Give Your Fuzzy A Present

"Fuzzy is very sad. Fuzzy needs to open a present."

And there it is. Through all the loss and drama my family has experienced during the past few months, leave it to Beatrice to keep it real for Daddy. Both Beatrice and Bryce don't really understand what happened with my Poppa, their grandpa and my Pop, when he died, but Bea realizes he's gone. We've handled it with explanation-light for Bea, although Bryce is still really too young to get it.

They also don't understand my mom's chronic illness and continual health problems, their Nana. They don't know how stressful it was to get Nana from my sister's to us right after I returned from Europe, and then me driving her back home to Oregon so she could reset in her health system while her doctors facilitated some stability. Although with my mom these days it's more like a defective light bulb that constantly flickers off and on, sometimes shiny brightly with radiance, and sometimes going completely dark.

But the girls did feel the stress of their daddy, and that's something I'm going to have to be more sensitive to as they get older and more aware of every nuance to life's pops, buzzes and brain stops.

Any comfort for the chronically ill is always welcomed, and getting mom set up with her iPad and FaceTime so she can see the B-hive any time she wants was critical. I have to continually explain to her how to use the program, but she'll get there. That time to be around any friends and family now is healing, if sadly brief and fleeting. The reality of my dad being gone has all but flattened her to the far side of the universe with a gravity unmatched from the darkest heart of a collapsed star. She's alone in her house now. However, we are working on moving her down to us as soon as feasibly possible.

Fuzzy is Beatrice's little swatch of pink, silky and "fuzzy" Winnie the Pooh comfort that her Auntie Jill made, the Mama's sister. It's her soul food comfort in the form of a blankie; Bryce has her own bigger yellow blankie. Each of us has our own "blankie" of sorts,  some literal or figurative vessel that carries us away and soothes us with a gift of calming joy.

Be thankful for your own well moments of body and spirit, and be sensitive to those loved ones whose very fragility reduces them to motes alighting inside an empty house at dusk. Give them the gift of love and hugs this holiday season; give your fuzzy a present.

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Most Important Thing

"One more song about moving along the highway

Can't say much of anything that's new

If I could only work this life out of my way

I'd rather spend it being close to you…"

--Carole King, So Far Away

So, how did we get here again?

We stood outside my parent's house in Oregon with Mom, her car I drove from Santa Cruz full of her and her little dog and much of her stuff, and waited for her friends to bring us a copy of her house key because the one we had didn't work. Twelve and a half hours of cramped but fairly smooth sailing on the highways and byways, listening to the sounds of the 70's and of my childhood, only to have to wait a little longer. (Thank goodness Ody keeps beating the Wreckers.)

She's so fragile, both physically and emotionally, grieving for the loss of Pop, or her well-being over the years battling with chronic illness and pain and a lifetime with meds. Going from my sister's house to mine and then back to Oregon over the past few months has been a mixed blessing, the emotional scars of family dynamics and a little dysfunction flaring up yet again.

And now we're here in their house where Pop passed away not even three months ago. The house is clean and tidy, their dear friends taking care of it while Mom was away. Most of her stuff unloaded from the car, tossed here and there for now until we can put it away, I sit and write, not feeling like we've gained anything from falling back, not even that elusive hour.

The incomprehensible burden of what we do next flattens me to the ground. But I have to get off it. I have to get off it and stand up and help Mom get acclimated to this interim world in Oregon, however temporary it may be. Getting her back to us is the optimal solution, but how to get there, I do not know yet.

I remember a car load from another time, a light blue VW bug that sputtered along, filled with a beautiful but battered mother and her two children and their stuff. A mother who's strength and courage survived over 12 years of domestic violence with two little kids to care for, my sister and me. A faithful servant of God for years, even in her moments of destructive doubt, inescapable grieving and her belittled will to live. She just reminded me of how good it is I'm here with her. I held her tightly in return. Sometimes that's all we need in moments like this, the assurance of warmth and safety in being held, just like she used to do for us back then.

The expository text may tell of how we get here, but the most important thing is that we're here. And what we do with it.

Ody and the Wreckers

Call me Ody. And I don't mean the frickin' dog from Garfield. I mean a metaphorical Odysseus caricature of sorts. Ody, the adventurous B-hive daddy who flew to London and then will fly off to Amsterdam for business and maybe a little sightseeing in both locales.

But I wondered if we'd get there. Because the Sirens called us to the cliffs on the way to London where landed in Chicago four hours into the ten-hour flight because the autopilot doesn't work. And to land at Heathrow Airport in London, where low clouds and fog abound like San Francisco from whence we came, the autopilot has to be operational.

