The Cost of Living and Other Stories

The kids have had the habit lately of cutting out little paper squares and pretending they are money. They will distribute the wealth evenly between them, then they will buy things from one another, exchanging a certain number of little white slips for whatever major purchases they have secured. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, they managed to bring a wad of cold hard cash with them into the car this morning on the way to church. I learned a lot about economics today listening to the bargaining going on behind me as we drove in. I learned that houses typically run $1 each, but if you want to upgrade to a tree house you'll have to shell out a whole $3. Various items on display outside the car window were suitably priced and purchased and the wheels of the free market system kept pace with our minivan. I had to smile, however, when I overheard N quote L a price that convinced me he has a lucrative career in marketing ahead of him:

L: N, How much does this cost?

N: All the money you have!

And speaking of career choices, at lunch today L announced she wanted to be on television. "That's what I've always wanted to do," she confided, betraying a passion that only 5 years of intense and ceaseless longing can acquire.

"What do you want to do on television?" I asked.

"I want to be a weatherman."

"Why?"

"So I can guess the weather."

A week or so ago L had a special treat - it was grandparents day at Kindergarten! She was able to show off Grandma and Poppa to all her Pre-K friends, and got to work on all kinds of fun projects while Grandma and Poppa "helped."





The day went better than I expected. Poppa only got one time-out and evidently Grandma started behaving herself a lot better when Mrs. Ellis threatened to send her to the principal.

I was working on some stuff in my office this evening when Stacy came in, clearly trying to practice some sort of "serenity now" yoga breathing technique. "I'm not going to look," she said. "I'm just not going to look."

"What's up?" I asked, knowing if she didn't want to look, I probably didn't want to ask.

"L and N are outside in their freshly changed clothes, playing in the sandbox that has been sitting with the lid open over the last three days of rain. I've decided I'm just not going to look." She can be wise like that some times.

Knowing that when my wife says, "I'm not going to look," it really means, "I want you to go deal with it." As I approached the backdoor it was already quasi-twilight and I heard a chant coming from the darkening backyard that made me not want to look too - the harmonious strains of the ever-favorite "Naked" song. ("It's naked, naked time! It's naked, naked time!" repeated ad nausium, sung typically after bathtime while prancing through the house in their birthday suits.) I bolstered my resolve and looked out nevertheless and saw two fairly luminescent ghosts prancing about the backyard for all the crows to see. Evidently wet sandboxes and clean clothes do not make the best of companions, even in our kids' estimations. Realizing I had a perfect opportunity to capture some wonderful blackmail fodder for future boy- or girlfriends, I had no choice but to go find the camera.

From Kitchen Chaos to Pantry Progress

We've been trudging through a sizable kitchen remodel over the last couple of months. We had to do a lot of cabinet demo and repiping and rewiring, so we've had drywall-free walls in our pantry for a couple of weeks now. Even in sunny So. Cal, it gets mighty cold with no walls or insulation! (Oh yeah, and we ripped out our linoleum, so we're standing on bare concrete slab too. Brrrrrr.)

For the last month Stacy has been doing all our laundry outside with our washing machine on the back patio, hooked up to a garden hose in the back yard. Cold water only! Our old dryer died, so all our tighty whities have been flapping in the breeze on an impromptu clothesline I strung. I'm really looking forward to underwear that doesn't feel like burlap.



But things are definitely on the upswing. The internal rework is done, the drywall rehung and plastered, and the first coat of primer is on!



Next steps: Finish the painting in the pantry, lay some tile in that general vicinity, and then: install the new washer and dryer! Further down the line, we'll install some new cabinets there in the pantry and in the kitchen proper, complete the tiling throughout the kitchen, and replace our 60's counter tops with quartz. It's gonna look good! (We love our contractor!!!)

A Deluge of Death

My literary endeavors of late have been rather fatal. A month or so ago I finished James Clavell's Tai-Pan after about 6 months of trying. (I really enjoyed the book, but seemed to have very little time to plow through it.) Having just finished a relative behemoth, I thought I'd recover with something light and fluffy before plunging into some weighty tome again. So what do I do? Plunge into a couple of airy tombs!

I know I can always count on enjoying anything by Terry Pratchett, so I reserved Mort from the L.A. public library. The vast majority of Pratchett's books are set in a world in the shape of a disc that rides through space on the backs of elephants who are in turn standing on the back of a giant turtle. (Where this giant turtle is going is anyone's guess, but evidently he simply plods through the ether bound for somewhere important, at least in his reckoning.)

Pratchett has written dozens of these "Discworld" novels and they are all very clever sci-fi/fantasy type parodies. Pratchett often features recurring characters who come hang out for a couple of novels, then disappear for a while, sometimes slipping in again when bored enough to make a reappearance. My favorite character in all the books I've read so far is Death, a somewhat introspective character who explains to people that he is an "Anthropomorphic Personification." He is a somewhat maudlin creature, intrigued by humans and their culture but unable to quite figure them out. He longs to somehow experience humanity, but his interactions with them (in anything but his "professional" role) are often fraught with missteps, frustrations and disappointments. In Mort, Death's fascination with humanity leads him to hire a human apprentice.

