Tuesday, August 31, 2010

When it rains, it pours

It has been forever since I've posted... It's not because I've forgotten or grown bored... no certainly not.

School recently started for most of us. This is the third week of school for BW and JB, and for me, this is the second week of classes. Charles is the lone man out, but he has his hands full covering the gaps and holding the reigns of chaos.

This semester is already going much better for me than did the summer one, even though I am taking four (really six) classes, and they are all chock full of online homework, paperwork, bookwork, tests and quizzes. Biology, Physiology and Chemistry are the subjects, and I'm excited about each one... well except for Biology... but every semester has to have one 'gem'. More on that later.

And, while I haven't been posting, I have been working on a few things between the flurry of classes. I'm looking forward to smoothing them out, adding a few finishing touches and posting them soon, I hope you are looking forward to reading them!




Saturday, August 14, 2010

Finding the words

To Charles, on this our 17th anniversary.

I never get the words quite right, nor do I have the art of timeliness, but I have such an amazing love and respect for you.

Thank you for sharing this journey, this life with me no matter how many hills or valleys we’ve run across.

Thank you for sharing my days and nights.

Thank you for being the first person I see in the morning, the last one I see at night.

Thank you for your smiles, your humor, your warm touch.

Thank you for your optimism in times when I'm down.

Thank you for always seeing the bright side of situations.

Thank you for being the calm in my storm.

Thank you for being such a wonderful daddy and teacher, even when they drive you crazy.

Thank you for letting me be who I am, for supporting me and encouraging me when I didn't feel strong.

Thank you for holding me when I wasn't able to stand.

Thank you for supporting me even when I was wrong.

Thank you for listening to me, even when I made no sense.

Thank you for teaching me how to laugh, even at myself when I was too serious.

Thank you for being the only man who didn't break my heart after I said the words "I love you".

Thank you for your romance, your ability to find just the right words that make my heart melt.

Thank you for treating me like a queen, even when I didn’t deserve it.

Thank you for taking care of me, for loving me.

Thank you for being my other half.

Thank you for being you.

Thank you for all of our tomorrows.




Meeting in the Middle

Today Charles and I celebrate our 17th wedding anniversary. For the most part, they have been laid-back celebrations that involved watching "When Harry Met Sally", the movie that brought us together, cooking lots of seafood while drinking wine and listening to some of our favorite and memorable songs and reliving the highs and lows of years past and predicting what the next year will bring. It's a tradition that has become the soundtrack to our lives. Well, until we had children. Now of course, we never know what to expect when our anniversary rolls around.

The post-children years have been more chaotic, and quiet moments are harder to come by, but we still take an hour or so to celebrate, to have our "remember when" conversations and enjoy the places we've gone and the way that our lives together have turned out.

This year of course, will be remembered for BW's adventures in cliff diving. We are both tired and worn out from the adventure and the late nights of helping BW try and find a comfortable position to sleep in, that I suspect that as soon as the children go to bed, we'll settle in, watch a movie and continue our conversation.

After all, we have 17 years of "remember whens" to review, and countless more to plan for.




Thursday, August 12, 2010

The Spring in Things

What nearly 7-year-old boy doesn't want to take a ride in a helicopter?


It was supposed to be our time to get away, our time to unplug from the world, take in some of nature's goodness and let the cares and stress of the world at home go free. It was supposed to be that way, but like most things in life, even the best-laid plans can change in the blink of an eye.

We were out camping at Lake Dowdy, which is located a little over an hour into the mountains from Fort Collins Colorado and is about 7,900 feet in elevation. We've all been looking forward to this trip since March when we made the reservations. Charles's goal was to do NOTHING, to relax; the kids wanted to fish, climb and hike. Me, I just wanted to sit and read for fun, which is in keeping with my usual camping tradition.

And it started off as the best camping trip in recent memory. There was no stress, no drama - and we even commented on how relaxed everyone was. Camp was set up with our usual quickness and efficiency; the kids were having a blast, making new friends and fishing to their hearts content.

