Another Majestic Moment

"...You move me

You move me
With your buildings and your eyes
Autumn woods and winter skies
You move me
You move me
Open sea and city lights
Busy streets and dizzy heights
You call me
You call me..."

–Rush, Analog Kid

We sat in stillness watching the setting sun cast an orange-gold glow over the Pacific. The only sounds were the strong sea winds whipping through the grassy hills around us and the far-off yipping cries of coyotes. Just below us were a group of Tule Elk bulls grazing, which was something we weren't sure we'd see. Their silhouettes in the distance were soothing. I rolled down the window and took a picture. 

Earlier in the day, a park docent told us that the Tule Elk were primarily from the Central Valley and were nearly wiped out. Two pair of mates were brought to the Point Reyes National Seashore where we were on this trip. Those two pairs eventually because over 600 elk in the area. But he told us that we may not see any unless we hiked a few miles up to the north end of the park. 

What my wife Amy wanted to see was the sunset and it was coming fast. We decided we wouldn't make it in time doing a hike to the water, so instead, drove back along the road to the top of the highest hill, turned around, and parked on the side of the road. That's when we saw the Tule Elk grazing. One of them looking up, watching us intently, but then continued to graze. 

It was the last hoorah before school year started. Our kids Beatrice and Bryce stayed home to hang out with their friends, and Amy and I took off for some together, just the two of us. Now that the kids are older, and not like we were when we were young (thank goodness), we've been taking more trips without them. It's great, especially now that Beatrice is driving. They take care of the house and our pets. Of course, we miss them, and they miss us, but adulting is here to stay. Yeah! That continues to be an interesting new phase in our family's lives and one we embrace fully! 

Point Reyes and Inverness where we stayed were spectacular. Only three hours from us, it's a place we'd never been to before. Another highlight was hiking down to the Point Reyes Lighthouse. And then back up again. A very steep 313 stairs plus another 50+ feet of pathed path with guardrail fencing on either side due to the sheer drops of hundreds of feet down the cliffs into the ocean. It's also the windiest and foggiest location on the west coast, and although it was very windy, it was clear and beautiful. The "caution" sign at the top of the stairs started with the warning "The 313 stairs are wicked hard."

The stairs weren't that hard for us, but the vertigo was. We dubbed it our Angels Landing, because we actually finished it. If you’re not familiar with Angels Landing, it’s an iconic rock formation in Zion 1,500 feet tall with a hiking trail that does not have any guardrails, just heavy iron chains bolted directly into the red rock for hand support. That's it. Amy and I attempted it in 2007, nearly making it to the end (or midway, we were never sure). The fear of falling kicked our butts back down to ground level.

I have a fear of heights, and yet I always challenge myself to do activities that include heights. Why? Because I don't want to miss out -- and it always freaks me out -- and I still do it. Same with Amy. Neither of us could finish Angels Landing, but we finished the Point Reyes Lighthouse climb. I stayed focused on the stairs, held onto the guardrails, and never looked down the cliff side. 

It was worth it. In the nearly 30 years I've been with Amy, I've learned that everything we do together is worth it, strengthening our bond exponentially. Even if I balk at first. I didn't think we should park on the side of the road to watch the sunset because I was afraid we'd startle the Tule Elk bulls and they'd rush our car, which they can do during mating season. 

We didn't startle them, though. We stopped and sat in stillness watching the setting sun cast an orange-gold glow over the Pacific. The Tule Elk silhouettes in the distance soothed us. One of them looked up toward us and then continued to graze. We smiled and touched hands, feeling blessed by another majestic moment together, one of millions stored forever in our hearts. We missed our kids, but we know we've instilled in them the same love of moments like these, receiving hearts from them when I texted them our pictures. 

Because There's Always A Promise

The past few weeks have been a lot. Work changes, tons of school board activities, Beatrice's High School Musical, Bryce's We Will Not Be Erased march, Bryce graduating 8th grade, and my best friend's memorial. And yet, I've never been on a sounder emotional footing.

Thank goodness, because the world around us continues to be a proverbial shit show. But none of that mattered, especially this past week. 

First, attending the elementary school promotion ceremony where both our children went to school from preschool to 5th grade was so very sweet. Our oldest Beatrice was with me because one of her longtime friend's sister was graduating 5th grade. Most of the 5th graders all looked so tiny and young. Now they were on their way to middle school. Beatrice's memories were bittersweet because it was the heart of pandemic when she graduated 5th grade and the school did a drive-through promotion certificate pick up.

When Bryce graduated 5th grade, I wasn't there because I had work travel that week. But, because the school streamed the ceremony via Zoom, I did get to watch Bryce speak along with a few other students from each 5th grade class. 

