These Go Fish Times

“I'm in you 
You're in me
You gave me the love, 
the love that I never had…”

–Peter Frampton, I'm in You

“Does anybody have a 10?”

“Bryce, you have to ask just one of us for a 10, not all of us,” I said.

Bryce giggled. “Ah, c’mon. Okay. Daddy, do you have a 10?”

“Go fish, baby!”

“Ahhh! Whaaa!”

“Your turn, Beatrice,” the Mama said (what I lovingly call my wife).

“Mom, do you have a 2?”

“Yes, here you go.”

“Yes! A match!”

Beatrice laid her two 2’s on the table next to her other pairs.

“You know, the way I grew up playing with my sister, we always matched all four of any number before we put them on the table,” I said to the Mama.

“I don’t know; I’ve always played that you only have to match two cards, not four.”

“Supposed to be four.”

“Who cares? This is the way we’re playing now.”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you keep going if you get a match.”

“Yep, that part I get.”

“It’s still my turn! Dad, do you have a 5?”

“Go fish, baby!”

“Ahhh!”

And so it went. I’ve been playing “Go Fish!” for decades, and it just never gets old, especially when you’re playing with your family. Such a simple yet strategic memory card game, we’ve been playing on our latest vacation and it’s a nice break from the go, go, going and the see, see, seeing that the Mama and me like to do when we travel. It’s also a break from the device downtime that we all participate in, even though we have been limiting the girls iPad device time (at least trying to, at home and traveling).

Plus, a deck of cards is smaller than most phones. And you don’t have to charge it.

Too much device time is another story for another time (and me on my phone always posting to Instagram and Facebook without missing a family beat, usually), but the Mama’s been really good about having the girls do “summer school work” during summer break, even on vacation – keeping up with reading and math for both girls.

And how we do like to play games together as a family – Go Fish, Monopoly, Life (where we get our diversity and inclusion talks in as well), and others.

Again, because of the ease of carrying cards wherever we go, Go Fish is the default downtime fun for travel (for now). Especially when we’re taking an afternoon break from sightseeing, or right before having dinner. It’s seemingly easier to connect this way since the girls are only 7 and 9 years old; we’re still a few years from the tween to teenage dramatic dynasties (which were dramatic for us all, boys and girls alike). It doesn’t mean we won’t play fun travel games in the future, but it will be a different fun, just as in every stage of our lives with children.

I love these Go Fish times. We share our favorite activities from the day, what the girls’ favorite foods and treats were, the Mama and me share an adult beverage (or two), we all tell silly jokes and laugh, laugh, laugh. I didn’t have that a lot as a child, at least not as consistently as we’re able to do with the girls today. My sister and I played a lot of games together growing up early on, and our mother shared in the game fun when she could, but too many times we played in solitude to offset the negative energy of domestic violence that surrounded us (and why so many songs of the 1970’s haunt me).

But this isn’t supposed to be a “woe is me” moment; that was then and this is now. Again and again with the now. Sharing our family love for one another and enjoying being in each other’s company as Dad, Mom, Sister, Sister.

“Does anybody have a 4?”

“Bryce, you have to ask one person, not all of us. C’mon,” I said.

“Ahhh! Whaaa!”

“…I don’t care where I go when I’m with you…”

Not Always to Cross

"It ought to be second nature —
At least, that’s what I feel
'Now I lay me down in Dreamland' —
I know perfect’s not for real
I thought we might get closer —
But I’m ready to make a deal..."

–Rush, Second Nature

Damn, if it wasn’t Angel’s Landing all over again. That exaggerated vertigo feeling of flying over the edge and falling to my death. Legs weak, head dizzy and every time I looked down I felt the earth’s gravity calling to me, a siren’s song to fly, crash and burn.

But unlike Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park in Utah before we had kids, where we climbed along sheer cliffs with nothing to hold onto except a chain threaded through large eye bolts embedded into the rocks under us, the family vacation hike to Honeymoon Bridge at the Three Sisters in Australia was much easier.

We didn’t make it all the way to Angel’s Landing; the terror of plummeting to the canyon floor was too much for us. We had to backtrack and head back down, even as families with young children scrambled past us, urging us to continue to the end.

The Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) wanted to see Honeymoon Bridge, although I had my reservations, unclear as to how high above the valley foliage we’d be. Probably too high. Yep. Way too high.

As we hiked to the bridge and went from a flat walking path to stairs with hand rails descending a few hundred feet to the bridge, my mind wandered to the night before, to how much easier it was to descend a different path.

