in-nature vibe the venue itself gave off – this was an auspicious occasion, and, like any wedding, a celebration. The folks who were becoming one flesh that day are friends of ours, but we’re not terribly close or anything. For that reason I figured I would be fine in terms of my typical over-emotional response to the ceremony, not having a particularly strong emotional stake in the matter and all. And, as the reception speeches began I sat proudly dry-eyed, easily letting mushy anecdotes and proclamations of undying cosmic love and friendship bounce right off my tough skin. That is, until she took the mic…

The bride, that is. Her words were fine; heartfelt, kind, sincere. She moved from one person to the next, saying something nice about each. Soon, shifting the sights of her speech around the room from target to familial target, she eventually landed on her father. And then, dear friends, the thick dusty curtains hanging over my heart were rent to bits word by stabbing word. All of the sudden those TV-chimes sounded and I was the me of years from now, at my own daughter’s wedding, Keaton taking the form of the bride before me in the present time – speaking to me.

I can’t remember the entirety of her words, as all my powers of logical thought were lined up in defence of the hostile charge mounted by my emotions, but I do recall some particularly amazing (paraphrased, I’m sure) bits: “And, dad. You made me what I am today; taught me how to be a good person. I credit you with my spirit, the way I never give up. Thank you for making me into what I am.”

Oh, Lord… I can barely write about it without getting misty. To think that one day I’ll be sitting at the “family table” listening to Keaton say something (hopefully) similar, about broke me down. At one point I had to consciously break my attentions and focus instead on some boats scooting across the smooth surface of the lake on a sunset sail. I just couldn’t take it.

The brutality, the pure barbarity of having to, as a dad, “give away” your little girl. Biting back tears of sadness while at the same time damming the flood of tears from the pride and happiness filling you to bursting. You think I’m gonna let some guy take her away from me? Yeah… I guess I will… but not for a long time. Until then, she’s mine.

‘Night. Hold ’em tight.

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l-l-l-look at my hater-blockers

Today, at 4:47pm, the iPod chose to serve unto me the song “Take A Pebble” by Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. A classic from the prog vanguards’ debut LP, it instantly took me back to the first time I’d heard it so many years before. Almost as immediately, and with a great sense of urgency, I imagined how great it would sound driving down the road with the windows down and the sun on my arms.

Pause. Flick off left desk-light. Stand up. Windows Key, up-arrow, enter, down-arrow, down-arrow, down-arrow, enter. Flick off right desk-light. Take off headphones. Remove badge (link goes here). Place laptop in bag, nighty-night laptop. “Good to see you again, have a safe flight.” Handshake. Dang, missed by inches, seemed weak. “See ya tomorrow, boss.” Stairs. Stairs. Stairs.

Sunshine. Freedom. “Take a Pebble.”

Mmm… so, right. Welcome to the blog friends.

Tonight we made a quick run up to Wal Mart (a place I loathe being) to get Sharaun a new cellphone on the cheap (well, on the free, to be exact). See, she dropped her other one in the toilet, ruining it. Don’t act all surprised, you know my wife, right? The same wife who recently lost her keys again, and now has to borrow mine to get all new copies made. The same wife who just yesterday asked me if she ever gave me a $400 check to cash or not, not knowing if it was lost as well. And, yes, the same wife who left the garage door open all night the other day, her trunk open as well – her lone loose key, borrowed from me, still in the lock. I hate going to Wal Mart, but I will go there, because things are just so cheap.

I dunno, seeing the seeing the bewifebeatered and pregnant paw their way through the three-feet deep cheap DVD bin at 10pm is just kind of depressing.

Man, it’s like 11pm right now. Sorry I didn’t write much, but I gots to get me a bowl of Honey Bunches and work on getting Sharaun’s contacts transferred over to this new mobile (which, sadly, she’ll lose next week). For now though, check out this video she took with it:

Sorry if that looks messed up on IE, Firefox renders it OK. It’s past midnight and I just wanted to be done with it. I’ll come back and optimize tomorrow, perhaps.

Goodnight.

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done good with the snappies

A Tuesday night and Sharaun’s at volleyball.