I was not going to miss their 8th grade graduations, however. Amy and I were there for Beatrice's two years ago and then Bryce's this past week. Being on the school board, I'm grateful that I got to hand both our children their promotion certificates on stage. Plus, there's nothing better when you're the school board president and your punk rock kid puts rabbit ears above your head for the photo. Love that kid!

8th grade was a lot for Bryce. They struggled with an introverted social battery that drained quickly and led to emotional changes and anxiety challenges. Beatrice experienced similar changes and challenges when she was in 8th grade, too, but who's now thriving in high school. Bryce is looking forward to joining her in high school where they'll both be in choir and theater together. Amy and I continue to provide a loving and supportive environment for them that helps them learn to adapt and thrive. 

All of Beatrice's and Bryce's recent school activities (and anxieties) have brought back many of my own bittersweet memories (and anxieties). And since my best friend Robby passed away earlier this year, my high school memories continue to unravel like multicolored streamers in high wind. They ripple, flap, and tangle, weaving and bleeding into each other – an unreliable blend of what happened then, what’s happened in the years since, and how I feel about it all now. Memories that tatter in my heart. Memories that reconcile and heal in my heart.

And it was the healing in my heart that radiated with love and gratitude at our friend's celebration of life memorial. My dearest friends and brothers as I call them helped me plan the memorial, and many other longtime friends helped to pull it off. Nearly 50 of us came together to celebrate Robby, including his sister and niece. There were many faces I hadn't seen in person in decades. There were lots of smiles and hugs, and of course tears, and while we're all certainly a lot older now, our past youthful spirits were aglow with the promise of our lives then and now. 

Because there's always a promise, one we owe to ourselves to fulfill every moment of every day. Blessings to Robby and blessings to us all. 

The ROI Of Family Bonding And Love

"...Sometimes the light's all shinin' on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it's been..."

Grateful Dead, Truckin'

And just like that, our travel trailer was gone. Not stolen or in an accident. Simply sold to a wonderful retired couple with grandchildren, four years after we had bought it. 

We didn't sell it because we had to. We just weren't using it as much as we thought we would. It was a pandemic buy and it opened up a lot of travel options we had during the summer of 2020 and beyond. And we had no friggin' idea what we were doing. My parents had a truck camper, then a boat, then a motorhome, but I never had to take care of them and/or tow and/or drive them. 

In July of 2020, we wrapped up the paperwork at the dealer, hooked up the rig, and towed our new travel trailer for the first time. Again, no friggin' idea what we were doing. I was scared to death. My wife Amy was nervous, too, but as always, assured me we could do it. 

And we did. I could also back that thing up like a champ, too. It wasn't without a big learning curve and almost breaking lots of things, though. Thankfully we never really broke anything exactly, only slightly damaged some things. I backed our SUV into the trailer hitch that left a dent, one that remains today. Early on with the travel trailer we used it as a safe haven at a campground out of town when the CZU August Lightning Complex fires came within three miles of where we live and the smoke and ash were horrible. We then had to deal with our home security alarm going off when we were gone with me thinking that we were being looted (which we weren't after I drove all the way back to our house in the early morning to check). 

We connected the batteries incorrectly on one trip and nearly fried them. We woke up on another trip with a flat tire on the travel trailer that turned into a bit of a fiasco, although we got home okay. And on that same trip, my kids and I dealt with bullies in a McDonald's. On another trip, we thought our SUV was on fire that began a cascading stress-mess with an anti-climatic ending. 

Even with all of that, in a short period of time we had many great adventures, including an amazing two-week Southwest road trip, a couple of trips Oregon where one of Amy's uncles lives (and who helped us a lot with our travel trailer learning curve!), a trip to Joshua Tree, trips to the Columbia in Sonora, trips down the central coast to Paso Robles and Avila Beach, trips to see my family in the Central Valley (KOA campgrounds are great especially when there's a pool!), and a few others. And through it all I took care of my family's poop.

Our kids are now teens, and the last few times we went on a trip in the trailer camper, they didn't like it. Hated it, actually. Not the parts we did outside of the travel trailer, just the staying in the camper and the sleeping parts. Our dog Jenny always disliked going with us in the travel trailer, too. It always stressed her out and we had to crate her in the camper when we went places that didn't allow dogs. 

Amy and I had aspirational ideas about what we'd do with our travel trailer in the years after we bought it. When we first got it, we were ready to go, and we had plans to travel in it together when the kids were old enough to stay by themselves, and eventually when they were out of the house. I think that, like in the beginning as a pandemic buy, we romanticized what it would be like to travel in our camper. 

But in the past year it's not how we've traveled, and won't be in the foreseeable future. We hated the camper sitting in storage and not being used. Because what happens when things sit and aren't being used? They breakdown and fall apart. And we didn't want that to happen, so we sold it to some very nice people who will take good care of it. 

