Sweet Miracles

 "Oh, sweet miracle, love's sweet miracle of life..."

—Rush, Sweet Miracle

One of my dear friends usually teases me when I post them. My regular posts about my beach workout on Natural Bridges State Beach I do throughout the year (sometimes my wife Amy joins me now). One that I've been doing for many years now. He teases me because it's seemingly the same picture of the remaining Natural Bridge. 

But it's really not the same picture each time. The geological changes may be imperceptible to us humans in the near team, but in the long term, these rock formations have been changing for decades. Hundreds of years. Thousands of years. Hundreds of thousands of years. Millions of years. Mercy me. 

Back in 2015, it didn't look much different than today.

But take a look at it in 1970. The bridge extended from what's left now to the main rock cliff. 

And now there's a new bridge forming to the left of the current one. 

These incremental changes can be nearly unnoticeable, until they're seen. When I'm on the Natural Bridges beach, I'm very mindful one moment, then daydreaming the next, working through things in my head as I listen to my music and do my workout. Not running anymore, just hiking across the sand and up and down the small hill to the upper parking lot and back down again. I'm very aware of how I'm feeling, physically and emotionally, and very aware of my surroundings. I may not see the continuous Natural Bridge erosion from sea and weather, and from humans too, except for the new bridge that's now forming, but I do see the sea and weather changes that impact the beach itself.

We usually don't put value judgements on geological erosion over time; it is what it is, and was. But for our own human erosion, we do. The life weathering we experience can be good, bad, or indifferent. It can beat us down or lift us up, constantly changing us physically and psychologically and spiritually. From our own childhood, to adolescence, to young adulthood, Amy and I survived and were transformed, and then we met one day at the beach. We were so much younger when we met, and now we're not. Our own kids were kids for years, and now they're not. Every day they inspire us to be better; we inspire each other to be better. 

And it's these little bits of breakthrough better that are the best, our BhivePower. These are the sweet miracles that transform us into what we become next, and there's nowhere on earth I'd rather be right now than right here. When you embrace what you live, it really can be as easy as 123123.

Blessings and Happy New Year. 

There's Nothing To It

"If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world?
There's nothing to it..."

–Pure Imagination, Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory

It was magical. I cried. I always cry when something moves me, whether in movies or writing or music or art. Always crying. 

"I cried a little," I said to my wife Amy when the new movie Wonka was over. 

"I know, Sweetie," Amy said, "You always do. Love you."

Yes, I do. It was magical, transporting me back to the first time I saw Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory with Gene Wilder and Jack Albertson back in the early 1970's. I almost didn't want to see the newest movie about Willie Wonka, but we went, and I'm glad.

Our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, didn't go with us, though. They wanted to see another matinee, The Boy and the Heron, which they really liked. Bryce loved it, too, and cried. They're totally like me that way. 

It was the day before Christmas Eve. While Amy and I finished Wonka, our kids went shopping for last-minute Mom and Dad gifts. It's weird to write that our kids, now teens, are more autonomous than ever. That they're doing their own things more and more, and yet, we still always come back together and do things together as a family. Every parent reminisces when their kids were little, keeping them in tow, hand in hand, never letting them out of our sight. 

Beatrice and Bryce will always be our babies no matter what, but those days of being little are over, and that's okay. We're so proud and grateful of the young adults they're becoming. Of their future fiercely independent selves we're starting to see. Of their unique and creative styles and sensibilities. Of their kind and loving hearts. Of their caring inclusiveness that this world so desperately needs. 

Want to change the world? There's nothing to it. Our kids remind us of that nearly every day. We're grateful that the magic of Christmas is aglow in our hearts throughout the year, not just the end of it. The magic of love and light abounds in BhivePower.

However you celebrate this holiday season, blessings to you all. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Snack Prescient

Through all the fiery evangelical rhetoric, there were snacks. My sister and I would sit impatiently on the pew next to my grandparents, our little tummies grumbling and looking forward to the post-church lunchtime at Bob's Big Boy, and then our grandmother would reach deep into her purse to pull out some candy. Usually mints, or sometimes Lifesavers (literally and figuratively), or other random candies, or gum, that probably had been in her purse for months. I realize that you don't eat gum, or are not supposed to, (and we were told if we did, it wouldn't digest for seven years, which wasn't true because you just pass it in your poop), but if that's all that Grandma had, we'd take it. Any of these snacks were a pleasant distraction from the endless hour spent in church each Sunday.

And then there was our mother, one who took "snacks on hand" to the next level. Case in point -- going to the movies. Mom had this magic bag, one that was seemingly bottomless that she'd fill with ziplocks full of popcorn, candy like M&Ms and Red Vines, and plastic bottles of soda and water. For like up to 10 people, including her grandchildren. In my experience, local theaters used to frown a lot more on patrons bringing in their own food and drink, because they wanted you to purchase their overpriced theater snacks, and my mom was super bold bringing in this overly stuffed bag of goodies. We'd roll our eyes and cringe, worried that we'd be ejected from the theater as soon as we purchased our movie tickets, but from what I remember, she usually pulled it off. And of course we were grateful to have all the yummies during the movie.

And then there's my wife Amy, mother to our children, Beatrice and Bryce, a snack visionary who I never really appreciated until recently. Raising children isn't easy, and Amy and I have done our best over the years. But Amy knew early on that kids get hungry and cranky, or "hangry", and so even tiny bags of oyster crackers saved from restaurants when we'd go out to eat clam chowder were lifesavers. Today, I always harp on my family now to never leave the house without your phone or your keys, but Amy argues to never leave the house without snacks or water. And just like my mother, Amy's bags over the years have also been seemingly bottomless, full of her own stuff like her wallet and phone and keys, snacks for the kids (and us), water for all of us, and lots and lots of love. 

And what about me? Well, I haven't been very good about having snacks at the ready over the years. There's been many times when I've picked our kids up from school or elsewhere and they've been hungry and/or thirsty, and I had brought none of those things with me. I'm sure there are dads that have done a much better job than me, dads who are prescient enough to cut off the hangries before they happen. 

Thankfully I've got Amy. We divide a conquer many things in our household, but hangry attacks are hers to preemptively strike with snacks. Plus, other than having hangry and moody teens in our house, we now have a new cat. A kitten to be exact named Winston that is Bryce's cat. And unlike our dog Jenny, who doesn't jump on our table, our kitchen counters, and other high shelves, Winston the cat does. Cats are wily adventurers that let nothing get in their way, even if that means knocking things off tables, counters, and shelves along the way. After researching cat behavior modification, spray bottles weren't recommended (although we use it strategically -- on the cat, not the kids), but positive reinforcement with clicks and treats were. So, Amy is now our resident B.F. Skinner protégé, carrying a little plastic container full of cat treats, positively reinforcing Winston to stay off where he doesn't belong. Also, by animal envy default, Jenny gets some of those treats, too. And I thought I spoiled Jenny too much. 