We’d been out to dinner and the server who took our order forgot to put in the meals that the Mama and me wanted to eat. It happens. The server was apologetic and we still got our food, but I couldn’t let it go. Didn’t want to let it go. The beer and the travel tired didn’t help either. No excuse, though. I was a grump the rest of the night and that didn’t bode well for the Mama.

We’d already moved past it the next day, but it’s a recurring theme for me, gnashing my teeth like a Twitter troll as neutral passersby go about their business when I feel selfishly slighted. And not letting go no matter what.

Each step down to the bridge was actually easier than the last, as long as I didn’t look down the side of the cliff we descended. This time my mind wandered to the continuous acidic conversations I see online all the time, especially between supposed friends on Facebook (had just witnessed another one that morning). Tribal and polarized, these threads quickly dive into anger and frustration because of something one doesn’t like about the other (politically, socially, economically, etc.).

What’s worse, our greater discourse has empowered too many (more than I still want to believe) to stay in that dark and “grumpy” place of ignorant misunderstandings. An angry racist and misogynistic place where neighbor turns against neighbor. It’s one thing to have zero tolerance for hate, but the problem is that hate doesn’t discriminate and we seem to have zero tolerance for one another these days, which keeps us fractured and weak. And not letting go no matter what.

My attention refocused on the height at hand; we made it to Honeymoon Bridge. And although I had to take a picture near it, not on it, we still made it and the family crossed the 10-foot bridge to the carved out cliff of the first Sister of the Three. Nothing but air on either side of the bridge.

As I’ve made perfectly clear, I’m not a fan of heights. No frickin’ way. And yet I always try to push myself to get there, to go beyond my comfort zone and see something new, do something new, learn something new. To make the arduous journey upward and to get another perspective about this still amazing world we live. To rise above our baser instincts, our genetic default, for our better angels' compromise.

So many proverbial bridges to build and share with one another, but not always to cross.

Not Really A Miracle On 34th Street

"Wait, why are you closed again?"

"Because we're moving stores soon."

No signs posted anywhere. No automated message when I had called the store. Nothing.

We were soaked completely through from the rain, although we now had umbrellas. The two young women who said they worked at the store smiled at us as if we should've known, like maybe we simply neglected to read the imaginary memo sent to us from afar.

"Sorry girls, no Promise Pets," the Mama said.

I looked up and cried out to the vacation gods in vain, but they only answered with more warm rain.

***

Six weeks earlier the Mama had launched the plan. We were in the midst of finalizing our big summer vacation to New York City and the girls really wanted Promise Pets -- these cute, floppy-eared Beagles you can get from Build-A-Bear Workshops. Since there was a flagship Build-A-Bear workshop in NYC, we were going to take the girls there, but they'd have to earn "stars" by helping around the house in order to get the beloved Beagles.

Beatrice gets the value of a dollar, or is at least starting to understand. Bryce, not so much, so the star idea was a good one. Week by week the girls helping the Mama around the house, unloading the dishwasher, folding the clothes, feeding our fish, and other helpful tasks. Bea worked hard to get all her stars, and although Bryce struggled for most of the time, she came through in the end.

And so just a few days ago we flew to NYC and our summer adventure began. It had been over 12 years since Amy and I had gone to New York, but even then we remember walking through historic and iconic Central Park for the first time. This time with the girls it was just as memorable, and being summertime as opposed to early spring the first time we went, the park was lush and emerald green, with the trees and vegetation offering cool refuge from the muggy hot City streets. But even in the park we wilted quickly, me and the girls more than the Mama who had grown up with humid summers in the Midwest.

With the girls in tow, we visited the Central Park Zoo, and then the Children's Zoo, and the historic carousel, and then one of the playgrounds and splash parks where the girls got to cool off. At times the humidity was unbearable for me, but I survived, even after we each had to carry Bryce for part of our journey. We came across a pair of park musicians who were amazing, playing guitar and violin and singing classics such as "Dear Prudence" by the Beatles.

“…the sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful and so are you…”

Indeed. All in all a fantastic first visit with the girls to Central Park. Then it was time to find the Build-A-Bear Workshop, the flagship store located not too far from Times Square. The subway took us part way and then we walked, and walked, and walked in and around Times Square, taking in all the sights and sounds and smells (good and bad) and aggressive migrant street performers dressed as Elmo, Pooh Bear and Minions, hawking hugs and pictures for money.

But we loved it all and the end game of course were those hallowed Promise Pets. However, even with GPS, we kept going up and down and in and around Times Square without finding the Build-A-Bear. Then, it started to rain, and immediately there were street hawkers galore selling umbrellas.