We did have amazing adventures, though, and we made miles of special memories. We saw so many beautiful landscapes and met some wonderful people. We also learned a lot about travel trailers, towing, how your mileage sucks when you're towing, and how easy it is to almost break stuff. However, the biggest lesson of all was also the greatest return on our investment. The ROI of family bonding and love.

 

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. 

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. 

Holding Space In Our Hearts

The airline text read "flight canceled." I stared at it for a few seconds before I opened the entire text to read it and click through. Sure enough, our flight was canceled. 

I told my wife Amy. "Call the airline," she said.

The airline confirmed that due to extreme weather in the midwest, we wouldn't be able to get out there until Sunday. It was Friday morning and the celebration of life memorial we were going to was on Saturday. Unfortunately that travel math didn't work for us. 

We had been looking forward to seeing family and celebrate Aunt Julie's life. Aunt Julie had been married to Amy's Uncle Brian and sadly passed away last year. She was a joyous loving soul who loved travel, dancing, cooking, playing games, was quite the artist, and generally loved to have fun. We enjoyed our visits and travels with her and Brian over the years and really wanted to be there. It also wasn't lost on us that years ago when we traveled with her and Uncle Brian to Boston was the year before we were pregnant with our daughter Beatrice. 

But again, the travel math wasn't going to work for us. It was the beginning of our kids' spring break, so we quickly brainstormed what we should do, if anything. Do we just do a stay-cation and stay home? Or, do we go somewhere else and spend way too much money? The latter won out. 

Amy wondered out loud what Julie would want us to do. "Maybe we should go down south and go to Disney and/or Universal and have some fun. What do you think?" she asked me.

She waited for me to respond no, my usual default reaction, but I didn't say no this time. 

"Sure, but we need to make sure we can get tickets since it is the beginning of spring break," I said. 

"Beatrice and Bryce, do you want to go to Universal and maybe Disney?" Amy said.

Multiple cheers confirmed the affirmative -- they definitely wanted to go. So, that's when we pretty quickly pivoted and rebooked our trip to LA, grateful that we could actually do that. Fortunately there were hotel rooms and park tickets available. 

Beatrice and Bryce thoroughly enjoyed our last-minute spring break trip pivot and every ride we went on at Disneyland and Universal, even with the long line wait times and the crush of people. Amy and I enjoyed as well, and throughout the entire trip, held space in our hearts to celebrate Aunt Julie's life and the fun she definitely would've wanted us to have, and would've had with us had she been there. 

Holding space in our hearts for the best of us makes the most of every moment wherever we are. 

Time For Them To Go Make

Thank goodness my parents never chaperoned my junior high dances. Not that there was out-of-control make-out sessions going on; most of the time kids just stood around. Girls on one side of the gym, and boys on the other, all giggling and talking among themselves. Sometimes there was shrieking and running around like crazy kids, but most of the time there was just a lot of standing around. 

However, at my 8th grade dances, there was a little making out and close dancing, and I definitely didn't want my parents seeing that. The teacher, administrators, and other parents who were supervising the dances did their best to keep us all in line. 

Being 12, 13, and 14 are awkward and exciting years. Changes abound, physically and emotionally, and having two daughters means they are exponential. Our girls are amazing and we're so proud of them, no matter how much "sass" we get now. And we're getting it, that's for sure. Especially me. 

We're all very close and feel safe with each other, are comfortable being vulnerable, and can poke fun at each other without being mean. Mostly. We're still their parents, and they are our children, and while we want to ensure they're safe and making good choices, we're very grateful that they share their days with us, how they feel (up or down), and ask for help when they need it. 

They're both in middle school now and participating in more activities on their own with their friends. We review our safety plans every week with them, of what they need to do when they're on their own, like checking in with us, especially if the original plan changes. 

Now there are the middle school dances for our kids. Our oldest Beatrice went to her first last year after pandemic restrictions were lifted. Our youngest Bryce gets to go to her first with her sister and friends this year. Amy volunteered to help with the dance, but not chaperone it. 

The other night when we were all playing a game before dinner, Amy and I joked with them that we were going to both chaperone their next dance. 

"No!" they both exclaimed.

All of us being big fans of the sitcom The Goldbergs, about a family growing up in the 1980's, a coming-of-age decade for Amy and me, Amy pulled out the catch phrases from the mom character Beverly Goldberg. 

"We're going to go to your dance and I'm going to dad dance like this," I said. I shared my funky hitchhiker hand swing.

"No, Dad, you can't do that," Beatrice said. Bryce just laughed.

Amy smiled. "And I'm going to tell everyone how I 'baked my schmoopies in my mom oven' and how much I love you," she said, channeling Beverly Goldberg. 

Both girls laughed and said, "No!"