Snacks on hand can definitely help to curb negative behavior, and satiate the hangries, and that's why Amy follows in a long line of snack prescient Mamas and Nanas (and Daddies more prepared than me). And just in time for the holidays, where snacks abound. Amen. 

The Love And The Light

"So this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you had fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young..."

–Happy Xmas (War Is Over), John & Yoko/Plastic Ono Band with the Harlem Community Choir

At first it was comical -- all of us trying to figure out the bike riding to a local state park for a holiday faire. Our oldest daughter Beatrice wanted to ride my e-bike that I never ride, which was fine. But then when our youngest daughter Bryce got on the new bike we bought for her, one she'd already ridden to school, she lost her balance and fell over. She scratched her knee and was okay otherwise, but she broke the basket for the front of the bike, the one she puts her backpack in to and from school. Fortunately it still attaches to the handlebars. 

I was going to concede to ride Amy's old Schwinn, but even after raising the seat, I still felt like a circus bear riding a tricycle. Then Bryce wanted to ride Amy's newer Huffy, which was broken recently until we got fixed, so Bryce rode that one, I rode the new bike that was supposed to be for Bryce (with handlebars that needed tightening and brakes that needed adjusting), Amy rode the old Schwinn, and Bea rode my e-bike. All that took about 20 minutes to sort out. 

No matter how many times we've tried over the years, we've just never been a bike family. But, we have had some lovely bike rides together, and this time was no exception. It was a lovely December early afternoon riding along the bike path, with hazy cloud streaks muting the blue sky that met the sea. It was cool out, but not cold, and the bike ride to Wilder Ranch State Park was pleasant. The old-fashioned holiday faire was smaller than it usually was pre-covid, with still many families making candles, wreaths, ornaments, potpourri bags, and drinking cider and hot chocolate. 

Riding back home I was grateful we were able to do this as a family, that the worst thing we had to worry about was who was riding what bike. That's when I thought about families who have a lot more to worry about. Poverty, illness, war, violence, and death. 

My family doesn't have to worry about those things, at least, not directly like the families living them today. Indirectly, anything can happen at any time, but I don't dwell on that like I used to. I'm grateful for the now. For being able to live comfortably today without illness, war, violence, or God forbid, death. 

And speaking of God, when I was a child, I really wanted to believe that little baby Jesus would save the world, especially during Christmastime. That's when I was always the most hopeful about the world. But then I came to learn that it was always on us to save the world from the dark things. 

And save the world we still can. At least I want to believe that for me and my family. And yours, too. I'm a hopelessly sentimental and hopeful human. Even in the darkest moments of my past, or the world's, I've been that way, always believing that ultimately there is only love and light, that we can see it that way, and make it that way.

As we neared home on our bikes, I looked at the sea one more time before we lost sight of it, and all I saw was the love and the light. 

However you celebrate the holidays, blessings to you and yours. You may never be as hopelessly sentimental as me, but believe it or not, being hopeful and making a daily difference is easier than you think. 

"So this is Christmas, and what have you done?"

Stay Kid-Heart Strong

They're so little, until they're not. And while they'll always be our "kids", they most certainly aren't anymore. They're not quite adults yet, no, but mercy me, they're on their way.

Case in point -- privacy. Now that our girls are teens, they are clear about their privacy boundaries. This includes what I write and post about, and the family pictures I post on social media. I ask for their permission each time. Except for the times I haven't, and they've reiterated to me how unhappy that makes them. 

And I do want to ask for their permission. Both Mom and I really do. We want to respect their privacy, just like we want them to respect ours, to not discuss family things we don't want discussed. Now, the only exception to that rule for all of us is when something is a safety problem -- a social, emotional, or physical safety problem. If that happens, then we're responsible for addressing them and helping them. As one of the many Kidpower mantras states, "Problems should not have to be secrets." If that's the case, we take appropriate actions.

One day (soon) they might read good ol' Dad's blog posts, and no matter how much I don't reveal and/or generalize, I'm sure I'll get some "Dad, why did you write that?!?" I'll then ask for forgiveness and tell them I love them. I'll remind them I've been writing about our family since before Beatrice (the oldest) was born, to share with others the ups and downs of fatherhood, parenting, local community issues, and personal leadership. And maybe some of those others can relate, commiserate, and/or celebrate.

Our kids are also looking older than ever, and we can now see what their young adulthood presence may look like -- and the future looks bright for sure. Not only what they do look like and will look like physically, but also what their hearts look like now and in the future. Two loving and kind, strong and independent, teen girls on their way to adulting. 

Which was why I was bummed that I thought I was going to miss their excitement at the local holiday parade. I've been on our local school board for a year now and was just at my school board conference in San Francisco. Fortunately this time I got to come back early enough since we were closer to home and I made it to our downtown holiday parade. Last year I missed it because the conference was in San Diego. 

But unlike holiday parades and Christmastimes of old, this time both kids took off to hang out with friends, making me a little wistful for childhood past. So, Mom and I hung out and cheered on the local organizations and schools as they passed us by on the street. Such a heart-warming community event each and every year. I felt blessed to be there again. 

Blessed and bittersweet actually. From privacy to personal growth, our kids aren't really kids anymore. I mean, kind of, yes, but mostly no, even if they stay kid-heart strong like their Mom and me do. I think they will, too, considering how much Christmastime magic still bubbles up inside them, even if I can't always write about how they feel and why. Sigh.

Cat-tagious

Snooper was dead and I thought it was all my fault. Every day when I was around eight years old, I was supposed to go check on our pet rabbit that lived out in a hutch in our backyard. And every day Snooper would greet me enthusiastically because I'd bring him some vegetables. But then one day, Snooper laid on his side and flies buzzed around him. He didn't move. I knew something was terribly wrong.

My mom did her best to convince me that it wasn't my fault, that Snooper was an old rabbit and time for him to go, but I still thought I did something wrong. That feeling stuck with me for months until it finally faded.

I never forgot it, though, and decades later my family got a new rabbit after our Guinea pigs died. He was only a baby bunny with mostly white fur except around his eyes and on his back. Our girls named him Dragonlily because of the black fur on his back looked like a dragon with its wings spread. 

That was six years ago now. Since, Dragonlily went from living in our house in a big cage at night to an outside hutch. During the days, unless it was raining, we had an open pen area for him to roam around. We didn't really play with him like a dog or a cat, but he was still a beloved family pet. We ran a fun (and safe) science experiment with him (and one of our Guinea pigs) that failed, and I even wrote a fun story about them -- The Adventures of Sweetheart and Dragonlily: Part 1.

But recently one morning my wife Amy noticed that Dragonlily wasn't feeling good, which was rare, and only hours after his first visit to the vet that same day where they didn't really find anything but gave us antibiotics to give him, he was dead. This time I didn't think it was anything we did. He just got sick and died, quickly. 

