How High Can We Get

I'd been traveling when she told me the girls wanted to go to the dance. It was the father-daughter dance for our local Brownie Girl Scout troops, and when the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) ask Beatrice and Bryce if they wanted to go to the dance with their Dad, they resoundingly said yes.

And not just any dance -- a super duper luau. Right on, I thought. This will be fun.

But as we got closer to the big date, the Mama told the girls that probably none of their friends from their troop were going, and that they probably wouldn't know anybody at the dance. Then she asked them if they still wanted to go.

"Yes!"

That's all we needed to hear. 

As we got ready for the dance the night of, the Mama said to me, "Don't worry, they'll probably get tired and want to come home at 7:30."

"What time does it start again?" 

"6:00."

I smiled. It was 5:30 PM already. "Yeah, I know. Bea is usually asleep by 8:00, so I can't imagine her staying up beyond that. Bryce is the one who falls asleep later, although she might get cranky."

"Right, but I'll bet they'll both want to come home early, especially since none of their friends will be there."

"We'll have fun no matter what," I said.

"Of course you will."

We were ready to go and the Mama gave us all kisses and hugs and sent us on our way. When we got to the venue Hawaiian decor, surfboards and faux Plumeria and Hibiscus were everywhere, as were dozens of dressed up Brownies and dads in Hawaiian shirts, just like us. We did run into one of their friends and her dad from our troop, which was great for us, so that's who we hung out through most of the night. 

Before we did anything else, though, the girls wanted to take photos in the homemade photo booth area set up in the far corner of the room. And that's exactly what we did. These are the special moments we share with our children, and while immortalized in retro Polaroids, it's the visceral memories that keep our hearts warm and well lit throughout our lives.

Seven-thirty came and went and the girls were not getting tired. At all. In fact, they got their second wind and I was the one who started to wilt as the night went on. I hung in there, and when the limbo competition started, we all got in line, including me. 

Now, not all the dads were that excited to brave the limbo line, which was probably smart because of possible physical injury. 

"All the vertebrae in my back shattered just watching them do this," I said to another dad while we waited in line and watched the girls and even some of the dads clear the pole effortlessly.

"I know. I don't know why I'm doing this," the dad said.

"We're doing it for them," I said, pointing to my girls up ahead of us in line.

"That's a lotta love," he said.

"Indeed it is."

When it was my turn, I heard my girls yell "go dad go!" and I started the awkward and unnatural backward bend to clear the limbo pole. The tropical music cadence and the girls' shouts inspired me to make it happen, and I did, while all my vertebrae figuratively shattered along my spine. But I did it anyway, only one time of course, because there was no friggin' way I would've made another pole lowering, not in a million years. 

As the night went on and I watched the girls run around, learn to luau (which my dad friend and I did as well), and befriend other girls they met for the first time, me and my dad friend talked dad shop and it was all so much fun. It didn't matter that we don't get dadding right all the time, because we sure as heck don't; this wasn't about how low can we go as the limbo mantra goes. It was literally about how high can we get on the fun, fun that took the girls to nearly 10:00 PM, way past all our bedtimes.  

A high all warm and well lit. Amen.

Every Little Thing

"Don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing is gonna be alright..."

–Bob Marley and the Wailers, Three Little Birds

I ran into a rainbow. It appeared on my way to my weekly beach workout at Natural Bridges and I had to embrace the positive beauty of it and take a picture. And just a quickly as it lit up the cloudy sky ahead of me, it was gone.

It got me thinking about the day before at Thinking Day for local Girl Scout troops, of which our girls are part of as Brownies, the troop the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) helped found. Unlike the recent overnight campout we did at the Beach Boardwalk, this was a gathering of local troops to celebrate different countries and cultures from around the world.

Before it started we recited the Pledge of Allegiance, I stood with my baseball hat on heart and spoke the words proudly.

However, I looked around and noticed not everyone stood, nor did they put their hands on their hearts, and the other men wearing baseball caps didn't even take them off. I thought it strange that, with such a traditional organization, its roots steeped in God and Country, only about half the adults celebrated the traditional allegiance to the flag.

That's all right, though, I thought. It's their right as Americans to celebrate however they want. It's not my place to judge either way. 