After dinner, the kids went fishing one more time and Charles and I enjoyed a peaceful conversation, catching up with each other. Just as the sun started to set, Charles and I heard a huge 'thunk' of someone hitting the ground in the near distance and then BW's voice as he started to scream the most unholy of screams. In seconds JB was running towards our camp as fast as her little feet could carry her, and Charles and I were running with lightening speed towards the boulder spit.

BW, who'd been fishing from the topmost boulder at the spit, had lost his footing, slid over the edge and fallen about 11 to 12 feet to the ground. Fortunately he never lost consciousness, and there were two EMT’s at nearby campsites who were able to help.

The Red Feather Lakes sheriff and fire departments were called, and after 45 minutes to an hour of emergency care, BW was secured to a backboard, moved to the ambulance and driven to the fire station, where a "Flight for Life" medical crew and helicopter were waiting to assess him.

The only visible injuries were a large 'road rashed'/ gashed area on his head, and a very painful wrist, but given the severity of the fall, his age, the rural location and the fear of shock, BW was medivac'd to the Medical Center of the Rockies (at our request - they originally wanted to fly him to Denver's Children's Hospital). Because of the thin air, none of us were able to fly down with him - and the drive from Red Feather Lakes to Loveland (about a 1-1/2 to 2 hour drive) was one of the longest we've ever experienced.

At MCR they ran full body CT scans as well as manual manipulations to determine if there were any internal injuries, fractures or concussions. Given the height of his fall, the doctors, medical staff and we were all extremely surprised and relieved that the scans all came up normal.

They found that he did indeed have a fracture in his right wrist as well as a dislocated bone in the joint. After giving him some medication, they were able to manipulate all the bones back into their correct places. I hope we never hear screams like that again. They assure us that he didn't feel anything, but we sure did. A splint was placed onto his the wrist to stabilize the break. His gash is pretty big, and it'll probably take awhile for it to heal - hopefully just in time for school pictures.

BW goes in on Monday to get a fiberglass cast that will be on until the bones in his wrist heals. We'll need to keep an eye on him over the next couple of weeks to make sure that there aren't any silent concussions that weren't detected on the CT, but in the meantime BW is in fine spirits, and is giving JB a run for her money.

Wish us luck. We are all a bit worse for wear. BW for his injuries, JB for having witnessed it, and Charles and I for the stress of seeing a child injured, the fear of what the medical bills are going to be.

With school starting on Tuesday, and his writing hand in a cast - it's going to be an interesting month!





Monday, August 9, 2010

Va-Jara?

Overheard conversation while driving to the Post Office.

JB: Mama, what's the difference between boy's and girls?

Mama: You know the difference, I'm not going over it again, right now.

BW: It's their necks, JB.

JB: What?! (mama, silently echoing the sentiment)

BW: When babies are born, they are little and tight like a ball. You don't want to disturb them, so you look at their necks. That's how you tell if it's a boy or girl.

JB: Their necks? So if it's blue it's a boy and pink if it's a girl?

BW: Exactly. Then when they are bigger, and you can stretch them out, you can look and see if they have a penis or a va-jara. But until everything is grown up, you have to rely on their necks. Boys have a penis, girls have a va-jara.

Seriously. You can not make this up.



Even Cheerleaders Get the Blues

Sitting by the door is a letter that I'm avoiding mailing. It's the last step to saying goodbye to my life as a Landscape Architect, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that final step of leaving that life I once had.

Now that I've been out of the field for a little over two years, I've grown to miss it. I miss the rush of meeting deadlines, of accomplishing the impossible. Meeting with clients, cataloging their needs and wants, and determining the best creative solution that addressed their criteria as well as the requirements of the municipality we were working with and the public that would use and adopt the space long after the job was completed.

I miss the challenge of finding just the right plant materials that meet the design requirements as well as those of the environment without sacrificing the enjoyment of the people moving to and through the area.

I miss being in an office with other people. The team-like experiences of working side by side with folks through stressful and challenging projects and having someone to celebrate the victories and console on the defeats. I miss learning about where they came from, whom they share their lives with, how they got to be where they are and what they want to do with all of their tomorrows.