We've had our share of pets die over the years, and it's always sad. From two cats and a dog before we had children, to the pets since kids -- fish, Guinea pigs, and now our sweet rabbit. Each time our kids grieved and we grieved as a family. The circle of life and death understood incrementally as our kids got older. 

Our dog Jenny that we had adopted right before the pandemic lockdown is now seven and healthy. We still call her our puppy even though she was already four when we adopted her. And if you were a fan of Modern Family like we were, Amy and girls tease me that Jenny is my Stella, Jay's French Bulldog dog from the sitcom, because she's the one I care about the most. Which isn't true. Mostly. 

But our youngest Bryce has wanted a cat more than anything for months now. And I have not. Amy didn't at first either, and neither did our oldest Beatrice, but Amy has since gotten on board and Beatrice has been on the fence. 

But for me at first? No way. Amy's cats were fine when we were first dating and living together, but over the years, the scratching up of things and stinky litter boxes were a lot. Also, growing up my sister would always bring stray cats home and the few we kept were a lot. One of those was a Persian we named Fluffy that we had to shave every six months because her hair would get so matted, which caused her to howl. And one of the cats we had that my sister didn't bring home was a cross-eyed Siamese who would be lovey one minute and then growl and hiss and pounce on my head the next. 

No way. No stinky, howly, scratchy, or pouncy cats. Ever again. In fact, the only cat thing I was willing to indulge in with Bryce were funny cat videos. Bryce worked on us (and me) for months, but I wasn't budging. However, just like we did when we adopted a dog, Amy had Bryce do research about cat care and costs and to put a budget together. Our family joke was that Dad wanted Bryce to write a series of essays about why we should adopt a cat and that Bryce should put together a business plan in order to convince me that she could adopt and care for a cat. 

And I did. Until a series of events began that changed the trajectory of my cat angst. For example, Amy and I had gone to an event that had a raffle and we were one of the winners. Out of all the prizes being given away, we won the cat bed and cat accessories prize. Ugh. I also found myself watching more funny cat videos without the kids. Good God. And then our pet rabbit died, leaving us one less pet to take care of.

So, it was meant to be that one day Mom and Bryce went out to the animal shelters and brought home sweet 15-week old Winston. Mercy me, he's cat-tagious. And he's staying in Bryce's room. Forever. 

Because what happens in the middle of the night with a cat and a Christmas tree? Maybe I need to put up some "Hang in there" cat posters around the house. Sigh.

Grateful For Being Human

 "...one day I feel I'm on top of the world
And the next it's falling in on me
I can get back on
I can get back on..."

–Rush, Far Cry

Sometimes I wish I was an algorithm. One that would quickly learn from its mistakes, adapt, and improve, all without monsoon emotional swings. Without attaching conspiratorial outcomes to change. Without second-guessing its decisions. Without feeling buried under the weight of circumstance. Without feeling momentarily hopeless because things break. 

But I'm not an artificially intelligent "it". I'm a sometimes intelligent human being whose synapses fire, and misfire, as regularly as the sun and moon rise. One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. 

Everybody can feel that way, I know. But when it's you in that moment, especially when it's falling in on you, you feel like you're the only one in the world, the one you were once on top of. This complicates things being a parent of older kids, teen daughters who are more self-aware than there were as kids. They struggle even more because their brains and bodies are developing rapidly and their synaptic firing is like a rollercoaster ride the dives from the upper atmosphere to the center of the earth, then back again. 

And when things are fairly smooth for us the parents, it's easier to help them with the relationship struggles. their study struggles, their body development struggles (especially being females), and all the other things we remember from our own teen worlds. 

When things aren't very smooth, we still have to figure out how to deal and adapt ourselves in order to help them. We're supposed to be the adults in the room, and when things are seemingly rapid-fire change and circumstance, it can be a momentarily overwhelming ordeal just dealing with the ordinary and things that break. 

Our daughter Bryce's bike broke (which was my wife Amy's), which is a bummer because she's the only one willing to ride her bike to school at least once per week, which helps us with the transportation. It was under warranty and we got most of the money back for it, but now have to find a new bike that will definitely be more expensive. 

We had new flooring put in last year that included our staircase. But the very top one started to break and my wife Amy slipped and fell straight down the second one breaking it. She was bruised and sore but thankfully okay otherwise. That's when I checked the other stairs and noticed a few more were loose. That overwhelmed me as a safety problem for our family, although I know we'll get it all fixed.

Even with my default "no" setting, Amy and I were going to attempt to fix our trailer hitch connection on our SUV, and while we got a better understanding of how things work and connect on our car, with discovered that the main brake lights didn't work. The upper third brake light still worked and all the other lights worked, but not the main brake lights. We had no idea how long they'd been out, and immediately we ruled out the fuses and then narrowed it down to the light bulbs and the brake lock switch. But since the latter was above our pay grade, I was banking on the fact it was the bulbs. It was. Thank goodness.

All of these things – our daughter's bike breaking, the stairs breaking under Amy's poor butt, our car's brake lights breaking – combined with the fact that the work year's been tough and now my business has merged with another company (ultimately a great thing) – and all my synaptic misfiring commenced. "One day I feel I'm on top of the world and the next it's falling in on me. I can get back on, I can get back on."

And I do get back on. In the end, I really don't wish I was an algorithm. I wouldn't trade my ability to feel emotions and experience all that life brings for being artificially intelligent in a million years. No, this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for being human – a fallible human who can feel buried under the weight of transitory circumstances. I'm grateful for a loving wife and partner, and two amazing daughters. I'm grateful for all my family and friends, my current employees and my new colleagues. I'm grateful for our health and our home. I'm grateful for my community, my state, my country, my world (no matter where it's burning). I'm even grateful that things break (sometimes). 

I'm also grateful for empathy, and this Thanksgiving, blessings to those living in war zones, in poverty, on the streets, with mental illness, with physical illness, with anything that compromises health and safety.

Turning No Into The Flow

I'm the "no" dad. Literally. My default setting is to say no when our kids ask for things (which in my defense, aren't always realistic or the best timing). It's no when my wife suggests we can fix something when I think we can't (without thinking about it). It's no when she suggests we can do a house project ourselves as well. 

I have mellowed somewhat on the "no's", but overall it's still my go-to answer. I am definitely the "no" dad.

"Dad, can you get me something at McDonald's?"

"No."

"Honey, we can fix the garbage disposal ourselves, you know."

"No, I don't know.

Actually, we did fix the garbage disposal ourselves and we have done a lot of house projects ourselves over the years. Most recently, we landscaped our backyard again for the third time since we bought the house 17 years ago (and for me, the last time -- it was back-breaking work).  

But I've always put up some resistance to those things that are out of my comfort zone. Which is ironic, because that's the way I've learned and grown over the years, doing things outside my comfort zone, personally and professionally. Saying no, then caving in to growth. 

