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dusted

My heart won't melt it.

Good Tuesday to ya, folks.  Hope your week began well; mine was a busy blur of missed connections (wanted to get a haircut, couldn’t; wanted to put up the tree; couldn’t, etc.).  At least I got to the gym.  Now I’m going to write.

Sunday afternoon, a little later than I’d wanted to, I broke out my own ladder and a borrowed extension job from a buddy, and set to hanging the Christmas lights.  I hadn’t done it in a few years since we’re normally out of town, and being all exposed up there in the biting cold and wind reminded me why.  But they’re up now and they look mighty cheery.  The tree, unfortunately, has fallen victim to the busyness of our evenings and remains un-assembled and un-adorned (yes, we do the fake thing).  We’re thinking maybe tonight (which would be tomorrow night, as I write).  Things have just been too hectic for the both of us until then.

Let’s talk about a few other things, but let’s make a pact to keep it short, OK?  I want to finish my book tonight.

Last night the local weatherman promised the unthinkable: snow here in the foothills.  Where we live in particular, we haven’t seen snow in some thirty years.  Sure enough, this morning we woke to a light dusting that stuck around until the noon hour before melting away.  I woke Keaton around 7:30am before going to work to show her the snow through the windows; Sharaun took pictures and posted them to the Facebook (what she does); and it was all the talk around the water cooler at work.  Sometimes I think it would be nice to get a little snow around Christmas… you know like on the days when your refrigerator and pantry are stocked enough to keep you eating like royalty, the cable works and football is on, and you can read a book by the fire and not have to go anywhere.  Those days are fine for snow.  I guess if we lived a few more miles up the road…

Guess the season is here.  Goodnight.

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fumes

Ugh.

Friday Eve and we’re out of the house, relying on the charity of friends.

Why?  Because the hardwood floors went in today and the house reeks of fumes.  I mean, it’s pretty bad.  You can look on the Facebook if you want to see pictures of it; Sharaun is on top of the Facebook.  Me, I just write words.  So, words: The flooring looks good.

They’re about 80% done I’d guess, with some finishing work to do tomorrow but likely not a full day’s effort.  And, as much as we wanted to hang around and admire it, we’re limited to the bedroom and it’s just too stinky.  So we had Keaton call up Jeff & Kerry and invite the family over.  “Can we come to your house tonight,” she asked, “Ours is too stinky.”  Thankfully they didn’t have the heart to deny a three year old in distress.

Yesterday at work my laptop crashed.  The brand new SSD (solid-state harddrive) crashed and burned; two measly months old.  Yeah I was crippled at work today, but more importantly I had a rough go at blogging last night and tonight.  It’s funny how accustomed I’ve become to having a computer at arm’s reach.  The iPhone is something of a workable substitute, but it’s just a bit to small to be my full-time armchair connectivity.  Anyway, the IT folks say I’m supposed to get it back tomorrow, so I should have it for the weekend.  Good thing… because I have the DTs already.

This weekend has been designated our official Christmas-preparedness weekend.  Up goes the tree, the house lights, and all the other interior and exterior trimmings.  Keaton is more than excited about helping me do all of the above.  She’s promised to help me do everything from climbing the ladder onto the roof to topping the tree with our topper.  I’m actually excited about it too; I like when Keaton helps me do “guy stuff.”  Makes me feel all “dad” and whatnot like I’m showing her how to drive a stick or mow the lawn.

Teamwork; we got it.

Goodnight.

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a milkshake from another girl’s yard

Bump, stumble, ouch!

The night before we left Florida, I fell down the stairs.

Not a couple stairs; I full-on tumbled down half of a staircase.  It was at my in-law’s place.  The bro-in-law and I were moving an air mattress from an upstairs bedroom to the living room downstairs; moving it fully inflated.  To get it around the corner at the top of the stairs I had to pull it as it had become wedged.  I’m standing on the stairs, pulling it, and my brother-in-law is at the top pushing.

When the thing finally popped free and came unstuck, all my pulling turned into falling backwards.  I took one small hop as I could to try and get a foot down, think I grabbed onto the handrail for a fleeting moment, but ultimately couldn’t stop gravity from doing her job.  I smacked onto the tile at the base of stairs, luckily taking the brunt of the fall on my left thigh.  After moving my hand and fingers to check for breaks, I just sat there under the air mattress laughing.

Falling down the stairs is scary, y’all.

If you, like us here at sounds familiar, live in the United States, you’re also bombarded daily with the fear-mongering, rubbernecking, witch-hunting, and outright un-professionalism of the “modern” media.  And if you’ve tuned it all all over the past few days, you’ve been treated to the newsworthy nugget that is Tiger Woods’ recent automobile accident.  Now, I don’t care about this any more than I cared about “balloon boy” or any other not-really-news story the media hypes unnecessarily… but this bit is funny to me, follow.

Amidst all the tabloids, including the major twenty-four hour news outlets included, speculating about Mr. Woods’ alleged indiscretions, he himself released a statement today on his webpage that was ultimately a public apology to his family.  In it, he uses the word “transgressions” to describe whatever “personal failings” led to this event and subsequent media frenzy.  It was well written, and nondescript enough to protect his family’s privacy while giving some chum to the media sharks.

Funny thing is, if you looked at Google’s search trends page yesterday, you’d note that, right alongside hot queries like “tiger woods affair pictures” and “tiger woods voicemail,” you’d have seen this comedy gem: “transgression definition.”

Ha.  Americans.  We love sordid affairs; just call them something simpler for us, OK?  Instead of apologizing for “transgressions,” how about saying you’re sorry for being “down with OPP ,” “steppin’ out,” “triflin’,” or maybe “getting a milkshake from another girl’s yard.”  Those are things the MTV generation can understand OK Mr. Oxford?  Kthxbai.