"And then I'm going to ask you both if you 'need to go make,'" said Amy, dropping her hand into her other one and giggling herself. That reference meaning having to go number 2 in the bathroom. 

Again they both shouted, "No!"

We all laughed. What they don't know is that we just may chaperone a dance before the end of the school year. So we can watch our kids with their friends all stand around giggling and talking, while they periodically shriek and run around like crazies, just like our olden days. Whether we chaperone or not, these are the their formative years when it's time for them to go make. Special memories, that is. Because nobody likes to talk potty time, especially teens.

Reusing the Usable

As I approached the tipped over chair, now covered in broken Cheez-Its, I realized that there was something else in it. Something wrapped in a blanket. Something small, like an animal. Or a child. Something I thought was dead.

That was my first thought because it didn't move. I touched the chair to shake it a bit, and that's when the wrapped up thing breathed. 

I jumped away and backed into the street. I thought to myself, What the hell is this? A child sleeping in our old chair?

Then it breathed again. I didn't know if I should try to wake up whoever it was or not; it could be a safety problem for me. So, I walked back across our street and into our house. I also had a work call in only a few minutes and wasn't sure what to do, but I knew we needed to call the police. I asked my wife Amy to call and she did. She'd also be leaving soon to take our daughters to school and we had know idea who was sleeping outside in our old chair that was scheduled to be picked up by our city's garbage service. 

I went into my office and had my call. Once Amy returned from dropping off the girls, she told me that she'd gone back outside after calling the police and talked to one of our neighbors about the whoever it was sleeping in our old chair. 

That's when the woman woke up and uncovered herself. She got up and brushed the Cheez-Its off herself and the chair. She then told my wife something about wanting our old chair for her apartment, and then she got tired, curled up in it, and fell asleep. Amy had seen her before around town; she was most likely experiencing homelessness. Maybe there was addiction and/or mental health issues; we just don't know. She took off down the street not wanting to deal with the cops, though. A few minutes later the police drove by our house slowly and our old chair but didn't stop. 

The Day Before

We had put our old burgundy cuddle chair across the street the night before like the city asked us to do. But because we placed it on the property in front of us, and not directly on the street, they would take it. It's one of those situations where you think, But it's still right there. Why didn't you just take it? 

Ugh. It would have to stay outside on the street one more night. Which was a bummer because we'd have to look at it again outside for one more night. Although the recliner part of the cuddle chair had been broken for years, we still used it in our living room, in no rush to replace it. We loved that chair and had purchased it about five years before we had our oldest daughter. It went from our apartment to our first home together, with lots of family pictures in it over the years.

But it was time to go because Amy found a free street loveseat. Amy loves finding free stuff on the street. If there's stuff on the street with a free sign on it, Amy wants to check it out. And if she doesn't check it out the first time she sees it, she'll double back to check it all out. The girls and I always tease her about it, and the girls also plead for her not to take free street stuff. There are bowls and plates she's found and the girls won't use no matter how many times we've washed them. Amy's motto is reduce, reuse, recycle. I know my grandpa would've been proud. He always prided himself in reusing the usable. 

That's why when the girls got home at the end of the day to find a new (used) recliner loveseat showered in Febreze freshener siting in the place where our cuddle chair used to be, and after they heard the story, they looked at me and said, "Dad, why did you let Mom get a street couch?"

"It's in great shape, girls. It really is," I said.

"But it smells," they said.

"No, it's just a little musty. It'll smell like us soon. We'll be on it. Jenny will be on it. Don't worry, it's really a nice recliner loveseat," Amy said.

The girls frowned. "No more street stuff, Mom."

But we were already using it. Our dog Jenny was already sleeping on it (although she hacked a few times the first time because of the Febreze). Just like it had always been there in our house. Like it was meant to be. 

The Day Before That

I had a busy day ahead with staff calls and work planning, and the last thing I wanted was a monkey wrench tossed my way to sabotage my day. When Amy got home from dropping the girls off at school, she was excited about something.

"There's a free loveseat that's perfect for our house!" 

She told me the story of driving by it, almost saying no way, and then circling back to check it out. 

"It's really in great shape and the both recliners work," she said.

It was in front of a house that was for sale. She wasn't sure if it was from the house, but mostly like it was. 

"We should go get it," she said. 

Now, I've never been a very spontaneous person throughout my life, although that's changed a lot since I've been with Amy and we've had kids. But my old resistance response of no was exactly what I did. 

"No, I just have too busy of a day today," I said.

"Okay, we can just look at it tomorrow maybe," she said, with a subtle hint of disappointment. 

I wasn't necessarily resistant to the idea of a free couch that was in good shape, but it was the time involved of going to see it, trying to get it home, etc., that was the monkey wrench throwing me. My day was busy and I just didn't want any unplanned pivoting to happen. 