My wife Amy, on the other hand, is the "yes" mom, and truly believes anything and everything is possible,  even when in the end, it's not. But just the belief that anything and everything is possible ultimately makes the impossible possible, even if it turns out another way, like someone else has to fix something, not us. 

I call that being in the "flow", something she's damn good at. We meditate together nearly everyday and that's been helpful to getting me more in the flow, it just takes me a lot more energy to overcome the no. 

And with our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, Amy is the super "yes" mom for sure, and they always go to her first. She's always willing to work it out for them when they want do go somewhere, any and every day, even when it's not convenient and frustrating for her. 

As I write this, it makes me feel like I'm the bad guy, or more accurately poetic, the bad dad. But that's not fair to me, because I am a good dad, and I do ultimately say yes a lot more these days, and Amy and I always coordinate the drop-offs and pick-ups of our kids wherever they are and need to go. I've been known to be spontaneous and take them for a treat after school without them asking. 

Plus, as I already mentioned, Amy and I do a lot of home projects together that do work out without having to outsource them because she truly believes anything and everything is possible (just more cursing and sweating from me). She is the yin to my yang; the airbrushed blue sky to my storm-cloud rainbows; and that's why I love her so much. 

But even Amy's yeses know that sometimes nos are necessary, a parenting imperative in fact, and we compromise on those more serious kid no's when they come up. So, while the all-purpose no may be my default setting, I am working on it. You've heard of turning a frown upside down? Well, I'm working on turning the non-serious no into the flow and letting it all go. Can I do it? Maybe (at least that's not a no). 

To Understand the Differences

It's not badge of honor, that's for damn sure. No child who becomes an adult looks back fondly on growing up with divisive divorce, or domestic violence, or sexual assault, or abuse, neglect, or violence of any kind. And yet, too many of us have had those traumatic experiences early in our lives (and later, too). And many of us, like my wife and I, have pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children. 

Growing up Generation X in the 1970's, it eventually became a social media badge of honor decades later to be proud of the fact that we never wore helmets when riding our bikes. And the fact that we stayed out past dusk without any adult supervision. And the fact that we never talked about something bad that happened to us back in those days. I didn't talk about it until I was in my early 20's. 

Again, we've pledged that nothing like that would ever happen to our children, and while we don't have control over what happens to them outside of our house, we do inside our house. So, it's hard to hear from them when they talk about some of the things some their friends go through inside their own homes. 

We empathize and talk about it with our kids, that we don't always know exactly what's happening with people, but the fact is that divorce is real, and domestic violence is real, and abuse and neglect are real, and how the ensuing stress and mental health issues are quite real.

But when more kids are willing to share the trauma they're experiencing at a much early age, or attempt to share as best they can, the new normal perception is the experienced trauma, even if it's just a subset of friends. Our kids care about their friends, but what we don't want is for them to feel bad because they haven't had the same traumatic experiences. 

In fact, while they should listen and be empathetic with friends who have experienced trauma, or are experiencing it, we encourage them to be grateful for the fact that they are not. To be grateful that they have a supportive and loving family that communicates with each other, free from judgment and shame, which in turn can help them be better friends to those who do struggle.

Even a supportive and loving family won't negate the teen angst, heartbreak, and seemingly traumatic issues our kids have struggled with, and will continue to grapple with, into adulthood. But we do want them to understand the differences we work hard to ensure they do and don't experience, and how they can help others along the way.

Only One Text Away

I was already rattled sitting in the corner of the ice cream shop full of ghosts when a guy with a knife in his head pushed the door open and screamed. Right after that three laughing zombies slapped their rotting hands against the store window right in front of me. While this was going on, my wife Amy and I waited patiently (or impatiently for me) for our youngest Bryce to get her ice cream. 

It was Saturday night before Halloween and downtown was frenetically hopping with ghouls, goblins, and creative costumes of all kinds. Bryce had finished two shows as the ghost "Nun Ancestor" in The Adams Family musical with her cast mates and they all wanted ice cream. We'd seen the opening night the night before and it was fabulous, but this also meant that there would be other nights where we'd have to pick Bryce up late after the shows we didn't go to.

We survived the pick up and got home safely. Because we're not usually out this late anymore being home-body parents who like to be snuggled at home watching TV before bed, it was wild to see so many people young and old out (mostly young, though). We kept joking with each other driving to and from picking up Bryce as to where the heck are all these people going. Where were all these college partiers going? Amy kept threatening me that we'd go get our Halloween costumes back on and go find the parties.

Woot! Nope.

Now that both our kids are doing more things independently and are out and about more often, we're having to transport them here and there and everywhere. All, the, time. Now that Beatrice is in high school she has a different schedule than Bryce does in middle school most days during the week, so that means different pick-up times during the week. It gets more complicated when Bryce is in theater and choir, and Beatrice might do theater in the spring. Beatrice is also hanging out more with her friends socially, meeting downtown or going to parties (not college parties yet, thank goodness). And then there are special events the kids want to go to and so much more. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. Fortunately Amy and I have flexible schedules and we can make it all work. And we know there are much busier families than ours with kids who play competitive sports, have after school jobs, and more. Beatrice will be working next summer as a paid camp counselor, which is something she very much wants to do. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. There's the occasional reprieve because Bryce rides her bike to and from school at least once a week, although collectively we're just not a ride-your-bike family. The kids also ride the city bus in town as it's free to students, so that's another positive reprieve. Amy also coordinates with other parents sometimes to share rides with their friends, so that's helpful, and we're the family that is always willing to give the other kids rides when needed. 

Back and forth, here and there, to everywhere. With gas prices as high as they are, this is when we wish we had an electric vehicle, at least for in-town driving, but even that doesn't pencil out in the short-term. We may be the Uber parents without a paying app, but we're still only one text away and wouldn't have it any other way.

No Matter What We Believe

It always feels easier when our kids don't ask about horrific world events. About why some people do something awkward or horrible to others; or denounce others because they don't like a specific group, how they live, what they believe in; or push their beliefs on others because they feel they're right and everyone else is wrong. We'd rather them stick to their normal day-to-day friend drama as is. 

Thankfully our teens don't listen to or watch the news regularly like my wife Amy and I do, but they still hear about local and world events through friends, social media, school, and us. They can also experience them directly, and that's when we need to talk with them about it. 

For example, recently a group of men from Gideons International, a Christian Business and Professional Men’s Association, came to the middle school unannounced where our youngest daughter Bryce attends, and distributed Bibles to students while on the public sidewalk, which was their right. The Bibles however had a table of contents pointing to verses about abortion, sexual temptation, adultery, and many other topics, which I wasn't happy about. I remembered when I was in high school and a Christian group distributed a pamphlet denouncing the music I listened to and why it was evil. My favorite band Rush was supposed to mean "Rangers Under Satan's House." Good God, please. 