I had a work-related dinner tonight, a congratulatory kind of thing for finishing up a recent project. I seriously considering bailing, not going at all, as I just wasn’t in the mood. Earlier in the day, however, I’d given my word that I’d be there, and, contrary to my typical modus-operandi, I felt compelled to keep that promise and show up. It was fine, after all, free wings and pizza and beer and I got to talk business. All-told not a bad evening, and it wrapped up early enough for me to get home and sing Keaton a couple songs before putting her down. Can’t ask for much more than that anyway, eh?

Tomorrow (as I write), or today (as you read), we leave for Oregon. I’ve been e-mailing Grammy to try and figure out what we might do while we’re up there (aside from the Mother’s Day dinner and family get-togehters already planned). Maybe a picnic-lunch day out, providing the Oregon weather supports us. I’m sure we’ll have a good time, and I’m going to use sales-tax-free Oregon to buy a suit for a wedding we’re going to next weekend. Getting out of town for a few days sounds good right about now, let’s do it.

Can I post something I wrote? OK.

Can you imagine the thrill as I followed you, as you led me? Do you realize I was in some dream? Off in my own head in a world that can never, will never, exist. Still though, I pranced on behind you, leaving bags of gold abandoned behind me to moulder to dust. I never did know your mind, never did find out if anything was behind those smiles and giggles, never dared. I just followed. Breathed deep the “air” of you passing by, inhaling your scent, your hair and your skin; on par with angels. I think it was an allowance, something permitted, deigned so by the Gods on high. Given to us, as long as we took care to step lightly – no hug too tight, no whisper too incendiary, eyes-into-eyes for no more than ten-count. We scared us a little, didn’t we? Better go scoop up that gold and put it in the bank.

OK enough of that. Sounds stupid. Should I delete it? Oops.

Before I go, I’d like to note that I posted a new batch of pictures to Keaton’s gallery tonight. There are a handful from our weekend camping trip a while back, and some general randomness from April (honestly, there are some awesome pictures in there… Sharaun done good with the snappies this month). PS – Thanks Megan for this entry’s post-accompanying image!

Goodnight peoples.

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learning… all the wrong things

Happy Tuesday morning folks, just one day closer to a change of venue for us as we’re headed up north to visit the grandparents (my folks) after work on Wednesday. I’m ready, if I haven’t mentioned that already. I love days when I can utilize my time to the fullest. Today, I came home for lunch and pre-edged the lawn for the mowing I knew I’d be doing after work. Not that it saves a whole heck a lot of time, but any little bit helps.

I’m gonna jump around a bunch today. Yeah, try to hold in your shock.

Today, Keaton demonstrated two new skills she’s picked up somewhere along the way. Both of them are pretty good, so I figured I’d write about them. First up, unlocking the front door. She’s been tall enough now for a while to reach the lock, but, until recently, she’s been a fairly cautious baby (I mean, she’s still on the cautious side, but she’s beginning to take a few more risks). Today, however, as I was out mowing the lawn, I made one pass, turned around, and there she was standing right in my line – smiling and waving silently thanks to the tunes in my noise-blocking earbuds. I looked around for Sharaun but she was nowhere to be found. So, I cut the mower, paused the iPod, and bent down to talk to her. Just then, Sharaun came from the front door shaking her head. “She can unlock it now,” she said. Awwww stank. Now she can come and go as she pleases, I suppose. For now, Sharaun actually put an ‘X’ of masking tape over the lock mechanism, and I assume will investigate a more sound, for-purchase, solution shortly.

Next, and this one is my personal favorite just for the ingenuity and craftiness it shows, her new “Mommy said yes” thing. Just today while I was home for lunch I caught her “swinging” from the gate we have to block off access to the kitchen (hanging like a monkey is a more accurate description). I told her, as I have before, “Keaton, we don’t swing on the gate.” To which she replied, “Mommy said it’s OK to swing, Daddy.” Confused, I asked Sharaun, “Did you tell her it’s OK to swing on the gate?” “No,” she replied, having not heard Keaton, “Why?” “She just said you did,” I replied. “Keaton did I tell you it was OK to swing on the gate?,” she asked. “No, it’s not OK,” replied Keaton. Busted; cold-busted. At the time, I wrote it off as a fluke, but then…

When Sharaun had to leave for a meeting and I was wrapping up my yardwork by putting away the edger, she brought Keaton out to the garage so I could watch her. While we were in the garage putting things away, she saw her new bike-trailer and said, “Can I go for a bike-ride Daddy?” “No, not right now baby, it’s getting late and Daddy has to take a shower.” “Oh,” she says, “Mommy says yeah.” Turning to look at her, I ask, “Mommy said it was OK for you to go on a bike-ride?” “Yeah, Mommy said it was OK.”

