Sweet Miracles

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

—Rush, Sweet Miracle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessings and Happy New Year. 

There's Nothing To It

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

–Pure Imagination, Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snack Prescient

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Love And The Light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay Kid-Heart Strong

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cat-tagious

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grateful For Being Human

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

–Rush, Far Cry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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