But pivot I did. We were thinking of buy a new cuddle chair soon anyway and I know Amy was thinking about saving a thousand bucks, which I liked, so I made room in my schedule and we went to look at it. 

I agreed it was in good shape, but it was heavy and I didn't think it would fit in our SUV. We got it halfway into the car, but that's as far as it would go. We were less than two miles from home and she convinced me it was wedged enough for her to sit behind it and hold it while I drove us home. 

And that's exactly what we did. We got it home and into the garage safely. Later when my neighbors were home I asked for their help and we moved the old cuddle chair out to the street and the put the found loveseat in its place. 

I'm sitting on the new (old) loveseat now as I write this, our dog Jenny sleeping next to me on one of the old crocheted blankets my grandmother made so long ago. But this story is more than just finding this free piece of furniture we were looking to buy and how that all worked out for us. 

No, if Amy hadn't circled back to check out the free loveseat; if I hadn't changed my mind to go look at it with her; if we hadn't driven it home hanging halfway out of our car; if our neighbors weren't available to help me move both cuddle chair and loveseat; if the city had actually picked up our old memory-filled cuddle chair off the street the first night we put it outside -- then it wouldn't have given that homeless woman a few hours of somewhat safe sleeping the second night it was outside. 

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe not. Whatever it was, reusing the usable was meant to be. 

All Because of One Day at the Beach

"Somehow we found each other

Somehow we have stayed

In a state of grace..."

–Rush, Ghost of a Chance

Picture by my friend Doug Ross

I never remember our exact exchange, but the visceral memory of that moment is permanently etched in my mind and my heart. 

"What did you say to me again? 'So, do you always come here alone?'"

It's the morning of our 23rd anniversary of when we met. 

"No, Sweetie, I asked, 'Why are you always here alone?,'" my wife Amy says and smiles. 

"Right," I say. "I always remember it differently." 

"Oh, it's your anniversary? Happy Anniversary," says Bryce our youngest. 

"Happy anniversary," says Beatrice our oldest.

"Why does your anniversary have to be on a Sunday?" asks Bryce.

"Because that's where the date fell this year," Amy says. 

"Oh."

"Thank you both. That's why we went to the water yesterday, to read our vows," I say.

"Oh."

Kids, I think. 

The day before our anniversary we did go to the water to read our wedding vows, something we do every year (our wedding date being on the same day when we met, just six years later). Some of the parking lots near the lighthouse and close to the beach where we met are closed due to COVID-19, and the ones that are open are always full. We parked down the street and walked toward the beach where we met all those years ago. Beatrice rode her skateboard, Bryce had on her roller blades and we had our dog Jenny in tow. 

It was a lovely afternoon as it usually is in October where we live. Windier than usual, but still lovely. The girls sat on a bench as we looked out over the beach where we met October 11, 1997. The waves kept time with our vows and the sun lit up the sea...

Amy and I had been coming there alone for weeks during that El Niño late summer into October. The weather was beautiful and the ocean much warmer than usual. I'd hang out closer to the water and write in my journal, and Amy would sit in her orange beach chair against the cliff wall. I noticed her the first time I went down to the beach, shortly after I had moved to Santa Cruz, but never approached her. I was in the early stages of a separation that would ultimately lead to divorce (something that would challenge our relationship early on), and had no interest in approaching her, or anyone at that time.

Then one day I looked up from my journal and there were two sun-tanned legs in front of me. I looked up higher, and there she was, awash in sunshine, wearing a two-piece bathing suit and a baseball hat. She was so beautiful (still is), and it was the baseball hat that actually wowed me more than the suit (okay, a close second). I had never known a woman who could wear a baseball hat so well. 

"Why are you always here alone?" she asked me.

Every time I think of that moment, I remember not responding immediately. Not because I didn't want to respond. I just wasn't sure how to. Her question was confident and direct, and at that time, I wasn't so confident and direct, and again, wanted to be alone. Seconds passed. Whatever strange and exciting connection I felt in that moment was already slipping away. The weight in her legs shifted, indicating she was about to walk away. The universe taunted me and my silence. C'mon, Kevin, I thought. You'd better saying something.

"What exactly did I say to you again in response?" I ask Amy.

"'Because I like to,'" she says.

"That's really what I said?"

"Yes, but you can make something up if you want," she says and smiles

"Ha. No, I want to get it right. But 'because I like to'? Subpar, Kevin."

"Well, that's what you said."

"I love you, Amy."

"I love you, too. Happy Anniversary."

That was only the beginning back then. Since then our journey has brought us to today, 23 years in the making. We've had some amazing experiences together, and travels, and had two daughters along the way. We've also had our own challenges, too, and throughout it all it's been a loving journey of forgiveness empowered by grace. We are grateful for each other and our family every single day, awash in love and hope, and we choose us, always. And all because of one day at the beach.