And then I moved on from it, being one to never take issue with the NFL kneeling and related activism of the past few years. If anything I supported it.

Later during the Girl Scout event, each local troop presented some brief entertainment -- singing, dancing or spoken word -- that was representative of the country they had. Our troop was Jamaica, and they sang the Bob Marley song "Three Little Birds".

There was no reference before Thinking Day started, during the event or after it, of the March For Our Lives event happening all over the world that same day. The march that was all about gun safety, gun control, violence prevention and stopping the epidemic of mass school shootings.

And there we all were, celebrating global diversity in a high school gym. I didn't have a problem of the not mentioning the march, although the Mama and I are big supporters of it and its mission. We had planned to go, and then decided not to. We had our superficial reasons, but ultimately for me it came down to the fact that our girls are still young enough not to understand the scope of the recent tragedies, or even hear about it at school, at least not enough to pique their interest to bring it up with us.

They marched with us at the Women's March, and the Science March, and the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day march. We talked about those missions with them, but when it came to the March For Our Lives, we were a little marched out and wary of talking about it with them. That time will come soon enough.

Again, it doesn't mean we're not supporters of the movement. We most certainly are. We also couldn't be more proud of this generation of older kids and teens, many of whom are close to if not already at voting age. We want to make it a better world for our girls just as much as they do.

Then came an odd moment during the Girl Scout event: the troop representing the United Kingdom played the John Lennon song "Imagine" and somewhat acted out the lyrics.

"What an strange choice for an event like this," I whispered to the Mama.

"I know," she whispered back.

"I dig it, though."

And I did dig it, because the message wasn't lost on us about wanting the world to "be as one", and the fact that John Lennon was killed by gun violence on December 8, 1980. Paul McCartney was out marching that day as well, remembering his best friend, which really moved me.

Maybe that wasn't the troop's intention, but maybe it was. Either way it was yet another rainbow of hope for me, that those of us with varying cultural and political beliefs can and should make a positive difference in this world. One where we're not going to necessarily be able to stop all the tragic shootings, but where we can make it a helluva lot harder to start them.

As I watched our girls sing the Bob Marley song as best they could, all I could see were two rainbows lighting up my world, and I knew that every little thing was gonna be alright.

Little Did We Know

"California dreamin' 
On such a winter's day..."

-The Mamas & the Papas, California Dreamin'


11:30 AM, Saturday

I hit a wall right after the merry-go-round. It was still fun though, riding the iconic and historic Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk merry-go-ground, where you sit on one of the outer ring horses and then grab a metal ring from an outstretched metal and wooden arm to throw at a big clown's mouth on one of the walls. I missed each time; I think I've only hit the hole once in all the times I've ridden it. However, with each revolution, my wall of exhaustion loomed dead ahead.

Beatrice and I exited the ride and started walking toward the bumper cars where the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife), Bryce and the rest of the Brownies and parents were.

"Dad, I want Dippin' Dots now," said Beatrice.

"No," I said.

"Dad, Dippin' Dots!"

"No, we'll check in with Mom and see what's up about snacks."

"Dippin' Dots! Dippin' Dots! Dippin' Dots!"

Each time she said it, she yanked on my arm. Not too hard, just insistent and playful enough to be really friggin' annoying.

We met up with the rest of the crew and I gave the Mama a kiss.

"I gotta go," I said.

And with that, I went home to nap. That's when it started to rain.


11:00 AM, Saturday

Beatrice and I rode the Sky Glider above the Boardwalk. The gray cloudy sky made it feel colder than it really was. I counted less than 10 people walking along on the beach beyond. Beatrice screamed and waved at the Mama directly below us.

"Dad, let's go on the that ride down there," Beatrice said a minute later.

She pointed to a ride where cars went round and round on a track with loud popular music blaring overhead.

"Goodness no, Bea. Daddy doesn't do rides that go round and round."

"C'mon, I don't want to go on it by myself."

"Ask one of your friends then. I can't do it. I'd throw up all over the place."

"C'mon, go on with me."

"No."

I looked down and vertigo's gravity clawed at my frontal lobes. "Beatrice, sometimes I really don't like heights."

"I know. Me either. Let's go on that ride, though."

"No."

I gazed out across the steely ocean to settle my nerves. "On such a winter's day," I sang.

