To Keep The Heart Lights On

"If ever a man had it all
It would have to be me
And, oooh, I love you..."

–Climax Blues Band, I Love You

I listened to Roger Love speak about speaking. About voice and volume. About melody. About how all the things he shared with the audience, being a famous voice coach, can make us better communicators. 

Unfortunately I was tired from work travel, so I nodded off here and there. I heard most of what he said, though. About how important melody is and why we should pretend we are singing while you are speaking. We should move it around, shake it up, swoop, dive, soar, and let our voice be as interesting as we are.

Man, I needed melody in that moment. Feeling burnt out at work, unsure of the future as recession fears grow, and being far from home at a work conference called HR Inspire, I felt very uninspired and alone. After Roger was done speaking, another attendee struck up a conversation with me. Our spouses came up, and I said it was almost our 25th anniversary. Twenty-five years from the day we met, and 19 years from when we were married, on the same date. I also talked proudly of my daughters. He smiled and asked me what was so special about my wife, I said, "She's open and empathic and has such a loving heart. Our children have such a great role model." Then he asked, "What about you?" I smiled and winked, then said, "She's taught me well."

And while that was nice sharing about my wife and daughters, it also made me more miserable and homesick. After that, I wandered alone as the attendees left, many headed to the conference reception. The conference venue was Music City Center in Nashville, and music of all flavors was piped over the event center PA system. 

A familiar melody started to play, an old song I've always loved. One that reminded me of my wife. Lyrically it wasn't literal to our relationship, but it was close. The song was "I Love You" by Climax Blues Band, and it floored me. I sat alone in the lower lobby and tears welled in my eyes. 

I thought about that one day at the beach nearly 25 years ago, and more tears welled in my eyes. I've always been a hopeless romantic my whole life, although romanticizing our love hasn't needed much help; our melody has always been there. However, we've had relationship problems and painful moments of angst and anger, but we've learned to prioritize honesty, growth, intimacy, and love. And even after 25 years of love and growth, we're going through this book called The Love Prescription: Seven Days to More Intimacy, Connection, and Joy together.

I sat there and wiped the tears away. No matter how fried and uncertain I felt about my business and my work life, and how fearful I was about the future, all I had to do was think about these melodies: the love of my life and our children. That's more than enough love to keep the heart lights on. 

"Since then I never looked back

It's almost like living a dream

And, oooh, I love you..."

That's The Air That I Breathe

"Peace came upon me
And it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep..."

—The Hollies, The Air That I Breathe

In the end, he befriended Godzilla, and then Kong got to go home again to the center of the earth. The song “The Air That I Breathe” by the Hollies played while the credits kicked in. 

And I cried a little. Yep, that’s me. 

I was flying home from a work event. My initial flight was canceled due to weather, and thankfully they rebooked me straight through to San Jose, but not without zig-zag stops along the way. At least I didn’t have to change planes. 

So, I decided to watch something light. Being a Saturday, I reviewed the flight movies and decided to on a little Saturday afternoon monster movie matinee. Just like I used to do a home as a kid. I chose the recent Godzilla vs. Kong for some mindless fun, after already seeing the preceding series of movies that led to this ultimate monster battle.

I actually cried two times during the movie. Once when Kong had learned sign language and signed that he wanted to go home, and again at the end when he finally got to go home and be at peace. 

For those who know me, I’m a crier. I cry about anything that moves me, no matter how cheesy the movie. In fact, anytime we watch a show or movie at home together, my oldest Beatrice looks over at me and asks, “Are you crying, Dad?”

And most of the time, I am.

But this time it was more about The Hollies' song than the movie. The song became a rushing river that dislodged old memories from my memory banks and moved them quickly along frothing eddies and treacherous currents. It’s one of many songs that have haunted me since I was little. And although the song is literally about romantic love, I didn't understand that as a child, and so I associated it with everything going on around me—any love and lack thereof. How it made me feel growing up with domestic violence and abuse—simultaneously scared, sad, lonely, hopeful, and longing to be happy. Of other life events over the years that kept me bobbing in and out of the emotional rushing river. Of how I feel sometimes today missing my family when I travel. 

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you…

The rushing river slows and smooths out to still glass, and all the memories resettle. Again, I’m on my way home from another work trip, only one of a few since the pandemic started. I’m grateful for the work I do, and the work Amy does, and the fact that we can provide for our family. I like the travel and that I can get out there again, to see industry friends, to learn new things and grow professionally and personally. 

After mindlessly watching Kong and Godzilla fight and destroy cities on my plane ride home, I caught up with one of my news shows. The depressing stream of news, like The Hollies' song, got me thinking again about when I was little, and other times throughout my life, and the fact that we don't always choose the air that we breathe—deadly viruses, pollution, toxic relationships, violence, war. 