Which we didn't buy. At least, not at first. No, we kept trudging away. The Mama found the scent of the trail again and there we were, the B-hive marching through the Big Apple, block after block, until within 10 minutes we were completely soaked.

But, none of us were squawking, not even the girls. Nope, we just kept on and on until finally we slipped into a little side street store and purchased two cheap umbrellas and ponchos for the girls. Bryce didn't like the poncho at all but thankfully cheap umbrellas worked.

Suddenly there it was, shining like a warm beacon in the heavy summer rain, after hours of NYC adventure behind us -- the Build-A-Bear Workshop on the corner of 5th Avenue and 46th Street.

We crossed the intersection and stood perplexed because we couldn't find the door. And when we did, the doors were locked, although the store was lit from the inside and there were people moving around. They were difficult to see however because the entire two sides of the corner store were blocked out with a white covering; we couldn't see a thing except for said cracks where the locked doors were.

So I called the store that only led me into a mousetrap game-like phone tree experience and never to a live person, and the rain still hadn't let up.

"I want a Promise Pet," whined Bryce.

"Me too," said Beatrice.

Finally, two young ladies came to the locked doors near where we stood. They had an empty flat cart and knocked on the door, so we assumed they worked there.

"Do you work here?" I asked.

"Yes," one of the women said, smiling.

"Are you open?"

"No, we're not."

The Mama and I couldn't believe what we were hearing.

"What do you mean you're not open?"

The other woman spoke. "Oh, sorry. You can try our other store at [undecipherable]."

We just looked at each other.

"Are we getting the promise pets now?" both girls asked.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Wait, why are you closed again?"

"Because we're moving stores soon."

No signs posted anywhere. No automated message when I had called the store. Nothing.

We were soaked completely through from the rain, although we now had umbrellas. The two young women who said they worked at the store smiled at us as if we should've known, like maybe we simply neglected to read the imaginary memo sent to us from afar.

"Sorry girls, no Promise Pets," the Mama said.

I looked up and cried out to the gods, but they only answered with more warm rain.

That's when things went really fast--

We tried to hail a cab, but none would stop.

I said 'Let me use Uber.'

'Great,' the Mama said.

But then I realized I hadn't used the app for a while and had deleted it. 

I downloaded it again, but then couldn't remember my login info. 

I tried to connect with Facebook, but it tried to create a new account.

The rain kept coming. 

You've got to be kidding, I thought.

'Are we getting a promise pet?' the girls asked again.

Then a cab pulled over and got us.

I called the other [undecipherable] Build-A-Bear location, but it turned out to be Macy's.

So I told the cab driver to take us to Macy's on 34th Street (yes, the famous one), because we figured we could find toys there and we couldn't find the other Build-A-Bear anyway.

More rain. Traffic jam.

Time ticking.

We finally get to Macy's and we get inside and ask two other young ladies:

'Excuse me, where is the toy section?'

'Oh, I'm sorry. There aren't any toys here at this Macy's. We only carry toys at Christmas.'

We couldn't help but laugh. 

The girls were disappointed but kept the faith as we moved outside again, the rain finally stopping.

We found the Manhattan Mall just up the street, which actually had a Toys "R" Us Express, and was actually open, and actually had toys the girls wanted.

And me too.

Not really a miracle on 34th street, but the B-hive takes Manhattan nonetheless.

Right on. #BhivePower #NYC

The Effectual Stretch of Imagination

“He's got a road map of Jupiter
A radar fix on the stars
All along the highway
She's got a liquid-crystal compass 
A picture book of the rivers
Under the Sahara — 
They travel in the time of the prophets
On a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
Like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone…”

—Neil Peart

It wasn’t exactly the romanticized version of backpacking through an exotic land, especially if you consider a cheap roller suitcase a backpack, which unfortunately I did. But that was me then in 1998, when my then girlfriend (now wife) had bitten me with the travel bug. Prior to that my travel was limited and relegated to a few States, and then once to Hawaii, which when I was 13 I actually thought was another country, and then years later once to Mexico and once to Canada.

My wife had traveled extensively prior to us meeting, including the romanticized version of backpacking through Europe after college, only to get most of her belongings stolen in Prague after only two days into her trip. She could’ve got home after that, wanted to go home after that, but regrouped, bought a few new things, and went on to travel for another few weeks.

