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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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fear me, air-breathing planetwalkers

Today I wore a new shirt (well, new for me, I actually got it for Christmas last year from Sharaun’s family in Florida). It has “pronounced” collars. So pronounced, in fact, that my shadow in the parking lot while walking to my car for lunch made me laugh.

To me, it looked like the kind of ornate future-space uniform an intergalactic planetary overlord might wear.

Fear me, air-breathing planetwalkers; fear me.

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bring on the boo-boos

Wednesday, and the remainder of this week can’t go fast enough. I’m just ready to get to the weekend, work’s just not doing it for me lately. Luckily, a week from today we fly to Oregon to stay for a while with Grammy and Grampa. While there, I’ll go into the local sawmill so I’m not AWOL.  Should be a good long-weekend and at least give me something of a “break” from the regular here-and-now grind.

Let’s go ahead and do this blog thing then, not much in the way of continuity though, I’m afraid.

While I was out in the yard the other evening putting in some new plants, I stopped by the recently-planted garden to see if anything had began to push through the dirt. Sure enough, a couple of the cucumbers and most all of the beans have already sprouted and are making a charge for their share of sunlight. I was happy to see it, as I’d used year-old seeds I had leftover from last Spring’s sowing and wasn’t sure they’d be good to go, especially since I hadn’t taken any particular care in storing them. Hopefully the quick sprout is a good sign, and the garden will come in full and healthy again this year.

Sharaun called me at work today to tell me a funny story. I guess Keaton took a spill today walking out to the car, and skinned up her knees to the point of bloodying them both a bit. Sharaun wiped them off enough to put her in the carseat and clean her up a little better when they got home, but halfway there more blood had appeared. Keaton looked down at her bloody knees and said, “Hey look I have some jelly on there Mommy!” I don’t think she’s ever really drawn blood before, so why not think it’s jelly?  Suppose we should get used to bloody knees and scrapes and scratches, huh? The real fun of childhood begins.

May sound silly, but I say bring on the boo-boos.  I’m ready to nurse more skinned knees from climbing trees and removing training wheels and playing soccer and gymnastics – or whatever kinda things girls skin knees doing.  I’m ready to swoop in for a reassuring rescue, so let’s do it.

Goodnight.

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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.

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a grumbly harrumph

A grumbly harrumph to you, early morning Tuesday friends. Hope your coffee is strong and hot, and you got at least six hours of peaceful sleep last night. Me, I don’t know, because I write this business the night before. Go back and read a few, maybe check out the random posts over there in the sidebar – yeah, right over there – that’s right You’ll pick up on the timing pretty quick.

‘Round about 6:30pm on Monday and I’ve got the bluetooth hanging from my ear as I sit in one of those late-day Taiwan meetings. I’m listening, to an extent, but I’m also monitoring the baked ziti Sharaun left me for dinner before going up to run the teen-moms thing she does. She told me what temperature it’s supposed to bake at, and for how long, through rolled-down windows as I was pulling in the driveway and she was pulling out (at the same time, I could see Keaton mouthing “I love you daddy” through the glass as she blew me kisses). But, by the time I got in the house I’d forgotten both. I chose 375° for about thirty minutes – seems to be working OK so far (just need to make sure I get that crispiness on top, you know). On my own again for the evening, I suppose.

Before my 6pm call I pulled on some crappy shorts, dirty flip-flops, and no shirt to go plant some plants in the backyard. It’s hot outside here lately, and I wore nothing on my head so the sweat dripped down my face and burned in my eyes. I enjoyed it. And now, jumping around in time even more – that hot air is filling the house I opened up after my meeting ended, and I’m listening to this new album that’s supposed to be rad. I haven’t made up my mind.

This morning at work I decided to get some breakfast. I don’t usually eat breakfast at all, but occasionally I’ll go down to the café for my coffee and be tempted by the breakfast burritos or serve-yourself tater-tots and cheese-eggs. Got a small bowl of the latter this morning, spooned some salsa on top, and it made a great start to my day. Funny how little things can improve the outlook of a day, huh?

I’ve been going a bit crazy with Summertime “to-do” items lately. First up, the landscaping work I did on the sideyard out front, something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. Next on my list is redoing this little walled-planter/garden area we have along the sidewalk from our garage to our front door – it’s been in disuse now for too long, and looks a mess. I plan cunningly make use of the leftover pavers I had when I did the backyard porch so many years ago to create a nice little area for a swing or bench or something, and possibly even incorporate a little pond installation.

And, speaking of pavers, I guess it’s about time I finally clean and seal the porch in the backyard – and spent some time last week getting smart on the procedure and necessary materials. Finally, re-planting the retaining wall slope out back (filling in with more groundcover) and planting a tree in the corner out front. Realistically it’s a long list of work, but I’d like to make as much progress as possible over the next month – as we have a procession of family and friends coming to stay beginning then. Gotta keep up appearances, you know. Now, if only I can get Sharaun to care about the inside of the place… sigh…

Let’s switchum gears, as the old Indian used to say.

The other night, I booked a rather impulsive trip to Florida for Sharaun, Keaton, and I. We’d both been sort of bummed that our only planned visit this year was over Thanksgiving, and I was acutely bummed that it would mean I’d not see my new nephew until he was nigh on nine months old. So, I set about looking for stupid-low prices on plane tickets, and managed to find a great deal at the beginning of June. What’s more, United was offering double miles as a promotion during that time – and before I knew it I’d clicked through to a purchase. I immediately sent a note to my old cronies asking them to reserve me an evening for reminiscing and catching-up in a smoke-filled pub of their choice. Really, though, we’re excited about getting back to the place I still refer to as “home.”

And, mmmm… before I go, I see my friends are more disciplined than I, and some have already posted images from our weekend camping outing not but two days gone now.  Check out some images of the fun here, and look for an update from me sometime in the coming days…

Holy crap guys I’m really sorry about this mess of paragraphs. I feel a little aimless this week, just writing about things to write. Hope you can put up with it.  Goodnight.