"There's a new sun arisin'

(In your eyes) I can see a new horizon

(Realize) That will keep me realizin'

You're the biggest part of me..."

–Ambrosia, Biggest Part of Me

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Awash in Love and Hope

"But time

Keeps flowing like a river (on and on)

To the sea, to the sea

Till it's gone forever

Gone forever

Gone forevermore..."

–Alan Parsons Project, Time

Twelve years ago, shortly before our oldest Beatrice was born, I thought about when I was 12 years old. I remembered imagining then what my life would be like when I turned 35, in the year 2000. I was full of anxious hope back then. Where would I live? Would I be married? Have a family? Would I be healthy? Would I be happy? What kind of work would I do? Would I be successful? Would I be a writer? 

Back then, 35 felt so far away. Goodness, 13 felt so far away. Time is funny and fluid that way, and it eventually brought me to the sea, literally. And every day, my mental tides then wash away the remains of my experiences, leaving a few foamy bits sparkling in the sun. I pick through them sometimes, hold them in my hand and reminisce. 

When I eventually hit 35 in 2000, I don't remember imagining what life would be like when I would turn 55 in 2020. At that point in my life, I lived in Santa Cruz, was with my now wife, Amy. I had already been married once, but with no children, and kids were light years away with Amy (eight years to be precise). I was fairly healthy back then, but would become even healthier two years later after I quit smoking (although years later I'd have another health scare). I still struggled with my blue genes then, too. I wasn't exactly professionally successful either, but I was a writer and was happy. 

No, in the year 2000 I never imagined that 20 years later we'd be raising a family in a global pandemic, another global recession (the first two were already on their way), chronic homelessness, global unrest due to systemic racial injustice and social inequity, and a world filled with uncertainty, shame and hate. I also never imagined our family, along with millions of other families and individuals, would be part of affecting positive change in communities around the world. 

Time is always now again, its fluidity a constant. Suddenly I'm 55 and all of the above is here, today. But a moment later I'm swept away from mindfulness, and I briefly imagine what life will be like when I'm 75, in the year 2040. Where will our daughters live? Will they be married? Have their own families? Will they be healthy? Will we be healthy? Will we all be happy? Will I still be writing? Will the world be a better place? 

My mental tides wash away those questions and it's now again. All I really know today is that I'm grateful for our daughters. I'm grateful for my wife. I'm grateful for my life. I'm grateful for my family and friends. I'm grateful for my community. I'm grateful for your impact on me, and my impact on you. 

I'm also grateful each week to spend time on the beach in Natural Bridges State Park near where we live. We've been going there for years and we've taken our girls there since there were both babies. Whether it's walking with Amy and our dog Jenny to Natural Bridges and back again, boogie boarding in the ocean with our daughters, or doing my weekly beach workout by myself (usually listening to my favorite band Rush), Natural Bridges is a sacred place to me. It's about a mile from the beach where I met Amy (another sacred place), and only a quarter mile from where we were married. There's something about the one remaining Natural Bridge, the beach and the sea -- this place where I ask for God's grace and wisdom. 

Tides will always come and go, and although my time will disappear into the sea someday, this is where I'll be forever, awash in love and hope. 

"We still feel that relation

When the water takes us home

In the flying spray of the ocean

The water takes you home..."

–Rush, High Water

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Stars to Shine

"I wasn't praying for magic
I was hiding in plain sight
Rising up from the surface
To fly into the light, into the light..."

–Rush, Sweet Miracle

Sometimes I think as parents, we don't really want to know when our children are going through something difficult. Something wrought with emotional and psychological discomfort that they can't articulate. We may sense it, and it may even manifest itself in ways that are undeniable. But if they don't talk about it, if we don't talk about it, then maybe it will go away. Will work itself out. Will be normal. 

That doesn't mean we don't care about our children. That we don't love them. Of course we do. And of course we ask, "What's wrong, sweetie?" Because we want to be there for them, to resolve whatever angst might be strangling them. Regardless of their age. 

Because pre-coronavirus, they were usually out of the house more during the day, especially if you have school-age kids like we do. They were around a lot more people during, friends and teachers, and if they were in any extracurricular activities after school they were around even more kids and adults. Being exposed to life lessons and positive and negative stressors all around. Life as we knew it. 

