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. 

I Am Me

"Any life is made up of a single moment, the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is."

—Jorge Luis Borges

The first time we landscaped our small backyard, I didn't really know who I was. The yard was nothing but rocks, weeds, and ground that was as hard as cement. It was back-breaking work, but my wife Amy and I did it all ourselves, grass, flagstone, and all. We also planted the Japanese maple Amy had given me when we were first dating. The only exception to the backyard work was the installation of sprinklers that a friend of ours helped us with, which was way above our pay grade. That yard lasted as is for years, through the birth of both our children, Beatrice and Bryce. 

The second time we landscaped it, I was learning more about who I was. We replaced the old, dying grass with new sod, and added more flagstone. Some plants were replaced and we created an outdoor enclosure for our rabbit. Although it wasn't as back-breaking as the first time, it was still a lot of hard, sweaty work.

This past year we've been doing a series of home upgrades from floors to rooms, most of which wasn't our handiwork (again, above our pay grade and expertise). We're so grateful to have lived in this house for over 17 years, the house our children were literally born in (well, at least Bryce was -- Beatrice was another story). We've lived fully in every square foot of this house, including our backyard. I can't imagine living anywhere else.

Which leads me to that old saying, the third time's the charm. Back in January of this year, our backyard was a mound of muddy dirt after we had new drainage put in; we were starting from ground zero again. That was the beginning of the latest backyard refresh. One I didn't want to do ourselves this time. Too much back-breaking work, and as I inch toward 60 years of age, my back doesn't want to break anymore. 

But that's not what's happening. No, what's happening is that we are doing it again ourselves, because I wanted to do it again ourselves. Amy and I both did. We're repurposing the flagstone we had installed the first and second times, creating a new path around the back of the house to our main gate, will eventually add gravel and more plants and presto! A life renewed.

From rocky hard ground to mud pit to repurposed path, discovering who I am has definitely been an amazing journey, especially the past 26 years since I've been with Amy and starting a family. As I dig once again in the hard-packed backyard dirt, the slow-burn self-realization where I am today has inspired me. From the face of seemingly unending chaos at times to mindful moments of spiritual alignment, I really do control my own path.

Because the moment has finally come for me to know who I am: I am me. Amen.

A Beautiful Mess In Progress

After graduating 8th grade, our oldest Beatrice stressed about going to high school. Who wouldn't? I remember I did. It's such a big change, just like going from grade school to middle school. Like me her dad, stress keeps her up at night, and sleep is a restless mind-scramble mess.

But then she was a junior leader again at a local day camp in town working with 7-8 year-old kids, something she's loved to do, and the high school stress disappeared for the summer. This is the second year she's done it, and next year she'll be able to be a paid summer counselor, which is what she wants to do.

After summer camp was over, something wonderful happened; the week before the start of high school, she really wasn't that stressed any more. High school orientation came and went and it got her super excited about high school. She'll be 15 soon and there's a new level of teen maturity we hadn't seen until this summer. 

Same with her sister Bryce, who will be 13 soon and starting 7th grade. Both girls are very close and share a lot of the same interests -- but also couldn't be more different from one another. Bryce can be dark and broody, not wanting to talk a lot, rarely smiling, and always listening to her music. Beatrice is usually bright and shiny, always wanting to talk a lot, always smiling, and always drawing in her sketch pads. 

Like summer camp for Bea, the theater and choir are what have matured Bryce. After being in Beauty and the Beast last spring, Bryce is auditioning for The Addams Family musical this fall. And now that she's in her second year of middle school choir, may even want to try out for small solo parts. 

We're so proud of both kids, but my wife Amy and I would never want to put either of them in a box. Meaning, label them by what's seen on the surface, because there's so much more to the essence of them. To any us for that matter. 

A few months ago they watched The Breakfast Club with us, one of our favorite teen angst coming-of-age movies. Ironically, the movie came out the year after I graduated high school and the year Amy started high school, but it still left quite the impact on us both. 

Beyond the cheesy teen antics, it's an intense emotional drama at times. Our girls liked it, too. Out of all the questions they could have asked us, they asked if either of us had been in detention, and I told them I had lunch detention in high school for a week due to too many 1st period tardies. This was when I was student body president, too. Mercy me. They thought that was funny, especially when I told them the other kids in detention said to me, "Dude, your the school president. Wow."

Neither of our kids want to be labeled or put in a box (or be in detention). That's why they liked the note that the "brain" character writes at the end of The Breakfast Club for Mr. Vernon, their detention teacher, who had asked them to write an essay telling him who they think they are. 

Like all of us who have kids, teens in high school and middle school, they are so many things beyond what is seen on the surface. Getting to know who we really are is always a messy work in progress growing up and throughout adulthood. A beautiful mess in progress. We are all the things -- a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, and a princess, and a criminal -- and so much more. 

Sincerely Yours,

The #BhivePower Club

A Novel Idea

Bryce and I arrived at the author reading at Bookshop Santa Cruz a few minutes early, but there were no seats left. We stood in the back and waited. It had been a lovely summer day and now I was excited to bring Bryce to the bookshop. 