Bryce thought it was funny though and brought the Bible home. We ultimately weren't that upset and were happy about how the school responded. The school staff was respectful to the missionaries as were the middle schoolers themselves. The principal sent a note to all parents letting them know what happened and that the bible distribution was not a school sponsored event. Even better, social studies teachers made time to discuss the First Amendment, which is under attack on all fronts more and more. We also don't practice Christianity, but still had a discussion with our teens about both. 

When our teens do want to talk about something significant and/or traumatic that's happened globally or locally, we listen to them first, without judgment (which isn't easy when you're fighting with your own world-view parental demons), and then have a dialogue about it. We help them understand as much as we can the greater context as to the why of the something that happened.

We also talk all the time about verifying something we've heard about or read about with multiple "objective" credible sources if at all possible. Because if not, that's when the adulting complexity of biases and -isms of all stripes can also be dangerously impactful on our kids, directly and indirectly. We've seen enough destruction of late of what it can do to grownups and children alike. 

Talking to our teens about why people believe what they believe and do what they do is still really hard. It's hard because everyone sees what they want to see, which we have to be okay with, even in the face of sometimes unsurmountable evidence to the contrary (which we're not quite okay with), but we remind them we will always lead with love and empathy. 

The difference, we also remind them, is that when beliefs intentionally cause harm to others socially, emotionally, and/or physically, that's where we draw the line. That's when there must be accountability for that harm, no matter what we believe.

A Poetic Place

"Oh, my music makes you dance
And gives your spirit to take a chance
And I wrote some rock 'n' roll so you can move
Music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start
It's from me, it's for you
It's from you, it's from me
It's a worldwide symphony..."

–Barry Manilow, I Write the Songs

26 years later and here we are...

Months earlier, I remember seeing the social media ads and thinking, That's corny.

The service is Songfinch, a platform that allows you to choose a musical artist/songwriter and then provide content and stories for the musician to write you a song and record it for you. The end result is a special song for someone special in your life. 

So cool, I thought. And corny.

I kept kicking that musical idea down the road, thinking about it, and finally realizing it was the perfect anniversary gift from me to my wife, Amy.

Because we like corny love things. Our teen daughters know we like corny love things, too. Painfully so. 

While I've never forgotten our wedding anniversary (or the anniversary of when we met, which happens to be the same date), when I decided to have a song made for Amy, I couldn't help but think about one of favorite holiday movies, The Family Man. 

There's a part where the husband/father (Nicholas Cage), forgets his anniversary with his wife/mother (Téa Leoni), and then their young daughter (Makenzie Vega) commiserates with him.

Daughter: "I should have warned you. Dad always does something really special for the anniversary."            

Dad: "Like what?"

Daughter: "One year he had a star named after her."         

Dad: "He had a star named after her? Well, that's nice, but isn't that a little... corny?"        

Daughter: "Mom liked it."

And I knew Amy would like it, too. Flowers and jewelry haven't been our thing over the years. Instead, music and travel have been. At our wedding we gave away our curated list of songs in a CD we titled "A Lifetime With Happy". It included songs from Ambrosia, Jennifer Lopez, Phoebe Snow, Train, Lionel Richie, Journey, Little River Band, and many others. 

I've written Amy poetry over the years as well, and when I decided to have a song made for her, I compiled romantic highlights, pieces of my poetry, one of my favorite Rush songs called "The Speed of Love", and other life anecdotes. The Songfinch musician I picked is named Tommy P, and within a week he had written and recorded a song for me. After a few edits, it was done. And because I've been drumming now for three years, I wanted to drum to it for Amy. I didn't play the drums on the originally recording of course, but I thought it would be fun to do so. 

It's been 26 years since we met and 20 years of marriage. Early on in our relationship we were clear with each other that either we were all in, or we weren't. All in was our choice. It wasn't without work, though, and we also always knew that sometimes it doesn't work out. We grew up with divorce, I got a divorce myself, and early on with Amy and me, we were never going to put children through that, which was why we weren't going to have them. Until we changed our minds and did.

We've been celebrating our anniversary all week, and we want our daughters to understand that whatever relationships they end up having in their lives, they had to be all in and continuously reinvest in those relationships to make them work. To be all in, you have to be whole, because if it doesn't work, then it's not the end of world (even if it feels like it, which it will). Through it all, it should always be about loving yourself first and keeping your soul whole enough to share with another. That's what we've practiced over the years, a poetic place with spiritual grounding that elevates our love. To be grateful for our love for as long as we have it. 

So, having a song produced for Amy for our anniversary might've been a little corny, but if music fills your heart, well, that's a real fine place to start. (Thank you, Mr. Manilow.)

A Perennial Bloom

It was a lovely evening. The heat wave dissipated somewhat at sunset and a balmy ocean breeze washed over us all. We don't get many days like this in Santa Cruz during the year. One of the few heat bumps we can get usually comes in late September into October, even with all the drastic climate changes of late. It reminded my wife Amy and I of the late El Niño warmth when we met one day at the beach nearly 26 years ago on October 11, 1997. 

We were hungry but the food truck line moved slowly. We were there with our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, to enjoy the "Block Party on the Bluff" and new climate solution exhibits at the UC Santa Cruz Seymour Marine Discovery Center. We told our friends who met us there with their kids that this was where we were married nearly 20 years ago on October 11, 2003, six years after we met. The wedding ceremony was outside on the patio overlooking the ocean and then our reception was inside the main hall room. We'd been there with our kids since they were little many times since, and it never gets old reminiscing.

When we had decided to get married all those years ago, we wanted to do the wedding ourselves and find a reasonable venue on the water as close to where we met if possible. We had thought about having our ceremony literally on the beach where we met, but the logistics of that and then having the reception elsewhere weren't feasible at the time. There weren't a lot of options for what we wanted. The Seymour Center ended up being the best bet for us being right on the water. Plus, it had a small aquarium that our guests could visit prior to our wedding. 

We sat together at a picnic table with our friends and ate our yummy food truck pupusas. Darkness settled in and it felt amazing outside. It reminded us so much of how pleasant the weather was when we were married. Our friends who were with us didn't know us then, and it was still years away from us changing our minds to have kids. I gazed toward the patio and room where our wedding ceremony and reception were held and again remembered how special that day was. 

We had decorated the reception room ourselves with the help of some family and friends. We wanted to string lights overhead to convey a starry night. With only a few hours to go before the wedding, I was the only one in the room hanging the little white lights, or trying to hang them. Suddenly some of the lights stopped working and I couldn't figure out why or where. I kept fiddling with them, rearranging the strings, and at one point stood at the top of a wobbly ladder holding an extension cord in one hand and a string of lights in another, trying to plug them into each other, and I felt like Doc Brown on the clock tower from the movie Back to the Future. I'm lucky I didn't fall and break my neck, but the end result was lovely. 