More than 2.5 million Ukrainian refugees have fled their country looking for safety. I can't imagine, do not want to imagine, what that's been like for those families. Especially those who have to separate for who knows how long, or worse, for those who've been injured or killed. 

I just cannot imagine it, and yet, we continue to watch it in real time. I miss Amy and our daughters terribly when I’m away, even if it’s for only a couple of nights, especially after being together so much during the pandemic. But to be separated because of a war? No way. That thought brought even more tears than Kong (and me) wanting to go home did.

The night before I came home from this trip, I had a video call with my family, and our youngest Bryce kept messing with the FaceTime filters, which I didn’t even know you could do. 

“You goofs. I love you,” I said.

Then I thought, That’s the air that I breathe. That’s all that I need.

"So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep..."

How you can help the people of Ukraine

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

On the day we adopted our first dog in 16 years, my allergies and asthma were killing me, and the virus began to spread everywhere.

And that's what I'll remember until the end of days, which hopefully this isn't. Based on all the reliable information my wife and I have consumed to date, we must be vigilant without hysteria, which unfortunately is spreading faster than the coronavirus is (COVID-19).

Our new dog, Jenny, is such a sweet and loving girl, longing to belong to a family. She's a four-year-old terrier-pug-and-other-stuff mix, with short but very strong legs (more on that later), covered in thick and wiry creme-colored fur, and ending with a wound pug-like tail. Named Genesis at birth, our daughters decided they wanted to call her Jenny for short, with a J instead of a G. The 1981 hit song 867-5309 / Jenny by Tommy Tutone kept running through my mind as we drove her home from the Monterey shelter called Peace of Mind Dog Rescue, where they find homes for usually older dogs of seniors who can no longer care for them. Jenny's also a veteran mama having two litters of her own.

"...Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to..."

Everything went well for the first three days, Jenny getting used to her new home, and us to her. There was at least one pee accident, but that was fine. Plus, we were all home with her, and hadn't left her alone yet. That changed when I left on a work trip to go to a conference (that hadn't been canceled like so many now are).

After I left, Amy took the girls to school on a Tuesday and left Jenny in the house alone. She howls and barks, and that much we knew since we had worked out together in the garage the day before and left her in the house (the girls were at school). That we can deal with. She's a dog, and that's what many dogs do, especially when they're in a new environment. But when Amy returned home from work later in the day, there was poop and pee on the floor, and scratch marks on the front door molding.

Meanwhile, I was in a large metal tube in the sky, sniffling a little and hacking a little due to my allergies and asthma. I worried because I'd read that airlines were isolating people they thought were sick, although no one paid any attention to me. I didn't want to be locked in the baggage hold in a Hannibal Lecter glass case. Right before we took off, I heard a woman behind me say, “If you need to throw up, then use our bags. They have a better seal.” I assumed she was talking to one of her children, which I empathized, but of course didn't want the vomit noise and smell behind me. Fortunately, that didn't happen.

Jenny had a few more accidents while I was gone. And so did I. Meaning, when it was my moment on stage at the Phenom conference I attend, everything went great until it didn't. Thankfully just momentarily. I moderated a panel of HR and recruiting leaders discussing job candidate and employee experiences. I didn't have a sniffle or a hack until about two-thirds of the way through the discussion. I tried to time the coughs in between the discussion and laughter after a panelist said something funny, but then I was trapped in the cough zone. It was only 5-10 seconds, but when I was done, my voice was gone. Literally gone.

And that's when everyone in the room held their collective breath. Even one of the panelists raised her hands in a defensive posture and leaned away from me, as if any alien was about to erupt from my chest. Someone in the front row brought me a bottle of water, I got my voice back and shared the vomit story above, everyone had a nervous laugh, and then all was well with the world again.

Amy and I have always loved end-of-the-world stories. Novels like The Andromeda Strain, Lucifer's Hammer, Swan Song, The Road, The Year of the Flood, The Age of Miracles, the Left Behind series and of course, The Stand, have always fascinated us. Add to that movies and shows like Planet of the Apes, Terminator (all of them, even the cheesy sequels Amy likes), The Walking Dead, Revolution (from a few years ago) and so many others always keeps our Armageddon cups runnething over! And have you every seen A Boy and His Dog? Yikes.

Now, don't get us wrong, we don't want the end of the world to come, but Amy is also a prepper and a planner and we do have earthquakes and fires and other possible natural disasters that can occur where we live. So, while she wasn't fighting anyone over toilet paper at Costco this last week, she did stock up with staples and such for us.

