Dig Dug 0988

Dig Dug 0988, a photo by mliu92 on Flickr.

Dear J-

Once you get over the idea that there’s something inherently harmful in the dirt then you’ll see the joy in digging. Until then, though, we’re stuck watching him plow through dirt and bark alike, messing up any kind of carefully placed pile anywhere he can (I have taken him out of gravel patches up and down this block).

The Olympics continue apace; instead of the increasing dejection of the men’s team yesterday the women’s team seems to be feeding off success after success. I’m not sure that means the women’s program is stronger than the men’s, or that they’re mentally tougher, but it’s more like this: failure starts to creep into your head and reproduce. It sounds trite, but to be successful, you have to be successful, even if that means setting small goals.

So yeah, tremendous joy here, right?

Mike

Studying 0954

Studying 0954, a photo by mliu92 on Flickr.

Dear J-

We had a good time at Costco today, doing things there I used to do as a kid: ate hot dogs (and samples), read books, whined about going home. Yeah, the genes are showing true.

Mike

PS I have a slew of things to get done tonight, so I’ll just mention this: the Vivitar 28~90 I’ve been using the past couple of days on a lark has really surprised me: decent wide-open, great stopped down one or two stops (and it’s portable, unlike the Zuiko Digital 35~100 behemoth that I like to lug around sometimes). Why didn’t Olympus make a second lineup of HG lenses: 11~22, 28~90, 100~300?

Easter Egg 0899

Easter Egg 0899, a photo by mliu92 on Flickr.

Dear J-

You may accuse me of having the sense of humor of a fifth-grader, but I’d looked for this guy before for years, not finding him. The effect is both subtler and more detailed than I would have expected.

So instead of writing like I said I would today I spent the day playing at LEGOland. Fair trade off, I say.

Mike

Olympic Village 0724

Olympic Village 0724, a photo by mliu92 on Flickr.

Dear J-

The Olympics are underway and I’m reminded again how homer-iffic our announcers are on NBC, almost gleeful over the continued problems with the Chinese mens’ gymnasts. Some prejudices die hard, I guess; it wasn’t all that long ago that our jingoistic media kept hyping up the Soviet Union as the boogeyman.

I asked to go back to Pastalini because it’s been at least four weeks since we were there; I missed the atmosphere and food, to be honest, from the time I spent on the road. Plus the company is nice, isn’t it?

Mike

Patterns of Force

Dear J-

Well, it’s with visible relief that I note that Kearny Mesa in San Diego is named not after Dennis Kearney (although what kind of delicious irony would that be)  but Stephen Kearny instead, a general in the Mexican-American War.one of the things that I was never concerned about growing up was the origin of various place names; I’d ride by places like Hangman Creek and Qualchan Golf Course without a thought to what those names meant. There’s all kinds of dubious history out there that soon becomes tradition and therefore involate, unbreakable; this is why I think any smartphone needs to have a wikipedia client installed.

Some time later is the date we seem to live in; we tut and cluck at the mistakes of the past and yet going forward we can’t convince anyone that we’re any better than we were, that we haven’t learned anything. The fascination that I have with history is seeing the patterns of the past echoed in our today, almost as if there is some genetic plan for the human race, our wars and hates predetermined, some long thread of fate spinning away and guiding us into these same paths over and over again.

And yet history itself is a kind of cheat; no one ever thinks to write down what they’re doing, only what they’ve done and there’s no end to the hyperbole that can flow from your own pen; I know I’ve been guilty of it which is why I scrupulously downplay everything in my resume in an effort to avoid that, swinging perhaps too far to modesty (which itself sounds especially immodest, sorry). Are we busy closing the gaps in our experience or learning that there’s an infinite land of possibilities ahead, driving us somewhat crazy with the sheer potential of everything? We only have two eyes, and it’s hard to be mindful of the past, looking for the future, and cautious of the present all at once.

Mike

Inaction Man

Dear J-

Head up. Feet shoulder width apart. Eye on the ball. You’re going to get rotation through the waist, that’s where the power comes from. Ready? Good. Here we go.

When I think about our relative athletic ability I can see our kids doomed to a life of being picked last for teams, but I’m convinced that much of that is down to a question of practice and muscle memory, and the sooner we get them involved in actual physical activities (structured) then the better off they’re going to be and the more confidence they’ll feel. That sort of stuff is a self-fulfilling cycle; the more you do, the better you get, and the better you are, the more you enjoy it, and the more you want to do. Now I just need to summon the motivation to do just that.

Lord knows that I’m the laziest person on earth, though, and that’s going to be hard to overcome: the inert body at rest tending to remain at rest. The other night theVet went off for a dinner presentation by a potential vendor, and came back to find me furiously brushing away at figgy’s teeth, trying to make up for time lost playing video games together; I admit there have been instances where I’m even too lazy to get up and play games on the TV, which is not that much effort: find batteries, make sure the remotes are charged, switch the input on the TV …

Something I learned in June beyond the regular operation cycle and teardown of a Carrier 19FA chiller was a phrase that Dwight said and which started to resonate in my head: what a privilege it is to sweat. Here’s a guy who’s spent his whole life running or biking or swimming and coming off back and shoulder surgery, is itchy to get back on the bike — and in North Carolina heat, no less — while I barely have the motivation to tear myself away from the screen long enough to find a park and drive over there to stroll around. True, too, the guys from North Anna were inspiring, going jogging every evening and bringing bikes along too; this life is what you make of it, and letting opportunities go doesn’t make much sense, does it? What a privilege.