"What's that?"

"An old song, Beatrice."


10:00 AM, Saturday

Bryce hit a wall and started crying.

"What's wrong, Sweetie?"

Through the crying and whining a each gasp of air she said, "I -- want -- to -- play -- laser -- tag -- again!"

With the Bryce-specific snacks nearly gone, I knew satiating her hunger to curb her frustration wasn't going to happen.

I asked the young girl running the laser tag counter if there any more spots -- there were not.

"Bryce, let's go do something else."

"No!"

"Kevin, let me ask my daughter if she can give up her pass. She's already done it more than once," said our Brownie troop leader. "We're all pretty strung out."

"Thank you. I know."

A minute later she returned with the laser tag pass.

"Bryce, you get to go again!"

"Okay, thank you," she said with a sniffle.

And as it worked out, another mom with kids had two extra passes to give us, so even I got to go again along with Bryce and our Brownie leader's daughter. Sometimes the universe works out and extinguishes the wildfires of the id-driven childhood.


8:30 AM, Saturday

The first girls' team started their sand castles and made them in the shape of a sea turtles. The other girls' team was closer to the water and they went the traditional route of castle towers and turrets. I was tempted to help, but the girls were supposed to make it themselves for the contest.

"Those turtles are great, girls. Why don't you add some walls and towers around them to protect them?"

No response. They just kept on decorating their turtles.

"Here, use this to make the towers with," I said and handed Beatrice one of the tower-making sand toys.

"No, thank you," she said, decorating her sea turtle.

One of the other moms said, "Let the creativity commence."

I nodded. "Right on."


7:30 AM, Saturday

"Where's Bryce?" I asked.

One our troop moms pointed towards the hot chocolate table. "Bryce just dropped her plate over there and spilled her hot chocolate. I think she's getting back into line to get more breakfast."

"Sorry, Daddy," Bryce said behind me, grabbing a new paper plate and utensils pack.

I turned around. "Are you all right, Sweetie?"

"Yes, I just dropped my plate. Sorry. It was too heavy with the hot chocolate."

"That's okay. Get a new plate and make sure to get some of those eggs and bacon you like. And maybe only get a small hot chocolate. Don't fill it all the way up though so you can carry it all."

"Okay, I will."

"I got you some oatmeal to try."

"Okay."

When Bryce got back to our table, she had a big portion of bacon and eggs on her plate, as well as a completely full cup of hot chocolate.


7:00 AM, Saturday

I helped the girls pack up all the things they brought from where they had slept with the rest of the Brownie troop.

"Kevin, Bryce was up running around last night around 12:30," said our Brownie troop leader. She tilted her head disapprovingly, but with a smile on her face.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Why am I not surprised. She had come into see me at 11:30 saying she couldn't sleep."

The Brownie leader smiled. "It's okay. I guess she was running around by herself swinging glow sticks and tripped over another parent."

"Ugh. Of course she did. So sorry. Bryce and her own personal rave."

"It's fine. She went right to bed after that I guess."

I looked around to find Bryce to ask her about it, and there she was, dancing around the room with burnt out glow sticks.


6:45 AM, Saturday

"Here Dad," said Beatrice.

She had brought her and Bryce's blow-up beds and bedding into the Dads/Family room where I had slept.

"Thank you, Bea. That's such a big help. Did you sleep okay last night?"

"Yeah, I slept."

"I know it was late. How did Bryce do?"

"I don't know. I think she slept all night."


6:00 AM, Saturday

I laid there on my back, my blanket pulled up over my head. Someone touched my arm.

When I looked out from under the blanket, Bryce stood there smiling at me. I removed the headphones from my ears.

"Hi Daddy."

"What's up, Bryce?"

"I'm awake."

"Okay."

Pause.

"Is Beatrice awake?"

"Yes, everyone's waking up now."

Pause.

"Okay, what would you like to do? Breakfast isn't for another hour or more."

Pause.

"I'll go play some more."

"Great. Love you."

"Love you."

I pulled the blanket back over my head.


4:30 AM, Saturday

When the coughing and hacking started, I couldn't pinpoint from which direction it came. I knew it was near me, the child coughing that is, but couldn't triangulate. My blanket covered my head and I had the white-noise fan noise cranked up into my ear bud headphones. The coughing and hacking continued; the child was on my right I finally figured out.