Which begs the question: Why wasn't it checked before we left? Or was that what's really wrong?

You never know when you fly these days. But the "what's wrong part" really began prior to this trip when the "Wreckers" came a-callin'. That's similar to "Sirens" from the current book I'm reading by Kevin J. Anderson and Neil Peart called Clockwork Angels, based on Neil's concept album with Rush by the same name. Yes, I called it an album. And it's a really damn good one. (They're all really damn good, though).

Although I haven't gotten to that part of the book yet, based on what I know about them and the song of the same name in Clock Angels, the Wreckers are pirate-like sirens who crash and pillage cargo steam ships in this hybrid Steam Punk sci-fi world.

Hence, the Wreckers.

"All I know is that sometimes you have to be wary
Of a miracle too good to be true
All I know is that sometimes the truth is contrary
Of everything in life you thought you knew
All I know is that sometimes you have to be wary
Because sometimes the target is you."

Yes, the Wreckers came a-callin' last week for sure. With my back against the wall to get ready for my UK/Amsterdam trip, finish some marketing deadlines for the exciting new firm I work for (BraveNewTalent), and finish editing my career management book due out next month (which I'll make sure you'll hear about more soon for sure), my chronically ill mother, still grieving sadly for Pop (we all still are in our own ways), went in the hospital. She's been staying with my sister ever since Pop's memorial, and was supposed to come see us during the holidays, but now everything's gone to hell in a big ugly hand basket.

That's all I can really share about that situation right now, but know that there's been a lot logistically to handle the past few days, not to mention trying to help my extremely fragile mother, who I love, get back on the path of going back home to her medical and friend/church networks, which I had planned on doing weeks after I returned from this trip.

Until the metaphorical Wreckers, that is.

As I sat and waited for my flight to London, which turned out to be a four-hour delay overall, I found myself thankful I would only be away for seven days total instead of seven years that poor old Odysseus was away for in The Odyssey, to then have to return and beat off his wife's slimy suitors.

Oh, how I miss the Mama. We've been together for over 15 years now from the day we met. Nine years since the day we married, which was on the same day we met. And the lovely little B's that came years after…

The Wreckers better look out, because no matter what else happens this week, this Ody's gonna make it back intact.

Under the milky way tonight

They're getting too far apart, these moments I share here. A new career, business travel, writing a book, and more importantly a family to love and cherish in the Mama and the B-hive, leaves little time to share.

But share I'll continue to do. Last night was a precious moment. After Bryce was put to bed, we asked Nonna (the Mama's mom) to monitor the monitor, and we took Beatrice down to the cliffs above the water. It was such a balmy night last night, our Indian summer simmering, stirring memories of our own youth.

We ran along the West Cliff Drive walkway, laughing and jumping, reaching for the tiny diamonds that shimmered in the night sky.

I pointed up to the sky. "Wow, is that the milky way?"

"Yes," the Mama said.

"Bea," I said, pulling her close and pointing up. "That's the milky way. See all the stars inside it?"

"The milky way," she repeated.

We all gazed at the starry sky in a moment of quiet reverence. And then we were off again, laughing and jumping into the warm night.

Gotta hold on to those moments, kids.

This new magic of now

The teenagers threw us for a few minutes. Yes, the Mama was told they were college kids, but mercy me did they look like kids. They were supposed to resemble a prince and princess -- correction -- the girl had called and asked if it would be okay if she dressed up like a fairy.

But when they walked in the house, the boy wore a Navy-like military outfit in all white with a Burger King-esque crown on, kind of a Prince Harry caricature (clothed), and the girl wore a conservative "I Dream of Jeannie" outfit that never made it off the studio rack to the sound stage. They hauled in boxes of stuff with them. What stuff we weren't sure of.

I mean, they really looked like kids, and I was worried. They were supposed to perform magic tricks, paint faces and make animal balloons. And fortunately that's exactly what they did, although Bea's birthday four-year-old and younger party attendees were just happy when the dressed up "older kids" strolled through the house to the backyard with the mysterious boxes. I joked with the Mama asking her if she had ordered ponies, too. Thankfully she didn't.

We laid out blankets on the grass for the kids and parents to sit on while Prince Harry and Jeannie started the show. The kids loved every minute of it, Beatrice as bubbly as I've ever seen her. One little boy was overheard saying:

"I didn't know magic even existed."