And then there was our first dance together at the wedding reception, one that we had practiced and practiced to our wedding song, "The Biggest Part of Me" by Ambrosia. We put it together ourselves and it was such a special moment of loving movement that everyone there could share with us. 

Prior to all that, we were married overlooking the ocean by Amy's father. We had written our own vows, too, and reading them to each other solidified our loving commitment to each other that our two halves made two wholes. That we chose us. Every year since on our anniversary we go down to the water overlooking the beach where we met to read our vows to each other. 

I smiled at these anniversary memories as we finished eating and said goodbye to our friends. These memories, a perennial bloom, poetic place and déjà vu, are relived again and again this time of the year, and throughout the year. We headed home, and I was grateful that we share these memories with our daughters, that they know how deep our love roots grow, from beach to sea to our family. It may be a tad teen cringeworthy for them today, but they're grateful for our love nonetheless. 

Listen More Mindfully

I felt bad. I did. It's something I've worked on for years but still fall prey to. I waited for a pause in her dialogue to apologize. At least, I thought it was a pause.

"Beatrice, I'm really sorry," I said. Sincerely, too.

All three of them laughed -- both daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, and my wife, Amy.

"Dad, you did it again!" Beatrice exclaimed. "You interrupted me again while I was talking! You always do that!"

"Dad, she wasn't done talking," Bryce said. "And why do you always ask so many questions?"

And then I felt even worse. True, I ask both kids a lot of questions about their day and how they're feeling, but they also weren't wrong about me interrupting. Bea certainly wasn't wrong. Right before I apologized to her she expressed how much she didn't appreciate it when I interrupted her. I was proud of her for letting me know who she felt, and at the same time, momentarily devastated that I actually did that to her. 

My own perception is that I believe I wait until a natural pause occurs before adding my 2 cents worth in a conversation, or ask my kids questions. I'm a humble expressive, but I do like to share my thoughts on whatever the topic at hand is, or again, ask my kids clarifying questions. It's not the first time I've been told this over the years and I have to admit I've been an equal-opportunity interrupter for whomever I'm in a room with. 

I wouldn't call them microaggressions, though, because I don't believe I'm intentionally slighting anyone, especially my own family. I've been in the room with enough literal microaggressors over the years to know the difference and have been a staunch advocate for those who experience it.

But when I do interrupt, am I really listening? Or am I unconsciously disregarding what someone is saying to me (or others in a room) just so I can express my thoughts as if mine have more value? God, I hope not, but I'm also afraid so, sometimes anyway. Maybe it's due to a lifetime of overcompensating for growing up feeling inadequate and that my own thoughts weren't worthy to express. Maybe. Still, it's not something I'm proud of, especially when I hear it from my own daughter. Again, I'm proud of Beatrice for her awareness and clarity. Bryce has the same sensibilities. 

Which I wish I had more of when I was their age (even though they are still very "expressive" teens with all that teens bring, but still). I have worked on listening more and interjecting less over the years. When I'm truly mindful of it, I clear my mind and simply listen to the person or persons talking to me or to others. I listen with purpose and only respond if and when appropriate and it only adds value. 

I'll continue to work on not interrupting, but I won't stop asking our kids questions about their lives. I am still Dad, for goodness sake, so I'll just have to listen more mindfully along the way. 

Be Quiet Inside And Enjoy The Ride

"And nothing seems to fit
And things don't go your way
You know you've had enough
You can't take another day
Where to go and what to do
You've got those bills to pay
You're really not alone you know
'Cause everybody says
Why me?
Why me?"

–Styx, Why Me?

The ceiling fan remote was gone and not where it was supposed to be. I always left it right on the second shelf next to my side of the bed. But it was gone. I scanned all the shelves. Nothing. I looked on the floor in and around the shelves and under the bed. No fan remote.

I wanted to turn the ceiling fan on because I was warm and I had some work calls to make. The office nook in our bedroom is a great place to make video calls because of the lighting, and my wife Amy and I both use it. But the only way to turn the fan on is with the remote. There is no wall switch. It was just easier to install that way. 

I called downstairs to where Amy was working. "Amy, where's the fan remote?"

"Isn't it where it we leave it? On the shelf?"

Sigh. "No, it's not there. I can't find it anywhere."

Now, if anyone can find anything in our house, it's Amy. Mom always knows where everything is. Usually. And if she doesn't, she has an idea of how to find it, like with our oldest daughter Beatrice's phone recently. Just like my mom did when I was a kid and a teenager. Usually the thing I couldn't find was right in front of me, and my mom always found it for me and reminded me it was right in front of me. Beatrice and I both still do that today and Mom always comes through. Our youngest daughter, Bryce, doesn't have the same debilitating lack of awareness that me and Bea have. 

To be fair, it isn't always that we can't find something, it's that we've gotten lazy and overly dependent on Mom, because Mom usually knows where that something is. That's not something to be proud of, but mercy me, that's why we love Mom so much.

This time she didn't know. She looked everywhere I looked, and more places, but didn't find it.

I was frustrated and mad. "Where the hell could it be, Amy? I leave it in the same place every single time!"

"Me too," Amy said. "Maybe it was the house sitter recently who misplaced it. Or maybe one of the girls."

"So frustrating," I said.

"I know," Amy said. 

My head swirled with questions: Can we purchase another ceiling fan remote and program it?  How much will that cost? Would we have to take the fan apart again? And then what if we can't replace it? How the hell are we going to use the fan if we can't? Why do I have to deal with this now?

Why me?!?

And there it was -- why me. Amy had already left me alone knowing there was nothing she could do to console me. This was my process. Immediate frustration that constricted endless possibilities and viable answers to a thin red line. A line that lead to nowheresville. The reality was that the ceiling fan remote most likely could be replaced and that it was just a transitory inconvenience of time and money. It was really more about the world imploding with uncontrollable chaotic fallout, burning my brain and tricking me, once again, into believing that this would cause me unending angst.

I purged the chaotic fallout and realized, yet again, this was nothing to lose my head over. Relax. If you can't find it, there will be a solution (what Amy always says, which is why I love her so much). That's when I checked in our bed, and buried snugly in between the mattresses was the ceiling fan remote. Later I would find out that Beatrice was the one who left it in the bed accidentally. 

Sigh. Everything is where it's supposed to be, including me, and I just have to be quiet inside and enjoy the ride. It will all work out ultimately. 

But just in case, I tied a string around the remote and attached it to the shelf. 

Men of a Vulnerable Age

I stood in the shade of the awning with others, away from the creep of morning valley heat. A slight breeze ebbed and flowed around us as the service began. Soon after, my friend Craig shared reverent words about his mother who had passed. With the exceptions of my long-time dear friends Rob and Greg, Greg's wife Jody, and Craig's wife Noriko, I didn't know Craig's family. I never even knew his mother. 