Earlier in the week, my wife Amy asked if I wanted to take Bryce to an author reading at the bookshop. I said I did as it would be a fun outing for us. We'll all readers in our house, but our youngest daughter Bryce is our little super reader. She's always reading multiple books at the same time and we've been reading together before bedtime for a few years now. Amy takes her on regular library runs, too. 

Reminds me of me when I was her age. At 13, I read all the time, too. And even though she has devices today to watch shows and listen to music, something we monitor with both girls, reading is still the winner. I remember staying up late in the summertime (and during the school year) reading chapter after chapter of a good book. 

The author reading was about to begin. I did find an open bench with a great view left of the stage area in front, but Bryce didn't want to sit there. I don't think it was because she didn't want to sit with me, she just liked the view from where she was standing. At least, that's what I told myself. These teens today. 

The author reading was with Karen M. McManus who wrote the One of Us Is Lying series. This reading launched the newest book in the series called One of Us Is Back. She writes young adult mystery thrillers, a genre Bryce really enjoys. Reminds me of my Stephen King obsession back in the day. 

I bought a copy of the new book for Bryce to get signed after the reading was over. During the public question-and-answer session at the end of the author interview and reading, I texted Bryce to ask a question. She said she didn't have one, but I did.

"What is it about good thrillers and mysteries that engage you the most?" I asked the author. 

"Good character development with all the suspenseful mini-mysteries interconnected throughout that drive the over-arching mystery," Karen M. McManus said. "That's what engages me."

"Thank you." Good answer, I thought. 

Afterwards Bryce and I waited in line to meet Karen to have her sign Bryce's book. 

"Did you like this?" I asked.

"Yes," Bryce said. "I did really enjoy it. I just didn't have a question for her."

"You heard mine, right?"

"Yes, it was good."

I smiled. "This is inspiring me to write my novel."

"You want to write a book?"

"Yes. I've written a couple of business books, but I really want to write a novel now."

"What about? Will it be young adult?"

"It won't be young adult or be a mystery thriller, although someone will die in my story. It'll be a small town family drama," I said.

Bryce frowned. "You're not going to write about me, are you? Don't write about me." 

"It won't be about you. It will be fiction with made up characters."

"Good. You should write it. I would read it."

That meant a lot coming from a reader like Bryce.

I laughed. "Maybe there will be a character like you who I name Bruce instead of Bryce."

"Dad!"

I loved watching Bryce as she talked with the author Karen M. McManus and told her how much she enjoyed her books. Karen signed Bryce's book and told her she loved her hat. When I was her age, I never got to meet authors whose books I loved. I'm so glad I took her this author reading and will do it again and again. And for Bryce to tell me she'd read the novel I've always wanted to write made the moment even sweeter.

This wonderful bonding experience with my daughter was more than just us having a good time together. It again sparked the idea of doing something new and different that I never thought I'd ever do in life. Like have children. Or travel the world. Or try different careers. Or write a business book. Or play the drums. 

Or, write the great American novel. As parents, we're supposed to be the ones who encourage our kids to dream the big dreams, but they can do the same for us. What a novel idea. 

It's A Win

When our oldest Beatrice pointed out we hadn't shared what we were grateful for the night before, we told her that we had. 

"No, we didn't," she said.

Her mom Amy said, "Yes, we did. We said we were grateful for our family."

"Yes, and I said I was grateful that you and your sister have your own rooms now," I added.

"Oh, okay," Bea said. She looked thoughtful. "What are you grateful for today?"

I smiled because now our kids remind us to share what we're grateful each day, and we don't have to be the ones to always ask, even with the fact that we now have teens. That's a parenting win for us. One that keeps our family grounded in what's good and what we're thankful for. 

We've been sharing what we're grateful for at dinner every night for nearly five years now going back to when we started our weekly family meetings where we share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, like being brave in everyday situations. 

Sharing what we are grateful for became a nightly ritual that simply adds blessings to our family bond and our love for one another. It really does. Especially when one of has had a bad day and we feel like there's nothing to celebrate, and yet, without having to dig deep, we always find something to be grateful for. 

Because there always is something. There has to be something. There's a continuous greater purpose of positive living, loving, and appreciation that's bigger than any one crappy moment. And I've had a lot of crappy moments this year with work. It's been rough in the recruiting and human resources space I'm in and the small candidate experience research firm I run is struggling. We've had to lay off a team member and it might get worse soon. 

However, as my wife tells me all the time, always be grateful for endless possibilities, because we're not the sum of our crappy moments. We're constantly the culmination of love and possibility, and those times are now again. Always in the now again. It doesn't mean that there won't be obstacles to overcome, but when you're grateful even for those no matter the mirrored contradiction, it's a win. Without those and endless possibilities, what would be the point? Thankfully I don't worry about that question anymore. I'm grateful for where I'm at this very moment with myself and my family. 

Dump Free

If I had water in my mouth, I would've sprayed it everywhere. My wife Amy and I were on our way to the 51st annual Wharf to Wharf race when she said something that cracked me up.

"After we park and walk, there will be plenty of time to use one of the porta-potties," I said. "We always have to pee before we start the race."

"Ugh. I hate the porta-potties because everybody always has to take a big ol' dump before the race, and then I get that one."

God, that was funny, because she's also not wrong. I seem to find those, too. I guess we don't have to look down when we enter a porta-potty, but we always do. (I'll bet you do it, too.)

The Wharf to Wharf Race is a super-fun annual10K race that goes from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to the Capitola Wharf and usually attracts over 15,000 people. The race donates proceeds to Santa Cruz County youth sports and running programs. We've done it for many years together, and I think I've participated in it myself for 15 years now (the earliest I documented the race here was the 2nd year I ran it in 2008). I ran this 10K race until 2014, because that's when I hurt my knee and couldn't run or walk it that year (I had knee surgery that year). 

After that we mostly walked the race each year. During the covid years when there was no in-person race, we did our own 6-mile hikes and tracked them on their app. We did try to run again a little last year for the big 50th year, but that was rough on my legs. This year, we walked. One of the fun parts of the race is that there are live bands and other musical groups sprinkled throughout the race route. Good times! 

After we parked downtown and walked to the Boardwalk before the Wharf to Wharf race started, we approached the infamous porta-potties. I smiled thinking about Amy's "everybody always has to take a big ol' dump before the race" comment in the car.

"You know, they should have dump-only porta-potties," Amy said. 

I chuckled. "Yes, and pee-only ones, too."

We laughed and stood staring at the dozens of porta-potties for a few seconds. So many people and so many dumps, I thought. 

"I'm going to go," I said. "What about you?"

Amy looked at them and said, "Yes, I guess I'll go." 

Afterwards, as we headed to the race starting area, I gave her a big smile. 

"Any dumps in yours?" I asked.

"No! Dump free! What about you?"

"Same!"

And then we were off to start another Wharf the Wharf race. Good times!

All The Right Pieces In All The Right Places

The bed alone came in four different boxes. Dozens of pieces big and small plus four full bags of screws, dowels, and related construction things. The directions had the thickness of a magazine. Pages of descriptions with illustrations and alternate ways to put it all together. 

I started sweating just staring at it all. 

I've put together many pieces of furniture over the years, and with each piece comes its own share of stress, blood, sweat, and tears. And cussing. Lots of cussing. Sometimes the directions read like Latin and it would take forever to put together. This would always include putting something together incorrectly, followed by a string of colorful expletives while took it apart and put it back together again. 

And sometimes the directions were clear, but then pieces were missing or broken, and I'd have to contact the manufacturer to send new pieces. Usually though, manufacturers of prefab furniture provide extra parts and a customer service line to help you if you're grappling with broken or misshapen pieces that don't fit.

Like life, there's not always accurate directions, and the right pieces don't always fit where they're supposed to, and there's a lot of cussing (for me).

This time we ordered furniture from IKEA for both our daughters. We've ordered from IKEA before, and even though the joke is always what I've already outlined above -- tons of pieces and hours of sweaty fun to put together -- they've been quality products for us and they do a good job with packing their goods and the providing clear directions. 

The furniture is for both our daughters, because after sharing a bedroom for 12 years, and cramming a lot of stuff for two kids into one space, they're getting their own rooms as teens after some house remodeling. They've always gotten along fine in that shared space, but they're definitely looking forward to their own rooms. Their mom Amy has been helping them go through what they're keeping and what they're getting rid of. Now that we're back from vacation, it's time to get it all done before school starts. 

It is a bittersweet moment, though. This is yet another transition to independence and adulthood for them both. Moving away from young kid things (not all the way) to older teen things. Decorating their own spaces they way they want (within parental reason). 

It's also bittersweet because we know they'll miss each other. They've been close as sisters and friends for a long time sharing a bedroom and it will come with some buyer's remorse. More for our oldest Beatrice than her younger sister Bryce; Bryce can't wait for her own room. Yes, they'll still be in the same house together and will hang out in each other's new rooms, but the childhood days of sharing space are ending. 

I took a break from putting together Beatrice's new bed to have lunch. She asked me if she could help put something together, and I said of course. I told her to put together her desk chair. 

From where I sat at our dining room table eating lunch, I could hear Beatrice moaning and complaining about putting the chair together, not understanding the directions, dropping screws. Just like her dad but without the cussing, I thought. Then I heard Bryce tell Beatrice she'd help her. 

Bryce joined her big sister and I listened to them work together. They laughed, they complained, they teased each other, and they put the chair together, together. At one point it sounded like they were struggling with the chair, but when I asked if they needed any help, I heard a resounding no. 

I checked out the new chair and sure enough they put it together correctly, although there was an extra plastic cap that looked like it belonged on the chair. Bryce told me it did not and the directions said to throw it away. 

Well done, kids. However, life doesn't come with such a clear set of instructions, and while they're not quite in their own rooms yet, so far their budding independence and path to adulthood has all the right pieces in all the right places.