And so our first big journey together was to Costa Rica, about a year after we had met. A lovely country, it was the first time I had been to such an exotic land, and to travel with someone else who lived boldly, to experience such visceral sensations I had never before experienced was amazing in and of itself. But the meeting of people I had never met before, some of whom had alien worldviews compared to mine, and exchanging those worldviews with one another, was the epitome of the “effectual stretch.”

The “effectual stretch” meaning pushing oneself to learn and expand beyond what’s known and comfortable in a way that’s produces desired yet diverse effective results, whatever those results may mean to each person. It could mean the literal extremes of success or failure, or that fatty layer in between that gives sustenance to our tenuous journey of sinew and bone.

We’ve attempted to impress the same approach and attitude on our daughters, teaching them to be bold yet aware, to protect themselves but not live in fear, to keep getting back on the bull like they own the beast, horns held tightly in hands. This includes exposing them to travel, new locales and people, experiences that we hope will shape their adult lives and those they interact with for the better.

Listening to a recent Freakonomics podcast about empowering a better workplace and the cities where those workplaces are, which will take another article I'm writing in a tangential direction, I had to smile when I heard American economist and Harvard University professor Edward Glaeser talk about how he was taking a sabbatical while “…attempting to civilize my children by taking them to a variety of different cities.”

Yes, that's the idea of "civilizing" through the effectual stretch and why we're now taking the girls to the island of Manhattan and beyond this summer for our next family vacation. We've flown together already to visit my parents in Oregon and the Mama's family in the Midwest, flown to Sea World and the Zoo in San Diego, ridden trains together to San Francisco, ridden city busses in Santa Cruz, driven to Disneyland and back a couple of times already (and a few other road trips to visit our sisters in Nevada and Central California). And there have been a couple of international trips for me when I've extended the stretch of imagination for the entire B-hive by getting to go to Australia and more recently Ireland.

In every place any of us goes individually or as a family, the idea is to learn something new about other people and ourselves, and to suspend our disbelief about the lore of the land we're upon, especially for our girls. There ain't nothing wrong in believing in magical things. (And yes, I kissed the Blarney Stone in Blarney Castle.)

You can't get any more excited about something as magical as fairy doors. Really. The girls have been immersed in the Tinker Bell and her fairy friends reboot for a few years (great girl power stories by the way) and when my new friend, Gina London, whom I met in Ireland (an Emmy award-winning veteran CNN anchor and correspondent turned international executive communications consultant, one of many amazing people I met while there), told me about how her daughter Lulu adores the fairy doors, I just had to have them for Beatrice and Bryce. Fairies originated from European folklore and Celtic, Germanic and Greco-Roman beliefs.

These particular doors are made by the Irish Fairy Door Company and come complete with door, key and wooden steps for the front of the door. You then give your fairy a name, and this is how it went with us:

"Beatrice, what name do you want for your fairy?"

"Tinkerbell, because I love her."

"Bryce, what about you?"

"My fairy's name is Barry."

In all fairness Bryce most likely meant "Berry," but Barry is funnier, so that's what I'm going with. You also get a fairy lease agreement, which is really cute and comes with stipulations such as:

“If pets live with the home, please that they do not tinkle against the fairy door. Having a wee-covered door can cause your fairy to get quite upset.”

You then find a place for the doors in your house and decorate around them, leave the keys out overnight, and if they're gone in the morning, the newly named fairies are the family's new friends and will visit regularly. Tinker Bell and Barry not only have new homes within ours, but they have the makings of a new fairy garden in the backyard courtesy of Bryce. And yes, the fairies have visited more than once already.

What the Mama and I love about the whole idea is how stretches their imaginations and gets them excited about new experiences both near and far. Ever since we met one day at the beach nearly 18 years ago, it’s been one new experience and growth opportunity after another. Not always travel related, and certainly not always successful, it’s been more about having an explorer’s mentality and approach to the mindful and agile living of the effectual stretch.

That is the gift the Mama gave to me and now our girls, and I couldn't be more thankful and grateful. Here's an excerpt of a poem I wrote her on my way home from Ireland that sums it all up:

The moment we met that day on the beach became a stunning ache
That has never left me — the soft light of your moving presence, 
A welcome sun that never fails to rise and lift my heart, hold it high 
In the sky and remind me this is how it feels to live life with love,
To be in love, to live boldly and burn brighter with the happy ache of 
Never wanting to be without, for that would mean we were never real, 
that our fated meeting had never happened, our heartmeld fusion that had
Never transformed two halves into two wholes, birthing two celestial
bodies locked in each other's gravity, a brilliant sun and moon, lovers 
And friends who can't look away from one another, who look out for
One another, who live life unabashed and empower their children in kind...

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. We love you.