Decades earlier, my mom and dad were supportive and loving parents, and yet, I never felt comfortable sharing the turmoil inside me that grew dramatically during my teenage years. As a child, part of my heart had collapsed like a star turned black hole, sucking the light from my eyes no matter how hard I tried to stay positive. As my awareness of the world around me, and inside me, grew, and my reactions to that awareness, the black hole's gravity expanded. Although I just wanted to be liked, I didn't like myself much, and those feelings of unworthiness, vulnerability and weakness only isolated me more. Rife with anxiety and panic attacks, I never shared any of it with my parents. They did notice something was wrong, and they did ask, but I never talked about it. So they never pressed. Until one day at the end of my senior year in high school the black hole burst open. Decades later light, so much light. 

They had no idea. Didn't really want to have any idea, which again, didn't mean they didn't love me and want to offer me support. They just wanted me to be happy. And normal. God knows they had their own collapsed stars haunting the skies of their adulting lives. 

It's been six months now since COVID-19 changed our lives forever. And is still changing them. Out there is a pandemic, economic devastation, divisive political polarity, racial injustice, social unrest and more. In here are families like ours, locked down together, fearful of the future, limited in what we can do, distance learning for school, camping together for vacations, no other extracurricular activities, missing distant family and friends, and "podding" with other families to stay safe and virus free and to have some social interaction in so much social isolation. Researcher Dr. Brené Brown calls this Day 2, the messy middle -- the point of no return.

We are all in the messy middle now and we have no choice but to continue going through it. Hopefully we'll all come out in Day 3 better for it. And thankfully these days as parents, there are many more of us who do want to know when are children are going through something difficult. Who empower our children to be able to articulate the emotional and psychological discomfort they're experiencing. Who encourage them to safely share, without judgement, while we listen and provide parental counsel. And who are so proud of them when they come up with their own resilient ideas of what they need to adapt and thrive. 

We are with them all the time, and no matter what we're going through as adults today, we want to save them from adulting doom, their own potential black hole implosions. We only want their stars to shine through their eyes and in our skies. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

The beep woke me. The camper kitchen fan remained on, but everything else was still and dark, inside and outside. I knew then that the power had gone out in our camper and the campground. No one else in my family stirred. 

I reached for my phone. It lit up when I touched the screen, revealing the time of 3:30 AM, and a text and a missed call. The text was the fact that our home motion alarm had gone off at 10:30 PM, five hours earlier. The missed called was the alarm company. That meant that, since we didn't cancel the alarm, they would've called 911. 

My first thought was to check our doorbell video camera, but since the wifi was out at the campground, and we had no cell service where our site was in the campground, that wasn't going to happen. Maybe I should walk to the front of the campground where I'll get service, I thought. 

My mind raced. Did someone break into our house? Our neighbors who were home were looking out for those who weren't, but that thought brought the sick feeling of being violated, of things trashed and lost. Burglary and looting were top of mind for those evacuated and those just getting out of the smoke due to the CZU August Lightning Complex fires burning in our areas. We've all been so stressed of late due to the fires, coronavirus and civil unrest. 

"What's wrong?" my wife Amy asked. She was awake. Good.

"Our house alarm went off last night at 10:30," I said. 

The power went back on in the campground, and a few minutes later wifi was back up. I checked our video camera footage, and sure enough, two police officers had rung our doorbell shortly after our alarm went off. That sick feeling throbbed again. 

"I need to go check the house," I said. 

"Yes, you should," Amy said.

We were only about 25 minutes from home, but it was far enough for us to get out of the smoke for a couple of nights. Smoke that still permeated much of the Westside of Santa Cruz where we live. We had been prepped to evacuate, but were fortunate that we didn't have to. Going to the campground with our camper was our choice. For nearly 80,000 people in our area, it was not a choice. We were grateful to be able to donate some bedding and other items for evacuees the day before, volunteering at one of the donation centers for evacuees and helping to sort donations.  

As I drove back to our house at 4 AM, that sick feeling grew. I thought about the time in college when I rented a house with three other guys. It was near the holidays and we had a house party. There were people there we didn't know, but hey, we were partying and all was well. The next day after we had all gone off to classes and jobs, our house was broken into. Our rooms ransacked. All the Christmas presents I had bought for my family were gone, along with other valuables, never to be recovered.

As I got closer to home, the feeling of being violated fed my fear and anger. Earlier in the week in our neighborhood, there had been a shirtless guy wearing shorts, a baseball cap and a scarf covering his mouth and nose, riding his bike around and calling out, "Here kitty kitty." He claimed to be an evacuee from the mountains and was looking for his cat he had brought with him, but his story changed after talking with other neighbors of ours. We were all convinced he was casing our houses, seeing who was house and who wasn't. There were others as well going down our street. Plus, we already had an RV homeless camp across the highway from our neighborhood that had been growing for weeks. And there had already been looters arrested in the mountain community above us, and one who had stolen from a firefighter. 