But I did know about her through him. And for the nearly 35 years I've known Craig, he has always talked fondly of his mother. For nearly 35 years, we've been getting together with our core group of long-time friends (45+ years for those of us who went to junior high and high school together). The last time all of us were together as a group was January 2020. Then COVID hit. 

Since then we haven't seen each much. There was Rob's retirement party, and then some of us individually going to see the other mutual friend from our core group, my best friend since junior high, Robby. Pre-pandemic we've gone to Robby's as a group at least 1-2+ times a year for decades. Robby, who had broken his neck at a swim meet in high school, has been paralyzed ever since. While still living somewhat independently with home healthcare, his travel mobility has decreased dramatically over the decades, and today he doesn't venture beyond his own city limits. Also, outside of this core group, there's Troy, my best friend from college, and we've only seen each other once in the past few years. 

When Craig's mom passed away, he posted when her service and reception would be, and I knew I had to be there for him, as did our friends Rob and Greg. Listening to him talk about his mother at the graveside service reminded me of when my own parents passed back in 2012, only four months apart, and all the emotional upheaval experienced during that time. At his mom's memorial reception, Craig, Rob, Greg and I hugged, talked, and laughed freely, realizing how much we've missed our time together.  

While it may be true that men can go longer periods of time without talking or seeing each other, and don't necessarily thrive on intimacy and emotional connection as much as women do, my friends and I have shared quite a bit of our lives with each other over the years. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the meh. The stormy rainbow yak of life. 

In fact, what I've found is that the intimacy and emotional connections have increased over the years, even without seeing each other or talking to each other that often. Maybe it's simply maturity and nurturing empathy, although we still know how to give each other quite the inappropriate regular ribbing; we are a diverse group, that's for sure. Now in our mid to late 50's, most of us have our own families and children (and grandchildren!), and all of us have lots of life lived behind us, and hopefully lots more ahead. We are now men of a vulnerable age, making peace with our present, and embracing the presence of each other's love. 

Other past posts about these friends of mine:

• The #MeToo Guys
• Men of a Women's Age
• Men of a Consequential Age
• Grown Men Friends and Fathers
• Like Men Knowingly Bound to Their Future
• Because That's How It Works With The Guys That Work
• Men of An Unremarkable Age

How We Learn and Grow

"...and if love remains, though everything is lost, we will pay the price, but we will not count the cost..."

–Rush, Bravado

Beatrice searched her backpack. 

"Where's my phone?" she said.

"You lost your phone?" I said.

"No, I just had it on the bus. It was in my pocket, but it's not now."

"Look through your backpack again." 

"I did. It's not there."

It was inevitable. The loss of something we should never lose. Especially when we're teenagers. But teens don't own exclusive rights to losing stuff; I recently lost the title to one of our cars. Gone. Poof. Farewell. 

Crap.

"You must have left it on the bus," my wife Amy said to our daughter. "Let's check 'find my phone' to see where it is."

We checked the app. Sure enough, it looked like the phone was moving along the bus route Bea had been on when she got off at our home stop. She had been hanging out with friends after school that day and then took the bus home from downtown. 

"This bus loops back down the hill, so you should go up to the upper bus stop and wait for it and then search the bus."

This caused Beatrice escalated angst. Her face contorted. "I don't want to go by myself. Can you go with me? Or, can you just call the bus driver?"

"We can call the bus station, but that won't help you get your phone back now," Amy said. "I have to go to a meeting, but you should still walk up there and wait so you can get your phone back."

At this point I had been running all the things through my head that we'd have to do if her phone was truly lost. And I didn't want to have to do any of them. 

"I'll wait up there with you. C'mon, let's go," I said.

"Okay. Thank you, Dad. Will you help me talk to the bus driver?" she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes, I'll help you. Let's go so we don't miss the bus."

We walked up the hill to the bus stop and sat on the bench. I was tired and wanted to relax before I had to pick up Bea's sister Bryce from theater rehearsal, but that wasn't going to happen now. I also knew Bea felt horrible and was stressing out about losing her phone, so berating and/or shaming her wasn't going to make things any better, or make me feel any better. The phone was gone and we just had to focus on hopefully getting it back. 

I had the "find my phone" app up on my phone and Beatrice's phone was supposedly still on the bus and coming back down the hill. We sat on the bus stop bench and waited. I told her if the phone was on the bus, we'd get it back and then go get her sister. She was stressing hard about it and I felt for her. She really thought she still had the phone when she arrived home earlier. 

"Thank you for helping me Dad and not making me feel bad," she said. 

"I love you, Bea. We all lose stuff."

"Love you, too."

A woman walked up to the bus stop and waited with us. We struck up a conversation and she was very empathetic about our situation and said she would help us. She told Bea she was 24 years old and still lost things. 

The bus arrived, and after telling the bus driver the situation, he was very gracious in helping us search where Bea had been sitting. The other passengers helped, too. But the phone wasn't there, and according to the app, it should've been. 

That's when Amy called to tell me someone had picked up Bea's phone and got off the bus further back up the hill. He was waiting for us in front of a convenience store not too far away. I called Bea's phone to confirm, and he was very nice and said he'd wait. We walked back down the hill, got our car, and drove up to where the guy had her phone. 

After thanking the young guy for finding Bea's phone, I handed Bea her phone and we drove home. Her face was flush with relief. 

"Thank you again, Dad," she said. 

"You're welcome. I'm just glad we got it back," I said. "Text your mom and tell her we got it."

"Okay."

"So, what are you going to do the next time you get off the bus?" 

"Double-check that I have my phone," she said and smiled. 

I then told Bea about the times when I was in high school when I locked my keys in my car and my dad had to come help me get into my car. Too many times, actually. He was in law enforcement and knew how to use a Slim Jim tool to unlock my car door. He reminded me constantly to always have my keys and my wallet on me at all times, to always know where they were at all times, wherever I was. 

And then I pointed out to her that today, there are three things you always need to know where they are: your keys, your wallet/purse, and your phone. Always know where those things are and all will be well in the world. 

Like Beatrice, I was quite relieved we had found her phone and again ran through the things in my head I would've had to have done if we hadn't. It's just time and money, I thought. We would've figured it out. But we did find her phone thankfully and all was well. 

It was also a special bonding time for us looking for her phone. I was still Dad helping Daughter who had lost something she shouldn't have, but getting angry about her losing her phone wouldn't have helped anything other than making her feel like unworthy crap. Encouraging her to be preemptive and double-check next time was a better use of my time, as well as sharing about my own teen and adult fails. This, I told her, is how we learn and grow. 

I'm not sure how much she got of that, but she gave me a big hug and thanked me again. 