This kid, she’s already playing us. I love it. She must think she’s so slick. But, I’m onto her games. As a kid, I used to pride myself on techniques I used to “work” my folks (even though I’m realizing now they likely saw right through most of them), so she’s gonna have to work harder to pull one over on me! Sharaun, on the other hand, may be low-hanging fruit. We’ll see…

Well, folks, after much brain-wracking and flip-flopping on position, I think I’ve finally settled on a course of action, or, more accurately in this case, course of inaction, regarding the TV-upgrade situation. I’ve decided to put my purported minimalist ideals where my mouth is, so to speak, and delay indefinitely the purchase of a bigger, flatter, sexier and higher-definition television. Yup. I’m for real.

At the least I’ve decided that I won’t purchase a new TV at all until our old one gives up the ghost, and right now my intended course of action when that happens is to simply reevaluate the cost-efficiency of a newer model. Meaning, if there is no price-based reason not to chose a sweet, awesome, HDTV over another “regular” model – I’ll make the purchase. If we’re still talking thousands of dollars in premiums, I think I’ll continue to pass. (I could be wrong here though, those TVs are pretty flat and rectangular and sweet, after all.)

Yes, people will make fun of my small boxy television, I know this. But, for reasons I’ve laid out here on the blog recently, I honestly think this may be the best solution for our family right now. And, besides, it kinda makes me feel all snarky-good and “above” materialism (says the guy with two cars, five iPods, etc., etc.).

Before I go, wanted to do some link-sharing… check it out:

Similar to the fascination I’ve expressed several times here on this blog with the Edgewood Hospital website, I became enthralled this week when I discovered several websites and forums dedicated to the modern-day activity called “urbex,” or urban-exploration. Urban explorers are a group of folks who share a common love of exploration, armchair archeology, architecture and building design, and, often, photography – not to mention a healthy fear-fetish, it would seem.

Think about it, what guy can say he doesn’t get a little excited being somewhere he’s not supposed to be? I mean, looking at the back of the “Danger – No Admittance” sign from the “wrong end” is one of the central sources of entertainment for teenage males, why should we expect that to change as grow into respectable adults? We shouldn’t, and that’s why this whole “urbex” thing was so immediately attractive to me. I spent about an hour paging through this guy’s page, following his exploits into ghost towns, rundown factories, condemned mental facilities, and the like. I particularly like his trip into a forgotten Detroit police station, complete with mug shots, a stocked evidence room, and riot gear.

G’night people. Hope you’re as warm and comfy as I am.

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slumbered away the sweet-spot

Happy Monday folks.  Gonna be a busy three days, both at work and home, before we fly up to Oregon to hang out with Grammy and Grampa for Mother’s Day.

And me?  I’m still groggy from a doozy of a Sunday afternoon nap. Went into the city last night with Anthony to see Rogue Wave in concert, didn’t get back home until 3am. The late night, combined with the somewhat early rise for church made for serious case of the post-lunch sleepies. So, I deferred the tons of yardwork I had planned and settled down shirtless on the couch for a “short” nap soundtracked by XM’s “Deep Cuts” station. Three hours later, I awoke in one of those well-rested states of ultimate satisfaction. Yes, I slumbered away the sweet-spot of the day, but man was it some kinda rewarding in it’s own special way. So, setting the tone, I’m still here reveling a little bit in waking rested and happy.

Saturday this weekend I wanted to take Keaton out for a bike ride (or, bike tow, to be more precise).  We got on the road around 9:30am, after a breakfast of pancakes and eggs (I rarely ever eat breakfast, but sometimes Saturday affords me the time and/or motivation).  I packed her into the carrier with some juice and a baggie of Goldfish, and threw a blanket in the back just in case she got cold when we got going.  We were on a short timeline, since we were due at a two-year-old birthday party at a park across town by 11am.  I opted for a ride to the park, a quick romp on the playground, and a ride back.  It was a good time, and I’m hoping it helped at beginning to acclimate her for longer trips.  Even by the end of the short ride to the park, she was asking to get out and walk, so I still have some more breaking-in to do.  Was a good time though, peep the pictures:

And I’ll leave you at that.  Tomorrow I’m going to try to cram in a lawn mowing, prep for big-trash day on Tuesday, and a bunch of lunchtime errands – I’m giving 3:1 odds.