I pulled into the driveway and everything looked fine. My wife had texted if everything was okay. Beatrice was up too and texted she loved me. I texted back I was home. We had left the porch light on even though we have motion-activated lights. There was a package on our porch that had been delivered the day before. I was surprised it was still there. I picked it up and held it like a weapon. Later when I opened it, it was cookies from the RV dealer we had bought our camper from, so I was going to bludgeon the intruder with chocolate chip cookies. 

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I turned off the alarm, the package held tightly in my other hand. Nothing askew inside. Everything was how we left it. Our rabbit was in his cage in the living room staring at me and chewing hay quietly. I checked the rest of the house -- all was well. Relief washed away the sick feeling. I fed our rabbit some vegetables, locked up and headed back to the campground with the cookies. 

I let our neighbors know what had happened with our alarm and that I had come home to check on things. Everyone who was home continued to keep an eye out for each other, just as the greater community where we live -- civilians, law enforcement and firefighters alike -- all doing their best to keep each other safe and to help each other. There has been an outpouring of donations and volunteers -- donations that are still needed for the 40,000 who still remain evacuated. 

In the midst of so much fear and loathing today, driven by singular events, short sensational clips and soundbites, loving community wide shots abound. Like those continuing to mobilize and help one another because of fires, hurricanes, COVID-19, racial injustice and more. 

Bless you all and your communities. 

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

A Foundation Worth Saving

The first time we experienced a possible evacuation due to a wildfire, we had no time to think about what to take. Within 10 minutes, we packed a few clothes, some toiletries, loaded our safe filled with important family documents, our computers and iPads, and had the girls pack a few of their personal items (as calmly as possible). We had guinea pigs then, but weren't sure what to do about them. 

Their cage would have fit in the car, so that wasn't a problem, but if we ended up stranded somewhere, there was no way we could keep them in the car. It would be too hot. And the eventual smell of course; guinea pigs sit in their own pee and poop. Maybe we could drop them off at a friend's house. Or maybe we just couldn't take them with us. Thankfully we didn't have to end up making that call.

Just 10 minutes earlier, I had heard a helicopter overhead. Then a plane fly by. Then the helicopter again. Then another plane. Our neighbor told us the highway in front of us was closing. My wife Amy said there was a fire down the street and we had to go. We heard multiple firetrucks and police cars scream by us down the highway. The helicopter and planes flew overhead again.

But then the fire danger was extinguished as quickly as it had started. We unloaded our car and were again safe at home. 

Fast forward to today. We had no idea the hit-and-run thunderstorms and dry lightning we had the week before would cause so much destruction. According to CAL FIRE, there are nearly 6,000 wildfires burning in California. Over 200,000 acres burned. Five deaths. Nearly 2,000 structures destroyed. The fire nearest to us, the CZU August Lightning Complex, is now near the edge of the Santa Cruz city limits and is only 8% contained. It's burned 71,000 acres in Santa Cruz and San Mateo Counties.

More than 77,000 people have been evacuated in our area. Our hearts go out to those who have been displaced, who've lost their homes and so many personal heirlooms and memories. We thank our first responders, our local firefighters and those who have joined the firefight from other states (over 1,300 total), the Red Cross, CERT volunteers and our community for donating important items needed for those evacuated, like tents, bedding, water and toys for kids. We thank our neighbors for looking out for each other's homes and keeping each other informed of the latest fire news and staying on the lookout for burglars eyeing empty homes. And let's not forget that we're still in the middle of a pandemic that's resulted in the worst economy since the Great Depression. 

Shortly after this latest fire danger escalated, we began to prepare and pack. This time we had time to pack more of what we could take and what we'd need. We got our new camper out of storage and parked it in front of our house to take with us if we had to go. We packed away sentimental things and stored them at a friend's house. We have our suitcases and boxes ready to go if the evacuation warning comes. Plus, our dog Jenny and rabbit Dragonlily. 

The fire danger hit both of our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, pretty hard the other night. The reality of what was/is happening, the fires so close, school being canceled again, friends leaving the area due to the smoke as well as the fire, the packing of important things and the leaving of others -- actually hit us all pretty hard. What do you take when you don't know how much time you have? Or, more accurately for us this time, what do you not take when you have time to look at everything.

Really look at everything. As I filmed the outside of our house and every room, nook and cranny inside the house, I teared up. Yes, there's all the stuff we can't take with us, but there are also so many memories in this house, which thankfully we can. This being the first and only house my wife and I were grateful to buy together, and the only house our daughters have ever known. Our family pictures, the kids' artwork, every scratch, scuff and worn place. From their births to birthdays (what a way to celebrate Bryce's 10th this year) to holidays to the lean times to the many good times to today -- through all the highs and lows -- we're grateful for it all. 

We're still not out of the burning woods yet, but we'll have still each other no matter what happens, our #BhivePower, no matter all the things we may lose. That will always be a foundation worth saving.  

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To