I've been simultaneously reading another book, The Tuesday Club Murders, a collection of Agatha Christie short stories featuring Miss Marple. They are the perfect length to be able to read one each session on the stationary bike at the gym. Nothing like a bunch of stuffy semi-aristocrats doing one another in to help take your mind off your own difficulty in breathing. I've only got another story or two left to read, so I'm wondering if my gym consistency will fall off once Miss Marple has closed up shop.

I suppose, now that I've killed Mort and am sensing the presence of the grim reaper with regard to The Tuesday Club Murders, I should be looking for something a little more life-affirming in my next selection. But once Death has you in his grip, it's pretty hard to shake loose. Light, life and happiness all see so passé.

Vive la Mort!

Wine, Women and Song

It's not often I get two hot dates in one week!


On Wednesday, February 10th, Stacy and I had our 9th wedding anniversary. We celebrated by blackmailing Miss Rachel into babysitting while we went out. We don't actually have any good dirt on Rachel, but evidently she doesn't know that because she keeps coming back and babysitting for us, so she must think we have something really scandalous on her.



We went to our favorite South Bay restaurant, Chez Melange in the Hollywood Riviera portion of Redondo Beach/Torrance. We had a great time and, as always, the atmosphere was wonderful. We started with champagne, a curry carrot soup and a salad with warm octopus. (We're suckers for octopus... get it? Suckers?) We both had fish for our entree, with Stacy getting an Italian flavored butterfish with a potato-risotto (wonderful) and me trying a Caribbean-style Ono with black beans and zucchini (also really nice). Instead of a sugary dessert, we went for a more classic turn and got a cheese platter to finish with. We selected three cheeses from the twenty-odd on the menu: there was the Pierre Robert, a triple cream cows milk cheese which was very mild and creamy, the Humboldt Fog (pictured), a smooth goat cheese which brought with it a little bit of pungent kick, and then there was the Red Hawk... I'm not quite sure how to describe it. The blurb on the menu said it was aged 4 weeks for added "intensity." I wasn't intimidated, but I probably should have been. When the platter arrived, we knew it was coming long before we saw it. There are cheeses that are aromatic, and then there is Red Hawk. This was a cheese! A cheese to curl your toes and strip the hair from your chest. Red Hawk? More like dead hawk! I think it spent those four weeks aging in the bottom of a nest. All the other patrons in the restaurant kept looking over our way and their expressions did not seem to imply that they wished us a happy anniversary. Stacy got a little bit down, which left the rest for me. As much as I malign it and joke about having to buy a couple of quarts of Scope on the way home, I do have to admit that I actually kinda-sorta liked it. I'm glad Stacy at least had a nibble, because she wouldn't have wanted to ride home in the car with me if I'd gone Red Hawk solo!



On Friday night the YMCA put on a special Father-Daughter dance. We'd made plans weeks ago for L and I to go, and L's excitement mounted as the fated fête approached until I thought she was going to burst from overcarbonated anticipation. I actually managed to get off work a little early and swung by a flower shop and picked up a corsage, feeling a little awkward telling the guy behind the counter that I needed it for a dance I was taking a 5-year-old little girl to. When I got home, L was dressed to the nines and looked about ready to have a stroke. She was quite upset that we hadn't had a chance to practice dancing all week like I'd said we should have, and I think she was afraid they might not let us in.



We arrived right on time and the hall was a mass of awkward, nerdy engineering-type dads with a bunch of breathless and bedecked little girls ranging from 4 to 14. I was happy to see one of my good friends from work, Carlos Muñoz, was there with his daughter, who was two or three years older than L. It was super cute and wonderfully cheesy (but not Red Hawk cheesy!) and we had a fantastic time. L seemed to think dancing consisted essentially of twirling endlessly under my arm. It worked for us, so I didn't push it, especially since I wouldn't have been able to bring any dapper moves to the table if asked. The music was a mix of pop and dance and the usual faux-dance standbys. The chicken dance made an appearance as did at least one Kongo-line. All the Dad's got suitably misty-eyed at "You Are So Beautiful to Me," though I got a little creeped out when they played "We Are Family."

It mercifully only went from 6:00 to 8:00. A late night for us, since L's bedtime is usually around 7:30 and she is typically out like a light. She was all gusto and drive the first hour. If I went back to the table at any point to talk to Carlos or catch my breath she'd quickly be tugging on my sleeve again. It made me smile over and over each time she'd try to drag me away from whomever I was talking to and get me back on the dance floor. By 7:00 some of her energy was faltering and instead of twirling endlessly under my arm, she took to collapsing as I held her, hoping that I would whip her back and forth and she wouldn't actually have to stand to dance. Not being the fittest of fathers, this got old quick. (They had announced that there would be a prize for "The Sweatiest Dad," and I was utterly terrified I would be the hands on favorite.)