During one review with an employer, in recognizing my ability to bring people in the office together, she referred to me as the 'Office Cheerleader'. A simple but effective term it accurately described that I noticed people's moods, took interest in what was going on in their lives, and make them feel like part of a team, a family almost.

Many would consider being called a cheerleader as an insult, but for me, it was and is a tremendous compliment. Maybe it's that even in the face of adversity and long hauls of discouraging events I am still able to find the bright side of things.

At the moment though, I'm having a hard time seeing the bright side. Physics took a lot of wind out of my sails, the fall is looking to be challenging as well and I'm wondering if the path to becoming an MD is not the one I should be following.

We are about to head to the mountains for our annual camping trip and I hope with time away from the 'real world' and the opportunity to read a fun book, I'll come back lighter and leave the blues behind.




Sunday, August 8, 2010

La vida Loca


Many years ago a friend passed on a beautiful lesson. When going on adventure, and things don't go as expected, don't look to it as a failure, but as a 'cultural event'. It was an opportunity to experience something you weren't expecting, and what was the positive take-away message.

School starts in 9 days. Nine days left of summer. In looking back over the holiday, I am certain of one thing. I hope to never have another one like it. I don't know if I'd survive it as it ranks among the top of the all-time worst seasons of my life thus far. I'm still trying to figure out the take away message.

The last year I was in college, Charles, having worked for an NPR station for many years as a DJ, applied for and was offered the position of music director with a little station in North Western Washington. Since we were located in South Eastern Washington, this amazing opportunity had to be accepted, even though it meant that we would be apart for days, if not weeks at a time. Were we to do this in today's modern age it would not be so difficult as there is the Internet, Skye, instant messaging or other ways to communicate. We had the phone, and a good portion of Charles's salary was spent on long distance charges. That experience taught me that marriage takes work, but love will see you through, and that no matter how big how overwhelmingly difficult a dream seems to be it needs to be explored.

The summer I worked as a greenhouse manager in Northwestern Washington was physically the hardest and spiritually the most challenging as I was responsible for the maintenance and delivery of over 6-1/2 acres of plant materials on a twenty six acre farm that was not even the slightest bit automated or modernized. I and one other person hand watered, spaced and dumped hundreds of thousands of plants over a 4 month period. All while the owner of the company made it a point to 'knock me off my pedestal' after learning that I'd just earned a degree in Horticulture.

That adventure taught me that motivation comes from within, that others can only dampen your spirit if you let them. I also learned the beauty comes in very small moments like the early mornings when classical music floated through the air of my largest greenhouse, humming birds swept from basket to basket of blooming tendrils and the sun broke over the crest of the skyline casting an orangery red glow into the darkness of night.

And this summer, oh this summer. It ranks among the others mentioned. I've laughed, cried, questioned, doubted and plodded on. Through my class, through my grief, through frustrations of hard and emotional work completed with no recognition. All while being a wife and mother and trying to maintain some semblance of order at home.

Now I am tired. I need some hammock time with a good book and a glass of iced tea. Then maybe I can see the lesson's that I've learned.




Friday, August 6, 2010

Roger This.

Sitting at the table, focusing intently on homework I noticed one of the kids approaching me. With a loaded Nerf Gun crammed in each pocket, and a walkie-talkie clipped to the collar of his shirt before me stood BW.

"Are you a good guy?"

"Ummmmm. Yes?" I replied.

And with that response, a spongy Nerf Bullet hit me in the forehead.

"What!? I'm a good guy!"

"I'm a 'RogerRoger'. I kill good guys." And with that, he turned and walked away.

Thank god summer is almost over.



Roger That.

While BW was on a play date at a friends house, the topic of whether to go swimming came up.

Garth: "Neal, do you want to go swimming?"

Jim: "No."

Garth: "How about you BW?"

BW: "Yes, can I take these handcuffs?"

Garth: "We're not taking handcuffs to the pool."

BW: "Then NO."



Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Laughter's Folly


Last fall was a joyous season. I found a kindred, one who’d been lost for many years, a puzzle piece of my being, and it’s been a wonderful experience learning about the path of their life so far and looking forward to sharing the experiences of tomorrow. It was just as I mentioned in ‘We Flock Together’, a long lost part of my soul was found and an inner peace flowed.

Unfortunately, they’ve become lost again. Having suffered the recent loss of both AunT and this kindred, not enough time has yet passed to develop clarity as to which is the more devastating.

Through the course of my life I’ve said goodbye to friends and family, both near and far, known and not so well known. Each has its moment of sadness the depths of which depend on the nature of the relationship.

With death, time stands still. It is the concrete moment that what you had, what you shared, your hopes and dreams about them came to an end. With their passing there is an opportunity to question why, to say goodbye but also to know that there are no ‘mores’. Memories are all that you have left. The shared experiences and conversations soften as time goes by, and fondness of the person grows with each season that passes.

For me, unlike the death of a loved one, the untimely loss of a kindred causes a painful state of limbo, a soul tattered with no hope of being repaired. There is only the knowledge that experiences that should be shared cannot; that there are no ‘goodbyes’, no explanations and the pain of hope that you might find each other again someday only grows.

It took more than twenty years to find this kindred, twenty years of wondering how life was treating them, twenty years of wondering if they’d found a loved one and of the joys and sorrows they’d experienced. Twenty years of wondering. I’m fortunate in that I had those few months to catch up with them and share our lives. I only hope that it doesn't take twenty more to find them again. As I learned with the death of my darling AunT, there may not be twenty more.

It’s with the loss of this kindred that I realize the one of the truly great though silent qualities of Charles. He knows me, he understands me, he trusts me. He has the ability to understand that people have kindred’s, that the depths of friendship that have no bounds in what they share, as well as the purity of their friendship. I only wish that all of my kindred’s had their own ‘Charles’.

He is also a great comfort when I need it. Knowing that alone, is comfort in itself.





One Slug, Two Slug

On Wednesdays we meet up with friends for dinner at the pool we belong to and each family brings their own main dish and a side to share. Last week we splurged a bit and found a couple of steaks to grill. The meat was cooked just right, but given the yummy nature of the other offerings that people brought, several pieces of steak were left over, just enough for a small lunch plate.

The following weekend while making lunch with the leftover steak, Charles reserved the fatty bits so that the kids could feed the dog. Calling JB over, he handed her the bowl of nubbins explaining they were for the dog and not to tease her. Nodding that she understood, JB quickly skipped off out of the room sing-songing "SQUIRT" causing the dog to excitedly prance after her. Charles then sat down and began to eat his meal and read his blogs. He should have known better.

After a few minutes of enjoying his lunch, the sound of increasing giggles and chants of "Slug! Slug! Slug! Go faster Slug!" began to catch his attention. At first he ignored it, but the intensity grew to the point where he HAD to check it out. Walking into the living room he found both kids on the stairwell laughing, chanting, giggling and pointing in ways that mean only bad things are happening. At the foot of the stairs stood the dog, eyes extremely focused at the molding along the base of the railing.

Along the spindles of the railing lies a flat piece of decorative wood that is apparently just wide enough for a fatty 'slug' of the steak scraps to be placed at the top of the stairs allowing gravity to ever so slowly cause it to slide it down the molding. When the 'slug' would get close enough to the bottom of the run, the dog would reach up and gingerly remove what remained of it off the wood and savored the morsel.

By the time Charles stumbled upon this ‘race’, three or four pieces of fatty ‘slug’ bits had already made their ways down the ‘trail’ and the kids were in various states of wetting their pants.

Seeing Charles’s reaction furthered the chaos. JB scrambled up the stairs to the bathroom a stain appearing on her shorts. Seeing JB’s loss of control caused BW to then lose control himself. He slid down the stairs, and as he ran to the other bathroom it was clear that he too needed a change of wardrobe. Charles sighed and went to get the cleaning supplies, leaving the dog in a state of excited confusion, wondering why the commotion and when the next fatty nubbin would make it’s way down the stairs.

One rule of the house is to never ask "What's next."

We don't want to know. But Squirt sure does.