Every five minutes it came and went. Followed by low whimpering and sniffling. I felt bad for the child, girl or boy. I empathized about being in a strange place and feeling so horrible while you were there. I assumed that the kid had been hopped up on cold medicine earlier in the night until it ran out, as there was no coughing and hacking until this point.

Every five minutes it came and went. And the whimpering increased in intensity. The white noise in my ears just didn't make a difference either way at this point. I wasn't mad, just over-tired and strung out and hoping that the kids' parents were tending to him or her.

Every five minutes...


4:00 AM, Saturday

First, I heard one pulsing beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

It came from my left and I knew then it was the CPAP machine alarm the woman sleeping next to me was using. Earlier in the night she had asked if she could use the other plug in the outlet I had my blow-up bed plugged into. She said she needed it to help her breathe in the night so she could sleep. I said no worries, and that my mom had used one for years.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

But something was wrong with the machine now. The alarm meant something was off. No one stirred. Then the beeps increased in cadence -- two beeps at a time.

Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. 

Still no one stirred. I wondered what the hell was going on.

Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. 

I sat up and couldn't see anyone moving. I laid back down and covered my head again. Now it escalated to three beeps at a time.

Beep-Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep. 

Finally I heard one of the woman's kids mumbled something and a minute later the machine went quiet again.

But of course, I was already quite awake.


2:30 AM, Saturday

My father used to snore like an old bear with a sever sinus infection. Sometimes in the middle of the night we could hear his snoring ground its way through the walls of the house and into our heads. Crazy loud.

I woke with a start thinking I was a teenager again with my dad's snoring drilling through my ear drums. But it wasn't my dad, it was three other dads on all sides of me snoring like old, sick bears.

Jesus H. Christ, I thought.

The white-noise fan noise app I had on was cranked up into my ear bud headphones -- and it still didn't help quiet the bears around me.

But I was trapped, because this was the Dad/Family sleeping room and there was nowhere else to go.

Nowhere. Else. To. Go.

The irony was that, while the Mama and I joked that it would one or both of the girls wanting to come home in the middle of the night, in the end it was me.


1:30 AM, Saturday

I awoke with a start wondering where the hell I was. I had only been sleeping for about two hours and the late evening had already weighed on me like an imaginary elephant learning to sit on my head.

One of the other 10 dads in the room snored away loudly in the far corner, but otherwise it was quiet. Almost too quiet for the over 600 Girls Scouts and Brownies who were there for the overnight campout at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

I tried to meditate but couldn't quiet my mind. Farts and other unearthly body odors permeated the stale, air-conditioned room. I winced and rubbed my nose. The ear plugs I wore weren't doing a thing for me, so I switched to the ear bud earphones and turned on the white-noise fan application on my phone.

I read a few pages of Purity, the latest novel I'm reading, and finally fell back asleep.


11:30 PM, Friday

I turned over, half-asleep, and there was Bryce standing next to my blow-up bed. She leaned down and put her elbows on the mattress, her head in her hands.

"Hi Daddy. I can't sleep."

I took out my left ear plug so I could hear her better. "I'm sorry, Sweetie. You can either sleep here with me or go back to your bed."

"I'll go back to bed," she said, but didn't move.

Pause.

"Bryce, you can either sleep here with me or go back to your bed."

Pause.

"I'll go back to bed."

Pause.

"Bryce, what are you going to do?"

Pause.

"I'll go back to bed."

"Okay, love you, Sweetie."

"Love you."

Bryce didn't move. She just stared at me.

Sigh.


10:45 PM, Friday

Lights out finally. Most of the dads and those with families who were going to stay together in the Dads/Family room were already in bed.

I saw Beatrice walk into our room. She came over and laid next to me in bed.

"Dad, when is everyone going to sleep? I'm so tired."

I hugged her. "I know, Bea. I'm tired, too. Everyone should be quieting down now. It's time for bed for all of us."

"Okay," she said, getting up.

"You can either sleep out there with your troop, or in here with me. Your choice."

"I'll go back out there."

"Sorry, Sweetie. Hopefully everyone will be asleep soon."

"I know. Love you."

"Love you, Bea."