Goodnight.

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keep my waistline in your prayers

Oh yeah?

Keep my waistline in your prayers, brethren.

In October we went to Mexico.  A month later I went to China.  A month later we went to Florida.  Each time a week away from home.  Each time, no going to the gym and no counting calories.  Now here we are in December and two months have passed without me keeping to my still-infantile (in the scope of time I’ve been alive versus time I’ve been doing it) “healthier living” regimen.  Two months may seem innocuous enough, but for me it’s been deadly.  I’m too close to halfway back to where I was when I started.  Guess it makes some small amount of sense, mathematically at least… six or so months of good behavior, three or so of not-so-good, and you erase half of what you achieved.

The new “thin” pants are bunching in strange places and the belts all of the sudden chafe.  My clothes are the first to complain.  “This cannot stand,” seams and buttons and zippers say in solidarity.  It’s then with head hung low and tail squarely betwixt legs that I once again make my face known at the local sweatatorium.  It must be done; this simply cannot be the undoing.  I’ll make my stand by being there every day this week, working hard again to get back on the wagon (off the wagon?).

I went there tonight, in fact.  I listened to the new Beach House record while doing my time on the machine.  My stars that album is fantastic.  When it actually comes out, in 2010, it’ll surely rank up there with the better ones.  Anyway, I went round and round listening to it; burning an hour’s worth of calories.  Tomorrow I’ll go again; early in the morning I think.  Doubling-down, fat; doubling-down.

Goodnight.

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unhurried & unharried

Not this time, Florida.

Finally.

A week of “vacation” in Florida where we haven’t been rushing from place to place to spend not-quite-enough time with friends and family gone unseen over the past year.  Oh sure, maybe you’d call that a bad thing, on the face of it… but I do hate to spend a “respite” from the sawmill all hurried and harried.

Not that I don’t enjoy seeing family, not that we haven’t, actually we’ve managed to spend time with most of the usual suspects just somehow in a less rushed, frantic way.  I guess what I mean is, the majority of my time off has been spent in this comfortable living room with my brothers and sisters-in-law, our children and their grandparents.  As compared to my ideal Thanksgiving, this doesn’t miss the mark by much, if any at that.

I’ve read hundreds of pages, played Yahtzee and Mexican Train (both family favorites and somewhat of a tradition on our trips home), danced around the living room to Motown with Keaton and her nephew Hobson, watched football and had beer with the men, and spent very little time online.  Keaton occupies her time primping in front of Ami’s (her nickname for Sharaun’s mom) dressing mirror, where drawers filled with jewelry and hair-baubles offer her hours of dress-up fun.  Each time she comes out to the living room to “reveal” her new look, and names herself modeled after a different Disney princess.  Her black eyes seem to be getting a little better, too, but she’s taken to calling the marks her “eyeshadow” and, I think, she’s actually starting to like them.

Even with the lazy slow-paced week, time seems to have passed much too fast and we’re faced with leaving after just another two nights in town.  Upon learning this, Keaton said, “But I don’t want to leave yet, dad.  Let’s leave in four days instead.  I love Ami too much; she makes me good food.  And I like playing with Hobson.  And my new bed; and getting to sleep in the same room as you and mommy.”

Owell, four days would be nice… but I don’t think the airline would honor our tickets, babe.

Until later then.  Have a good weekend and we’ll see you back in chilly California before too long.

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two black eyes

Bonk!

A week ago Tuesday, the week before we left for Florida, which is where we are now, I was on a phone meeting with an employee of mine around 5pm.  As we were wrapping up, with another ten minutes or so remaining in our conversation, Sharaun called my cellphone.  I didn’t answer.  About 50% of the time, when I’m working that is, I don’t.  Usually, she’ll just leave a message or send a quick text, assuming I’m occupied and can’t get to the phone.  This time, however, she rang my desk number immediately after.  When I didn’t a answer that, the cellphone again.  Curious, I politely put my call on hold and answered.

“Keaton hit her head really hard on the table and the size of the bump really has me worried,” she said.  “OK,” I replied, “Was she unconscious?  Did she get sick?  Is she acting funny?”  With a round of “Nope”s in reply, I told her I’d go ahead and get off the phone right away and come home just to check, but it sounded OK to me.

When I got home I was greeted with a seemingly normal daughter, all but for the humongous bruised and swollen lump over her left eye.  Sharaun was helping her ice it when I got there, and a friend who’d stopped by just minuted before I arrived had already given it his best dad’s inspection and “all’s well” report.  I took a look myself, poking it a bit and asking her how she felt (you know, the real scientific kind of diagnosis-stuff I learned in computer engineering school).  After talking to her and prodding her I myself was convinced she just had one heck of a bump (or “hematoma,” as Trapper John taught me). And folks… it was indeed a large  bump… as the picture above somewhat indicates (bad light plus iPhone doesn’t make for superlative photography).

Anyway, as the week wore on, and we got closer to coming back to Florida to see family and friends we’ve not seen in year, the blood in that bump drained down into little Keaton’s face.  First, the bridge of her nose appeared swollen; next, small black circles at the corner of her eyes.  By Saturday, however, when we flew across the country, she had two fully-developed shiners.  We got some looks in the airport, and one flight attendant even stooped to whisper, “I couldn’t help but notice your daughter’s eyes, are they just naturally dark like that?”  “No,” I replied, “She took a header into a table.”

Oh well… part of growing up I suppose.  I’ll spend the last few evenings before we leave GIMP’ing out the black eyes from all the Thanksgiving photos for family, no biggie.

Maybe later this week I’ll write a bit about being in Florida.  In brief though: It’s good to be back and the place feels the same.

Until later.