Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Popcorn and stargazing
Dylan,
We had gone most of the week of our Tahoe vacation without taking an opportunity to check out the stars. After your shower tonight we headed down to the dock near our rented unit at the Northshore condos, a bag of fresh popcorn in hand for munching on. You were excited to do some stargazing and it was great for me to hear many of the things you learned about stars and planets at your week of NASA camp this summer.
When you and I reached the platform at the end of the dock we met a young local couple hanging out. In classic Dylan fashion you made friends with them right away. The young lady shared with you her iPhone app that helps identify constellations. You alternated between eating popcorn, finding stars, and discussing the finer points of such things as star temperatures/colors and the qualifying criteria for planet-hood. Mom eventually joined us and was admiring the visibility of the Milky Way when you excitedly sought my attention.
"Daddy, there's a bear" you said all of a sudden, pointing back towards the beach. Knowing you were just seeing the mysterious outline of a stack of beach chairs or some such thing from 150 feet or so away but wanting to assuage your genuine feeling of concern I took a look for myself. Not seeing any hint of scary wild animal I told you there was no bear. You insisted. "Where?" I asked, still scanning the beach. "There. It's on the dock!"
I shifted my focus from the beach to the dock and did indeed see a lumbering figure moving in our direction. It was now more easily discernible through the darkness thanks to the few small lights along the pier's edge.
The only thought I recall having was the presumption for some reason that it was probably not an especially large specimen. I moved from the platform to the main pier, stomping my foot several times and making large gestures with my arms as I advanced toward the animal. I felt menacing and I tried to convey it. With every stomp I imagined the vibrations were being felt all the way up the dock.
I could see this thing even better now and it seemed bigger than I had optimistically hoped but it had also stopped it's forward progress. I yelled at the bear and stomped again. I felt relief tinged with a sense of victory or maybe even conquest as our bear reversed course and walked back off the dock. The sight of it turning right and disappearing down the beach is the most distinct visual memory I retain. Seeing it in profile I realized it was a really big bear. Certainly a full-grown adult, and presumably a Black Bear.
We decided stargazing time was over. You were understandably reluctant to head back towards the dark beach and were becoming animated. I knelt down in front of you, put the side of my bent index finger under your chin and looked into your eyes to tell you: "It's just like what I said about bees: It's better to be aware of them than to be afraid of them". I had to pause mid-sentence slightly, or risk exposing fear in my own voice. As we made our way I fielded scared questions from you with over-confident lies about how frightened the bear had been and how far down the beach it had hurried. You hustled across the sand and up the stairs toward our cabin.
Once inside, we shared tales of the adventure with Marc, Lisa, and Yaya who were still up. It was a chance to reflect on an experience we will remember for a lifetime and to process some of the events. I realized that I had reacted the way I might have hoped to if I were pondering this scenario as an academic exercise, and that I had done so without engaging any decision-making process at all. I also recognized that bringing a fresh bag of popcorn to the distal end of a lake dock in Bear Country at night is inadvisable, to put it mildly.
It was past time for you to go to bed. I waited with you while you brushed your teeth, after which you told me "I don't think I want to come back to Tahoe anymore". I climbed up to the loft with you and after you crawled into bed sang you your choice of "Children of the Universe" by John Denver. You were still feeling anxious about bears. I did my best to drive home the fact that there was no way I would let a bear get to you. "What if it's a Grizzly Bear?" you asked. "Not even if it's two Grizzly Bears", I replied. "What about a thousand Grizzly Bears? I don't think you'd be able to attack a thousand of them. They could press down really hard on you".
I tried a different tack. "Do you know what is the most powerful force in the Universe? It's not a Grizzly Bear". This got your attention. "The most powerful force in the Universe is a parent's love for their child". The covers pulled up to your chin, you showed a little smile then asked "Did you just make that up?". I told you to ask any parent and they'll tell you the same.