Our Kids, Our Future

I told my wife Amy I'd only help sell the drinks for the PTA if I could be in the shade. And that's exactly where the table was when we got to our middle school, but it was still 85 degrees with only a little sea breeze. I set up the water, soda, and juice station nonetheless, preparing to ask for donations. Our oldest daughter Beatrice, now in high school, helped me set up, then vanished. Amy was inside the school running the PTA table and our 7th grader Bryce was preparing to sing in the choir. I was on my own for middle school open house.

It was nice to see old friends whose kids have been going to school with ours since forever. We were only asking for $1 PTA donations for the drinks, and because of the heat and the taco truck nearby serving delicious food, folks flocked to my table. Soon there was nothing left but a few waters. That's when the classroom open house started. 

Amy and I went to each of Bryce's classes, in her regular schedule order, and got to meet and hear from her teachers. It was a great turnout overall and most of the classrooms where full of eager parents wanting to learn what was in store for their children. 

It was the same story the next night when we went to Beatrice's high school open house. Except it was over 20 degrees cooler. That's Santa Cruz for you. I should've sold drinks that night for sure. Beatrice was excited to help us find each of her classes, and again, we really enjoyed meeting all her teachers. 

Being on our local school board, I have the privilege of serving our community, our district teachers, our district staff, and most importantly, our district kids TK-12. It was inspiring to hear this year all our teaching positions were filled! This hasn't been easy here or in many districts throughout California and the rest of the United States. Especially in rural areas. And now the teacher shortage has gotten worse, declining 16%, even after a seven-year increase in the number of new teacher credentials issued in California.

Public education is one of the cornerstones of a sound and thriving democracy. And while democracy isn't exactly thriving right now, I have hope that it will hold. What else does public education mean to America, and to our family? 

These reasons (according to the California School Board Association - CSBA and the Masters in Governance course I'm taking as a school board member): 

• A tuition-free education for all students.
• The promise of equal educational opportunities no matter race, religion, or ability.
• A commitment to high standards and high expectations for all students.
• A system of governance that ensures public accountability.

The public school system is not without its challenges, though, including teaching and staffing shortages, declining enrollment, budget shortfalls, navigating the academic and behavioral setbacks that occurred during COVID, fewer resources for students with special needs and those with cultural and language needs, divisive culture wars, mental health struggles, antiquated curriculum for some, among other challenges. There are also alternatives for families when the public school system doesn't work for them. 

But the public school system has provided our children with the educational resources and quality teaching since preschool that have helped them thrive academically and socially. I see that district-wide now as a board member, from elementary to secondary. Our daughter Beatrice might even want to be a teacher someday, and we couldn't be prouder. This is why I'm hopeful after meeting teacher after teacher who teach all the kids in our district. Who prepare our kids for college and/or career. Who help our kids believe they can be the best versions of themselves -- inclusive and empathetic critical thinkers. Our kids, our future. That's what it's all about.

Frame By Frame

It's becoming our thing, like reading together. Watching Wes Anderson films that is. Our youngest Bryce, who just turned 13, loves the different, the strange, the obscure, the artsy, the smart avant-garde, the visually appealing story unlike the mainstream formulaic. And so do I.

Recently we watched Asteroid City together and loved it. It's not for everyone, including my wife Amy and our oldest Beatrice. But it is for Bryce and I. She doesn't even know all the actors who were in it like I do, and there were many. This is true for most Wes Anderson films. 

I kept telling her throughout the movie, "This is so weird and good." And she wholeheartedly agreed. 

Was it a play about a movie, or a movie about a play? Was it a retro satirical look at the 1950's UFO fears? Was it ultimately about dealing with one's own mortality and grieving about death? Who the heck knows. We really didn't, and while the ratings weren't great for it, you like what you like, and we liked. 

"Every frame of the movie is like a work of art, don't you think?" I said to Bryce. 

"Yes," she agreed again. "I love it!"

In fact, even when we lost the threads of story watching the film, it didn't matter, because it was art for us, every shot a vividly detailed still-life painting storybook. 

Years ago our kids watched Fantastic Mr. Fox, based on Roald Dahl's book of the same name. They both loved it, and Bryce realized now it was another Wes Anderson film.

The other night Bryce and I watched Isle of Dogs, another one she'd watched before and loved. Again, the style of Wes's storytelling, whether animated or live action, is fascinating. Now, we have a list of his movies we're going to watch, some I've already seen and some I haven't, including Bottle Rocket, his first movie. 

That will be the fun part, watching more of these movies with Bryce (although maybe not Rushmore, Mom said). But more than that, us watching both Bryce and Beatrice grow up has been a rich tapestry of moving storybook art, frame by frame, just like a Wes Anderson film. Each of moment of their lives vivid and colorful, still-life pictures over the years rushing by in succession creating movement, sound, and memories -- happy and sad and all in between. These we can watch together over and over and over again. 

I Am Me

"Any life is made up of a single moment, the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is."

—Jorge Luis Borges

The first time we landscaped our small backyard, I didn't really know who I was. The yard was nothing but rocks, weeds, and ground that was as hard as cement. It was back-breaking work, but my wife Amy and I did it all ourselves, grass, flagstone, and all. We also planted the Japanese maple Amy had given me when we were first dating. The only exception to the backyard work was the installation of sprinklers that a friend of ours helped us with, which was way above our pay grade. That yard lasted as is for years, through the birth of both our children, Beatrice and Bryce. 

The second time we landscaped it, I was learning more about who I was. We replaced the old, dying grass with new sod, and added more flagstone. Some plants were replaced and we created an outdoor enclosure for our rabbit. Although it wasn't as back-breaking as the first time, it was still a lot of hard, sweaty work.

This past year we've been doing a series of home upgrades from floors to rooms, most of which wasn't our handiwork (again, above our pay grade and expertise). We're so grateful to have lived in this house for over 17 years, the house our children were literally born in (well, at least Bryce was -- Beatrice was another story). We've lived fully in every square foot of this house, including our backyard. I can't imagine living anywhere else.

Which leads me to that old saying, the third time's the charm. Back in January of this year, our backyard was a mound of muddy dirt after we had new drainage put in; we were starting from ground zero again. That was the beginning of the latest backyard refresh. One I didn't want to do ourselves this time. Too much back-breaking work, and as I inch toward 60 years of age, my back doesn't want to break anymore. 

But that's not what's happening. No, what's happening is that we are doing it again ourselves, because I wanted to do it again ourselves. Amy and I both did. We're repurposing the flagstone we had installed the first and second times, creating a new path around the back of the house to our main gate, will eventually add gravel and more plants and presto! A life renewed.

From rocky hard ground to mud pit to repurposed path, discovering who I am has definitely been an amazing journey, especially the past 26 years since I've been with Amy and starting a family. As I dig once again in the hard-packed backyard dirt, the slow-burn self-realization where I am today has inspired me. From the face of seemingly unending chaos at times to mindful moments of spiritual alignment, I really do control my own path.

Because the moment has finally come for me to know who I am: I am me. Amen.