Brilliant. And you know what else is a big hit with a little kids' magic show? The little animals. The cuddly, furry and feathery little animals. The magic kids brought a hamster, rabbit and dove to share -- or more specifically, made them appear. Everyone had a chance to pet them after the fact.

Of course Bea loved opening gifts and immediately playing with and sharing all her new toys with all her guests and her little sister. For being the youngest, Bryce held up pretty well, but was also the one who dragged and dropped her iced cupcake all over the living room. What did we expect, right? Give a kid a loaded cupcake…

Oh, the party was so much fun. Really. We couldn't have dreamt it go any better. The magic kids, their live trick animals, the face painting, the balloon animals, the pizza, the cupcakes and cupcake decorating (which thankfully didn't turn into a sticky sweet mess), all of it fun beyond measure for the kids, for the me and the Mama, for Nonna, for my best friend Troy and his children, and all the other parents who came over to celebrate.

The best part came in witnessing our elder birthday B interact and play with the other kids, laughing and tousling one another without incident, gasping and giggling with ever sleight of hand and surprise animals to pet, sharing and playing with toys and gobbling up pizza and pink cupcakes and slurping down juice. 

*sigh*

I didn't even know this kind of magic existed, this new magic of now.

Happy Birthday Beatrice.

Family love has a dizzying trajectory

Atoms spin at different speeds. The younger, faster B atoms swirl around
the older, slower A and K atoms, keeping the older, slower atoms a little younger and a little faster.

But time is much different physics for the younger atoms. A moment to the B's could be days for the A and K. Even weeks. And the faster it moves for A and K doesn't seem to affect the B time, or it can make them move even slower.

And be crankier.


Yesterday I took Beatrice to her occupational therapy session, which went well; the progress she's made since last year in getting her neural network to fire age-appropriately has been excellent. But afterwards she wanted to play in the playground right outside of the building we go to, and I wanted to get us to the lighthouse to meet the Mama and Bryce so we could all see the Space Shuttle fly. I encouraged her positively and even tried to barter, but she fought and cried and mercy if the school we were at (which isn't where Bea goes) didn't think I was stealing a child. Ended up she was fine once we got to the Mama and Bryce. Sigh.

And last week we all went to see Bea at preschool where the Mama volunteers in the class -- me, Nonna and Bryce. But soon after I read a story to the class and we got to celebrating Bea's birthday, Bryce got ornery as all get up, which she does more often these days, so I removed her from the class crying and flailing and throwing herself to the ground, which outside meant atop the kid-safe bark that sticks to kids like velcro-friendly objects. Highly friendly objects. That stick everywhere. Hair, face, mouth, arms, legs. Ended up she was just hungry and wanted a snack. Sigh.


Thank goodness for the lightness of Pop. The B's are sister disco birthday sidekicks, now two and four respectively (but not always if you know what I mean). Since Pop's passing it's all been a blur -- the B, A and K atoms all accelerating to the speed of light and life -- providing for and nurturing family the best we can.

The B atoms whirl and spin even faster and faster around the A and K atoms. Family love has a dizzying trajectory but each other's gravity keeps us all in place.

Or spinning in a chair.

The Lightness of Pop

"It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living." -- F. Scott Fitzgerald 

It was always a sunny smile, my dad's. A master of levity, Pop injected humor and silliness into most everything he did. He infectious laugh brought smiles to anyone in its radius, the scar above his lip glinting under light like polished glass. For the life of me, I can't remember how he got the scar. All I know is that it added a richness to his character, like biscuits soaked in honey and butter -- you could never get enough.

This from someone who served in the Air Force and who also was a law enforcement veteran of 32 years. Anyone who ever worked with him shared the same sentiment -- from the most hardened cops and criminals (who he called his customers), to literal strangers he'd meet on the street, in the store, in the campground, in the post office, in the doctor's office...everyone experienced his sunny disposition, his goofy humor and his viral smile.

He inspired me to do the same, to be silly, to embrace life and all the people in it, to give life and all the people in it a second and third chance, to laugh in the face of adversity -- while at the same time tackling it and pinning it to the ground. Mercy me, that ain't easy, but his gumption combined with the Mama's has helped me keep it pinned to the ground.

And when the Mama and I started the B-hive, we knew we'd go all in. For us, there was and is no alternative; your children B-come your life, and your life B-comes more beautiful, more vibrantly alive with wondrous mess, like crayons melting together beyond the lines and creating pictures we never thought possible.

Pictures of rainbows and silly faces and sunny smiles and birthday hats. There's enough darkness out there as it is. I prefer to stay in the lightness of Pop.