I kissed you goodnight a few times and thanked you, both for spotting the bear and for your controlled behavior as we left the dock. You thanked me for scaring the bear, then asked several more questions about the possibility of bears getting in to our cabin. Concerned that you might have a hard time falling asleep I asked Mom to pay you a visit a while later. She climbed into the loft, kissed you and rubbed your head unnoticed as you were fast asleep.
We had gone most of the week of our Tahoe vacation without taking an opportunity to check out the stars. After your shower tonight we headed down to the dock near our rented unit at the Northshore condos, a bag of fresh popcorn in hand for munching on. You were excited to do some stargazing and it was great for me to hear many of the things you learned about stars and planets at your week of NASA camp this summer.
When you and I reached the platform at the end of the dock we met a young local couple hanging out. In classic Dylan fashion you made friends with them right away. The young lady shared with you her iPhone app that helps identify constellations. You alternated between eating popcorn, finding stars, and discussing the finer points of such things as star temperatures/colors and the qualifying criteria for planet-hood. Mom eventually joined us and was admiring the visibility of the Milky Way when you excitedly sought my attention.
"Daddy, there's a bear" you said all of a sudden, pointing back towards the beach. Knowing you were just seeing the mysterious outline of a stack of beach chairs or some such thing from 150 feet or so away but wanting to assuage your genuine feeling of concern I took a look for myself. Not seeing any hint of scary wild animal I told you there was no bear. You insisted. "Where?" I asked, still scanning the beach. "There. It's on the dock!"
I shifted my focus from the beach to the dock and did indeed see a lumbering figure moving in our direction. It was now more easily discernible through the darkness thanks to the few small lights along the pier's edge.
The only thought I recall having was the presumption for some reason that it was probably not an especially large specimen. I moved from the platform to the main pier, stomping my foot several times and making large gestures with my arms as I advanced toward the animal. I felt menacing and I tried to convey it. With every stomp I imagined the vibrations were being felt all the way up the dock.
I could see this thing even better now and it seemed bigger than I had optimistically hoped but it had also stopped it's forward progress. I yelled at the bear and stomped again. I felt relief tinged with a sense of victory or maybe even conquest as our bear reversed course and walked back off the dock. The sight of it turning right and disappearing down the beach is the most distinct visual memory I retain. Seeing it in profile I realized it was a really big bear. Certainly a full-grown adult, and presumably a Black Bear.
We decided stargazing time was over. You were understandably reluctant to head back towards the dark beach and were becoming animated. I knelt down in front of you, put the side of my bent index finger under your chin and looked into your eyes to tell you: "It's just like what I said about bees: It's better to be aware of them than to be afraid of them". I had to pause mid-sentence slightly, or risk exposing fear in my own voice. As we made our way I fielded scared questions from you with over-confident lies about how frightened the bear had been and how far down the beach it had hurried. You hustled across the sand and up the stairs toward our cabin.
Once inside, we shared tales of the adventure with Marc, Lisa, and Yaya who were still up. It was a chance to reflect on an experience we will remember for a lifetime and to process some of the events. I realized that I had reacted the way I might have hoped to if I were pondering this scenario as an academic exercise, and that I had done so without engaging any decision-making process at all. I also recognized that bringing a fresh bag of popcorn to the distal end of a lake dock in Bear Country at night is inadvisable, to put it mildly.
It was past time for you to go to bed. I waited with you while you brushed your teeth, after which you told me "I don't think I want to come back to Tahoe anymore". I climbed up to the loft with you and after you crawled into bed sang you your choice of "Children of the Universe" by John Denver. You were still feeling anxious about bears. I did my best to drive home the fact that there was no way I would let a bear get to you. "What if it's a Grizzly Bear?" you asked. "Not even if it's two Grizzly Bears", I replied. "What about a thousand Grizzly Bears? I don't think you'd be able to attack a thousand of them. They could press down really hard on you".
I tried a different tack. "Do you know what is the most powerful force in the Universe? It's not a Grizzly Bear". This got your attention. "The most powerful force in the Universe is a parent's love for their child". The covers pulled up to your chin, you showed a little smile then asked "Did you just make that up?". I told you to ask any parent and they'll tell you the same.