When I got home from the conference, we tried a baby gate in our kitchen to keep Jenny isolated while we were out, but she just jumped over it. Over three feet jumped over it. We couldn't believe it, but she did. We realized then we had to go to crating her while we're away for short periods of time and discovered that was something she was used to. Phew.

And again, this is all what I'll remember until the end of days, which hopefully this isn't. Again, based on all the reliable information my wife and I have consumed to date, and continue to consume, we must be vigilant without hysteria, which unfortunately is spreading faster than the coronavirus is (COVID-19). You've already heard it more than once -- wash your hands, stay home if you're sick or if you have respiratory problems, limit travel if you can, maybe avoid large gatherings. The CDC and John Hopkins are two sites full of resources to keep you and your families as safe as possible. There are many others as well. Make sure their reputable, though.

"...Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to..."

"Dad, stop singing that -- it's in my head now and I can't get it out," Bryce just said to me.

Well, Bryce, if the coronavirus continues to spread, and it's now in our area, we're going to all be singing that song and many others together every day when schools are shut down and our entire family is schooling and working from home until the community spread subsides. And hey, a family and its dog that play together stays together! Again, not making light of this all, just living our lives and carrying on, because that's what we do.

"...Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to..."

To each other, of course. Stay safe and sane, kids -- don't touch your face until you wash your hands for at least 20 seconds while singing:

"Jenny I've got your number
I need to make you mine
Jenny don't change your number
Eight six seven five three oh nine
Eight six seven five three oh nine
Eight six seven five three oh nine
Eight six seven five three oh nine..."

When Gravity Triples with Sick

“All the same we take our chances
Laughed at by time
Tricked by circumstances
Plus ca change
Plus c'est la meme chose
The more that things change
The more they stay the same…”

—Rush, Circumstances 

All I could do was stare at the estimated time of arrival on the little screen in front of me and will the minutes away. And it worked. Kind of. A few minutes would disappear, pulling the time up, and then a few minutes later the few minutes returned, pushing the time out again. It was like watching small waves lap at the beach in the same spot. For hours. Forever. Never really coming in or going out. A mosaic of sea change that never changes.

But it didn't take those last few hours on the plane to know I wasn't going to make it back in time. I kept adding on what would still have to transpire at the end of the journey, and it just wasn't going to add up in my favor. Yes, I'm a hoper and a doer, and although the hope hadn't fled, the doing this time was done and I was completely at the mercy of circumstance.

That morning the weather cooperated and all lights were green with the time of departure. Barely acclimated to Eastern Standard Time, the morning I left Toronto, Canada, I had to get up at 4 AM EST (that's 1:00 AM PST for those keeping score at home) for a 8:00 AM flight back to the Bay Area. Now, I planned it that way so I could get back to Santa Cruz by midday, if the flight was on time and traffic home from the airport was reasonable, the probability being high at that time of the day. Even if the flight was delayed a little bit for whatever reason, there was still plenty of margin to get me home, hug my family, and get Bea and me to our soccer team practice in time.

After checking in and getting through customs, I made sure to buy gifts for the girls. I don't do that every time, but this time I was still disappointed in the fact that I had forgotten to have them give me a stuffed animal stowaway before I left on my trip. I always have them pick one out for me, something small, and then take a few pictures with it on my trip wherever I go and post them on Facebook so they can see where daddy (and the stuffed animal) have been, and maybe other folks we've met during the trip, similar to the Flat Stanley idea.

But this time we all forgot. Gravity tripled with disappointment when I realized that after I left there was no stuffed animal in my backpack. Not quite the "I forgot our anniversary" feeling like Nicholas Cage in The Family Man, but still disappointing.

So I bought them each a little moose, took their picture together and posted: This week on YYZ reentry #BhivePower Stowaways.

An hour later, on the plane, buckled in, ready to go and -- then nothing. The plane sat on the tarmac near the gate for 30 minutes until finally the captain told us there was a maintenance issue and we had to head back to the gate to fix it. Both in English and French.

Two hours later they were still trying to fix it.

One hour later the captain told us they couldn't fix it and we've have to change planes.

One more hour later and then we boarded the new plane and finally taxied to the runway.

We took off and and I realized that there was no wifi available on the flight, and that would limit the work I could do. So I did what I could and then watched Captain America: Civil War and listened to This American Life. Otherwise, all I could really do in between was stare at the estimated time of arrival on the little screen in front of me and will the minutes away. But it made no never mind; the arrival time was wasn't changing and getting home in time went from hopeful to helpless. The math problem looked something like this:

Daddy leaves a Toronto hotel at 4:30 AM EST. His flight is delayed for nearly 4 hours due to a maintenance issue. Daddy is unhappy because he misses his family and doesn't want to miss coaching soccer practice later that day, but safety first. A new plane is towed in and the 5-hour flight home starts shortly thereafter. Based on an average air speed of 490 miles per hour, and then the added bonus of the airport drive home during commute with an average speed of 35-45 miles per hour, what time does Daddy actually get home PST?