‘Night.

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i heard a scary noise

Tuesday night and I just put Keaton down. I immediately threw on the new Wolf Parade record, which leaked earlier today. Even though it’s a poor-quality rip, the first song is super promising. I’m excited about the rest of the album – and I’ll let ya know.

As I bring this glass of wine to my lips, my hands still smell faintly of manure. I used the time after work today to put some new plants in around the house (yes, more new plants) and had my hands in a bag of planting soil for an hour or so. Warm and damp and stinking of organic decay, just like good soil should. Planted some flowers out back and some in front. I know I’ve talked about the yardwork jag I’ve been on, but the Spring weather really does make me want to spend my free hours out under the sun doing something productive. Call it human nature or something, but I enjoy it.

I think I’m getting balder. No, I mean, I know I’ve been getting bald now for years – that much is obvious. What I mean to say is, I feel like, after a somewhat long period of stasis, my hair has once again commenced the slow retreat it began so many years ago. For a time there, I don’t think much was happening – the thinness of my crown seemed to be holding, or at least was advancing at a near immeasurably slow pace. Now, though, I can definitely see a difference – it’s getting sparser and sparser up there… and ever more I can see through the little sprigs up top as the light shines through from behind. I’ve written before about how I’m not one to obsess over balding, and that still holds true – but the thought of actually having zero hair up top is sort of unsettling…

I mean, when that little bit of hair is gone at the top, there’s just nothing… right? And then, I’m the bald guy. I’m the thirty-something management-type at the office job. The guy who drinks coffee in the morning and takes his kids on vacation and reads. Oh man, that’s me. The old guy. The old bald guy.

Still though, despite this train bearing down on me, it’s singular headlight slicing through the night with a bead on me – I don’t care enough to do anything about it. In fact, I’m ready. Bring it on baldness train, come take my hair by the freightcar, take it and leave me and don’t come back. See, I’m one of those guys who believes that, if God needs my hair back, He must have a good reason. In fact, who here can question His wisdom? Not I, surely not I. So, Lord, You gaveth and You’re takingeth away – and I, for one, am totally cool with that. Seriously. You do what You gotta do, I’ma keep on keepin’ on, hair or no hair.

Segue.

For a few weeks now, when we go to put Keaton down for bedtime she’ll ask all cautious and filled with trepidation, “I might hear a funny noise, Daddy?” “No,” I reply, “You won’t hear a funny noise.” To explain this ritualistic exchange, I want to take you back in time to about three weeks ago – when I entered Keaton’s room late one night because she had woken up and was crying. Upon hearing her cries, which my parental ears identified as “fear” and not frustration or pain or tiredness, I entered her darkened room:

Me: What’s wrong baby, why are you crying?

Keaton: It’s scary Daddy, hold me.

Me (scooping her up, still sobbing): What’s scary baby, did something scare you?

Keaton: Yeah. I heard a scary noise.

Me: You heard a scary noise? (I do this all the time, repeat what she just told me.)

Keaton: Yeah. I heard a scary noise. It was coming from my back.

Me: The scary noise was coming from your back? (See?)

Keaton: Yeah.

Me: What did the scary noise sound like?

Keaton: A fart.

And Keaton bounced and jiggled on my shoulder as I tried to laugh both violently and silently. In the end, I told her the noise wasn’t “scary,” that it was just “funny” and she shouldn’t be upset by it. She eventually calmed down and, apparently, took my noise-classification to heart. So, every night now, she asks if she might hear a “funny” noise, and I tell her no.

Scared of farts; this can’t be my child.

Mmmm… by the way, the Wolf Parade album just played through once and I have to say I’m impressed. I’m hoping that, with repeat listens, it’ll establish itself as one of 2008’s best. Time will tell.

A’fore I go, check out the picture Megan posted of Keaton from camping (seems everyone’s beating me to getting pictures online this time around). Goodnight.