10:15 PM, Friday

The movie Sing was just about over. Thank goodness, because Beatrice and I were beat. After dinner and arcade games, the Girl Scouts did a general meeting and then we set up our respective troop sleeping areas. Everything went pretty smoothly overall, although it was clear that most of the girls weren't ready for bed.

Especially not Bryce. She danced and ran around in front of the screen with about 50 other girls, all of them wearing or swinging glow sticks of all colors. Shrieks and other decibels of varying laughter surrounded us all like the rainbow neon lights of the glow sticks.

"Dad, do you see what Bryce is doing?" Beatrice pointed out.

"Yes, I do. She's having fun."

"I'm so tired, Dad. I wish Mom was here to rub my back. Will you rub it?"

I smiled. That was a nightly ritual to help put Beatrice right to sleep, although I doubted it would work in this chaotic environment.

And it didn't.

"Sorry, Bea. I've got to go to bed now. You're welcome to come in with me if you want. Otherwise, it's lights out in about 30 minutes."

"Okay. I'll be fine."

"Goodnight, Sweetie."

"Goodnight."


6:50 PM, Friday

I told the laser tag attendant that we had 13 in our party, but I forgot to count the adults. That meant that some adults wouldn't be able to do it. We did a count and realized that two of the girls weren't going to do it, and so after figuring out which adults would go in, we waited for our 7:10 pm time.

Beatrice didn't want to do it, however.

"I don't want to do it," she said more than once.

I knew it was partly to do with her still being sound sensitive at times and being anxious about new experiences in general.

I empathized and yet cranked up the pure pressure anyway. "C'mon, Bea, you'll be fine. Everybody's doing it. We're doing it as a troop. It'll be fun. I promise. I'll be right there, too."

"I don't want to."

"C'mon, Bea. Really, everybody's doing it. You want to be with your troop, right?"

"Well..."

Pause.

"C'mon. It'll be fun."

Pause.

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Right on."

And mercy me, did we all have fun, Bryce included, although I wasn't worried about her. We ran around in the black light lit room with fluorescent colors everywhere, our light-colored clothes aglow, shooting our laser guns at each other, constantly being told by the attendant to not run or they'd cut our time short, laughing and hiding everywhere we could.

Afterwards, Beatrice said, "Dad, that was awesome. I want to do it again."

"I know," I said and smiled.


6:00 PM, Friday

Then it was dinnertime. C'mon, who doesn't like chicken fingers and pasta with red sauce?


5:20 PM, Friday

"This your first time?"

I had been blowing up my bed in the Dad/Family room when I heard the voice. I looked up and a very large white man smiling with a very toothless upper gum, waiting for me to answer. He wore an old nondescript baseball hat and had a country twang in his voice. When he said "your first time" it sounded more like "yo furst tahm".

"Yes, it is," I said.

We introduced ourselves and shook hands.

"It's stuffy as all get out in here," he said.

"Yes, it is. Will they let us turn on the air? I noticed the windows don't open in here," I said, knowing full well I wasn't going to have a pleasant night if it was going to be this hot.

"Yep, it's purty stuffy, but they'll turn the air on. Last year they turned it on and it got real cold in here."

I nodded. "I'd rather have it too cold that too hot."

"I hear you," his wife said. She was setting up a CPAP machine to help her sleep at night. "Can I use your other plug to plug my machine in?"

"Of course."

They had two daughters with them and they were all going to sleep in the room next to me on my left. They were very nice people and we talked a little more about expectations for the night and how much fun it was for the kids.

"Good luck," the father said to me with another toothless smile.

"Thanks. I assume I'm not going to sleep much tonight."

"Nope, you're not. You got ear plugs?"

"Yes, I brought some. Have fun tonight."

"You too," he and his wife said.

As I left, I eyed the CPAP machine, and I hoped that the alarm on it wouldn't go off if her mask got skewed on her head. I remembered it all too well happening with my mom's machine years ago.


4:50 PM, Friday

I don't make beds and the Mama doesn't do campouts. Over the years there are specific activities that each of us simply refuse to do.

Can we do them? Of course we can. Would we do them? Of course we would, in a pinch that is. For the most part, there are really very few things each of us don't want to do for the other and the family.

But again, I don't make beds and the Mama doesn't do campouts.