Gravity tripled again and I felt sick. Not only was I not going to see my girls for another six to seven hours (by the time I got home), I was going to miss soccer practice. I was going to let them all down -- my girls and the entire team -- and that really, really sucked. The Mama had to change up her schedule to get Beatrice to practice, and one of the other team parents stepped up to coach practice, and I was very thankful for both.

Photo courtesy of Paul Turner

Let go and let Godot; the existential absurdity of it all hit rock bottom when I waited an additional painful 30 minutes for my suitcase at baggage claim. I know, I always say I hate being away from my family but love to travel -- first world problems and all that. I finally acquiesced to the fact that, no matter how long it took, I just needed to get home, safe and sound. That I would see my family soon. That I would also miss soccer practice, but would see my team at the game on Saturday. When gravity triples with sick you have to stand up straight and own it. I knew that all I had control over was my immediate actions and my reactions to this unfortunate circumstance, and although it didn't make me feel any better at the time, I just needed to get back intact.

And get back intact I did. Amen. 

Photo courtesy of Paul Turner

Queue the blues harp, Bea

"Get Daddy!"

"Get Mommy!"

So it begins. Evening playtime with the B-hive is sacred, regardless of how tired we are or how busy we've been.

And we've been busy; even the Mama is taking on some new work projects beyond the woefully underpaid child-raising. (I have put in a good word for her, though.)

Being busy for me means more time away from home, and 2012 is shaping up to be just that.

Considering we're still 6 million jobs in the hole, we're very thankful we can provide for our family. Amen, pass the work please.

Seeing and talking with my girls and the Mama on Skype or FaceTime video calls is great when traveling for business, but it's not the same as running around the house rough housing with the girls and the girls giggling and chasing each other as well (which they're doing more of now).

Rounding out the day bonding in B-hive honey love makes the time away worth it, although there's a point when the wayward silence of a hotel room breeds more loneliness than I can bear.

*sigh*

Queue the blues harp, Bea.

Your lovely children in motion

It's not the same. Not when you're gone for any length of time. And a week away is a long, long time in Daddy-away-from-B-hive time.

Even when you look goofy while away.

I mean, seeing and talking with my girls and the Mama on Skype or FaceTime video calls is great. I can't even imagine what it would've been like without, only being able to hear them on the phone.

Only on the phone. Like it's the late 19th century and we're writing letters that take weeks to get to one another.

But that's okay, because we live in a world of real-time connectedness and mindful virtuality, and thank goodness for that.

However, there's nothing like mindful reality, the moment you walk in the door and see your lovely children in motion, watching you walk in the door.

Nothing.

They're not clear mental snapshots you retrieve on demand, or even those real ones from your computer or mobile device of choice.

No, these begin in periphery, a distant grainy motion, the curvature of smiles that then grow rapidly filling the space around them with light and the room with love.

I can't imagine what it's like for those serving abroad, working abroad, or being forced apart because of war or other global disasters for months at a time, even years, without the comfort of holding their families close with any frequency.

I am thankful for short trips. My fortune abounds.

 

 

A week away brought Daddy tears and Jam-B day!

My friends with older kids keep telling me to "embrace these moments" and "treasure these moments" and "these are the best times" because Bea will grow up and not want the cuddly closeness of childhood.

*sigh*

Maybe. But it's certainly not a problem for me celebrating the loving moments of fatherhood. I can't even imagine those who don't.

Damn, I work too much -- hard-wired to my friggin' MacBook -- and was gone most of the week in Boston where I saw more snow that I've seen my entire life (although it was magical, because I don't have to live in it).

Missed Mama and B-squared terribly, more than usual this time. Everyday I talked to Beatrice on the speaker phone and asked her what a cow says.

"Mmmmmmmmm."

That's currently her best cow, which is odd since there are some Baby Einstein DVD scenes with puppet cows that freak her out, like clown fear.

Oh, it was so good get home to my family! I didn't get to see Bea until Friday morning since she was asleep when I got home Thursday night, but when I did, she was so excited which made me excited which made her excited which made me excited which made her excited --

She actually ran into my arms with a smile that spanned the globe.

And that, ladies and gentleman, brought tears to Daddy's timezone-travel-weary eyes.

So began Friday Daddy Jam-B day! It's usually my work-from-home-watch-baby day and there's nothing finer than staying in your jammies most of the day.

"Beatrice, isn't it fun working in your jammies?"

"A-da, A-da, oooooooo."

"Right on, baby. Right on."