I kissed you goodnight a few times and thanked you, both for spotting the bear and for your controlled behavior as we left the dock. You thanked me for scaring the bear, then asked several more questions about the possibility of bears getting in to our cabin. Concerned that you might have a hard time falling asleep I asked Mom to pay you a visit a while later. She climbed into the loft, kissed you and rubbed your head unnoticed as you were fast asleep.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Lake Tahoe
Tomorrow we are going to lake tahoe in the summer we need to pack for the trip.
I am, excited.
Dylan
I am, excited.
Dylan
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Hearts
Ruby,
A year ago today a doctor said there was a hole in your heart and you would likely not survive. Mom delivered the news to me while I was in Orlando, Florida enjoying a work conference. The unconfirmed possibility that my Baby Girl might die and there was nothing I could do shook me at my core.
This afternoon my father was diagnosed with Progressive Supraneural Palsy, a form of Parkinson's disease. It will -- as it has apparently been doing for years -- continually lay him low, and lower toward total immobility, much as ALS did to his own father, although with increasing dementia adding to the burden.
Apathy. Moodiness. Depression. Weakness. Dizziness. Falling. The diagnosis makes sense of it all in a way and I now have something I can blame for this other than my father himself.
Last year we learned that your heart was good. Papa Russ has a good heart too, and I will always remember that.
Dad
A year ago today a doctor said there was a hole in your heart and you would likely not survive. Mom delivered the news to me while I was in Orlando, Florida enjoying a work conference. The unconfirmed possibility that my Baby Girl might die and there was nothing I could do shook me at my core.
This afternoon my father was diagnosed with Progressive Supraneural Palsy, a form of Parkinson's disease. It will -- as it has apparently been doing for years -- continually lay him low, and lower toward total immobility, much as ALS did to his own father, although with increasing dementia adding to the burden.
Apathy. Moodiness. Depression. Weakness. Dizziness. Falling. The diagnosis makes sense of it all in a way and I now have something I can blame for this other than my father himself.
Last year we learned that your heart was good. Papa Russ has a good heart too, and I will always remember that.
Dad
When Ruby learned to crawl
Now. Ruby knows how to crawl, how about that, and she's teething also.
Dylan
Dylan
Monday, August 08, 2011
Brother Dylan blogs
Ruby,
The other day Noah and Lisa came over to visit and Ruby and Noah played together and Noah was smart because when Ruby started to crawl to Noah he turned around and then Mommy and Lisa said "wise move".
We had pasta for dinner and Ruby and Noah both ate in similar high chairs and Ruby ate plum and blueberry.
Dylan
The other day Noah and Lisa came over to visit and Ruby and Noah played together and Noah was smart because when Ruby started to crawl to Noah he turned around and then Mommy and Lisa said "wise move".
We had pasta for dinner and Ruby and Noah both ate in similar high chairs and Ruby ate plum and blueberry.
Dylan
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
Explosion of milestones
Ruby,
It's been pretty amazing last few days. You started crawling on hands and knees all of a sudden. Days later Mom finds you standing up in your crib, then again standing up at the foot stool in the kitchen. You're pulling yourself up all over the place and even taking a few cautious steps.
You're still a smiley, happy, beautiful little girl. Eight months old with a new sense of freedom to travel around the house on your own. With a little guidance from Dylan you've even learned to climb the step up into the kitchen from the family room.
Love,
Dad
It's been pretty amazing last few days. You started crawling on hands and knees all of a sudden. Days later Mom finds you standing up in your crib, then again standing up at the foot stool in the kitchen. You're pulling yourself up all over the place and even taking a few cautious steps.
You're still a smiley, happy, beautiful little girl. Eight months old with a new sense of freedom to travel around the house on your own. With a little guidance from Dylan you've even learned to climb the step up into the kitchen from the family room.
Love,
Dad
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