So when it came time to register for the Girl Scouts campout at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, an overnight that consisted of team-building, games, food, movies, sand castle building and rides -- I said I'd take the girls.

We would be "camping" indoors, although they've had other campouts at the Boardwalk with tents outside, which we hadn't participated in. The Mama had gone on one African safari about 20 years ago with one of her best friends and just can't do the tent camping thing. Or any camping for that matter. They had all gotten diarrhea and were confined to their sweltering tents for a few days, with little to no sleep.

Traveling together around the world in varying qualities of hotels and motels? Great, we're both in. Camping overnight with 600 Girl Scouts of all ages on air mattresses and in sleeping bags? No way for the Mama. We agreed that, going forward, any literal camping or semblance's thereof would be the Daddy-Mama's responsibility -- and that's me.

As I drove the girls to the Boardwalk, I was excited to be responsible for and share in this new experience with them -- their first true overnight campout away from home. The Mama had a nice evening planned with one of her best friends, a much-needed respite from parenting for her. (The Mama does it all, you know -- I just work here.)

"Are you girls excited?" I asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Yes!" Bryce shouted. She was good to go the moment we said we were doing the campout.

"Yes," Beatrice answered, less emphatically. We knew she was apprehensive and a little anxious about the event.

"It's supposed to rain tomorrow," I said. They didn't comment.

"We'll have a great time either way, since we'll be indoors mostly until the sand castle contest tomorrow morning."

"I hope I can sleep," said Beatrice.

"I'm sure we'll all get a little sleep."

"Okay."

Little did we know until we knew, the experience itself that makes it all worthwhile.

On Happily Doing Their Own Fancy Dances

“All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain…”

—Blind Melon, No Rain

We went out into the rain three times over three hours. Each time wearing our rain jackets and our rain boots, Bryce and me with socks on and Bea without. They bounded up and down our one-way street flooded gutter while I watched and called out when cars approached. They jumped and splashed and smiled and laughed. I jumped and splashed and smiled and laughed.

All of us stir crazy, yes, and the fact that our girls just love playing outside in the rain, the first big rain of our ever warmer and drier California dreamin'-scape. The Mama was away doing a Kidpower workshop, so with Daddy daycare in full swing, and the living room floor already littered with nearly every toy in the house, playing outside on a rainy day was the only way to go. We also made milk carton boats to sail down the gutter and that was a big hit (and something fun I remember doing when I was their age).

And as I watched my girls bound and splash and float their boats, I smiled big over and over, because so far so good with them "dancing as if no one is watching." Plus, not caring even if someone was. Each girl differentiating further from one another every single day with the one common thematic thread of being who they are, of being comfortable in their own still pliable skin. As we all know, that is always a work in progress, and yet, they're already light years ahead of my struggles at the same age.

Proudly the Mama has also launched a Girl Scout troop recently, for both Daisies and Brownies based on the ages of our girls and their school friends. For those who don't know, the Girl Scout mission is all about building courage, confidence and character and to help make the world a better place (fun facts: the majority of the women in the U.S. Senate and the House of Representatives were Girl Scouts, and every female American astronaut to date has been a Girl Scout -- I did not know).

All these things weren't lost on me recently when work traveling, first going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio, and then a quick trip to Las Vegas -- all full of people, women and men alike, making their own way while flying their own freak flags. Of course I'm not condoning the debauchery, just the spirit of individuality, entrepreneurial rebellion and celebrating inclusivity and teamwork (like my favorite band -- can you guess who that is?).

There's always an edge to finding your own way and becoming yourself, then being your best self and sustaining it. That's the edge we hope we're helping our girls with. I thought about that as I sat eating dinner overlooking the Vegas strip, watching the buzzing throngs of crazy fly by. As I ate and watched, some of my favorite rock songs played overhead and Blind Melon's "No Rain" came on, a big hit from 1992/93.

Not hearing that song for some time prompted me to later watch the music video online, because I vaguely remembered it tell a story of a "bee girl" doing her own dance and being made fun of. She wanders aimlessly alone until she finds a beautiful grassy knoll under blue sky where many other bee people are happily doing their own fancy dances -- and happily joins in their fun.

As I watched it I thought, Bring on the rain, baby. Bring on the rain. #BhivePower indeed.