Mike

Dashing 0674

Dashing 0674, a photo by mliu92 on Flickr.

Dear J-

We’re back to wandering the streets — with ice cream — and jumping on the neighbors’ property as the slope of the bricks is irresistible to these kids. So be it, and sorry, unnamed neighbor.

One thing I’m consistently surprised by is her memory, which latches on to details interpreting the world around her: while she completely gets the idea of the houses wrapped up for termite spraying (pointing out every circus-tented house we come across), she’s also thinking about the stories we’ve told her and details that escape me after a few days have a way of lodging in her head.

I’m pretty sure that I shouldn’t be showing so many details to blackmail me with but they just fall out all over the place at home. Great.

Mike

Emotional Mess

Dear J-

Some days I despair that being a parent has made me into a big emotional softie; in addition to the burgeoning evidence that I’ve become a thirteen year old girl, including loving boy bands (What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction, along with just about anything from Katy Perry), weeping inappropriately in children’s movies (the part where Merida’s mom and the bear …), and voraciously reading what’s turned out to be a Harlequin romance novel (hey, the Graveyard Queen series, by the pen name Amanda Stevens was billed as a spooky story), everything I write lately that’s not for work is about my kids.

Maybe it’s just freed me to be more in touch with my sensitive side, although that implies that I’ve got a sensitive side, something my family would probably not accuse me of most of the time. Well, make that a considerate side; I could volunteer unsaid to do things like the litterbox or dishes. These are all true and all new with little ones in the house; it’s hard to believe that we embarked on this only five years ago (plus change) as I’m finding it hard to remember life without kids; hearing men — single men, I suppose — talking about video games and relative merits of various systems yesterday triggered a brief wave of nostalgia for when that was my life, although not for too long.

On the other hand when I think about events like the Aurora shootings massacre* I can’t help but imagine what the parents of the kids killed and injured must be going through; recently one of my good work friends lost her grandson to a freak drowning accident; he was a few months older than Calcifer and I say that I couldn’t imagine what she must be going through. But I know the size and weight that hole would leave in my heart and yeah, I guess I am a total softie now. The process has opened my heart to the possibilitiy of life beyond me, and that deserves the best of me.

Mike

* it’s only taken the gun folks four days to work up the nerve to respond; the president of the concealed carry association spoke up to mention that hey, if this hadn’t been a gun-free zone then the shooter would probably have moved on, picking a different site altogether (or maybe been taken down by some shining paragon of justice in a white hat, raising his Magnum up from a hidden holster and blowing the shooter away). Seriously? These cowboy justice folks leave me incredulous with their Monday Morning Quarterback stance, believing that they would have made a difference other than causing more chaos and misery. Crawl back under your rock.

Imperceptible Evolution

Dear J-

In the month since the equinox the days have grown imperceptibly shorter; the main difference I’ve noticed is the sun doesn’t rise with the same alacrity as it did in the early part of the month. The twilit evenings stlll linger on and on in a perfect echo of the day, though, prompting figgy to ask that she not have to go to bed, as there’s still daylight outside. The thought echoes through generations back to my own childhood, asking restlessly and peeking through the curtains on a late glowing summer in Cheney, pressing against cool walls and iron rails in an effort to drive out the heat.

I remember that we used to swim every night in the neighbor’s pool, their children long since grown and moved out. I remember the feel of the pebbled concrete beneath our feet and the various inscects we’d find trapped beneath cover and water; I remember my parents reveling in the unexpected luxury of worn-out kids, telling us that we slept better with some chlorine in our hair, me dreaming all the while of that floating feeling, buoyancy supporting every inch by inch closer to the surface.

Mostly though I remember summers as a time when my parents always had more than enough time when we asked: can we? Yes. We can. We will. We did. It feels strange to have the same sort of interactions with our kids, as Calcifer plunges towards two and I can’t see how the terror could be any more, as he’s already found ways to torment his sister, who’s little more than an unchained ball of emotions at the moment. How do you make time for that? Moment by moment, taking out one distraction after another until all that’s left are you and these two little humans you have to lead by example and patience; would that I could translate the words to deeds so easily.

Mike

My Car 0556

My Car 0556, a photo by mliu92 on Flickr.

Dear J-

He really is a jealous sort, which I’m sure he picked up from me. No sooner had he gotten out of the car to go on the slides and bounce houses did his sister jump in and ask her friend to push her around. He then proceeded to point it out to us as if we could execute a swift justice to return it to his rightfully grubby mitts.

Meanwhile I’m slightly dismayed by the number of cameras I see blossoming in everyone’s fists today, thinking that that’s my game, isn’t it? And then, just like getting passed daily while riding my bike I make up all kinds of sour-grapes excuses; if I could only wander around at will and not have to take care of these kids and that’s wholly unworthy of them. They are neither burden nor captive subjects only for my scrutiny, and everyone has a good time.

I think I’m starting to use the camera as a sort of social crutch, keeping it between my face and from having to talk to anyone around me.

Mike