As the evening progressed and L became more tired I suggested that we could go at any time, but she would not leave a moment early. At one point we sat on the sidelines and she laid her head on my leg, her eyes puffy and her lids bobbing, but still she wouldn't hear of leaving. Eventually the last dance was called - "Good Night, Sweetheart, It's Time to Go," of course - and we wrapped up the musical magic. Of course there was one final after-prom stop I wanted to make before going home and to bed. It met no objections from my date either.

What Comes Around Better Not Go Around

I can't afford to believe that life is a zero-sum game, that the good balances out the bad and visa versa. An overall cycle of life that leaves you, after all is said and done, back where you started, happy/sad neutral, would be a disaster for me.

Why?

Because today I celebrate 9 years of marriage to the most wonderful person in the world. Can you imagine living through the "correction" for that!

A Trial of Trails

I'm football illiterate, so on Super Bowl Sunday I tend to be contrarian. We try to do something outdoorsy and active rather than spend the day on the couch. (Not that I disdain plopping on the couch. There are 364 other days where I do that quite admirably.) Today we braved a hike on some of the trails up and around Palos Verdes, or rather, "PV" for the locally inclined. Our first attempt was the short and sweet George F Canyon trail off of PV Dr. East. We love the trail because it has little number markers every hundred feet or so. The kids have never been treated to such suspense and excitement as when they are counting off the numbers. Discovering anew that #9 is indeed just a stones throw beyond #8 is an excitement of pant-wetting proportions.

Unfortunately we found other aspects of the trail to be pant-wetting. On Friday night we had gotten a killer rain storm (at least by California standards) and the affects were quite evident on the trail. Large gullies cut through the packed-sand pathway where the running water had carried away the soil. (L and N learned the term "erosion.") The early part of the trail was moist, but had dried out enough to be passable. We got to marker #4 when the trail dipped a little and ran beside and eventually over a small brook. The brook had swollen greatly with the rain and evidently branches and brambles that had been swept down the hillside had damned up the stream as it went under the bridge. This diverted the stream onto the trail, flooding a large swath with an active flow, and leaving a hundred feet or so beyond the actual water an impassable mud bog. Not that L and N didn't attempt to pass it. L learned the hard way that shoes plunged into two foot deep mud sometimes prefer hanging out with the mud than retracting with your foot.

Bummed and thwarted, we returned, a little mud besmeared, to the car and considered other alternatives. We decided to simply drive up to Del Cerro Park at the top of the hill at the end of Crenshaw Blvd. We go up there a lot and the kids love the view. We pulled in, disembarked and crossed the park, climbing up the little hill to the cliff edge that gives fantastic vistas of the San Pedro channel and (if you're lucky) Santa Catalina island about 22 miles to the south. It was a beautiful view and the late afternoon winter sun was thin and golden.






One of the things about post-rain LA is that the smog all gets washed away, the skies clear up and you get incredible views, but you also get incredible wind. Up on the cliff end of Del Cerro park you don't have much shielding you from the breeze and Stacy quickly found it too chilly, though the kids couldn't seem to have cared less. We headed back to the car, again thwarted.



Stacy and I were particularly bummed because, with what seems like weeks upon weeks of rain, the kids were starting to get a little psychotic and cabin fever was setting in. We had hoped to have the hike burn a little energy, provide a little mellowness, and thereby (indirectly) contribute to our children's life expectancy, which had been trending dangerously downward with each in-house spaz-out. I opened the car door gloomily to let the wild animals in - and that's when I had one of my fortuitous bursts of inspiration. The car was parked right alongside the wide expanse of park. The car was warm. We were cold. The kids were oblivious. The answer was simple:

DC Deep Freeze

I just got back from a week-long business trip to D.C. Everything started out OK, but the last day I was there (Saturday), we got pounded with 6" to 8" of snow. I haven't seen that much fluffy white stuff since L and N got a-hold of a Styrofoam cooler and deconstructed it! It was pretty impressive, but (shocker here) - pretty cold. It was down to 18^ºF that morning.









It all happened the day before I was supposed to fly home and I'm really grateful they had an over-night to get the roads and airports cleared. A number of west-bound flights got cancelled on Saturday night, but by Sunday morning things were going out again. My 7:15 flight went really smoothly - only maybe 50 people on the whole flight and I was home by 10:00AM California time.

The kids were gratifyingly stoked to see me. According to Stacy, L insisted on buying me a welcome home present and the only thing that was acceptable to her was a flower-laden Happy Birthday balloon. She considered and rejected Stacy's input that there might be better options two and a half months before my birthday. And so, my present: