The Curmudgeon's Corner

Rachel Goes to Learning School

2011-10-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

For most of her life, Rachel has gone to in-home daycare. For the first year she went to Sarah's house, and then up until the time Bree went on maternity leave with Clay, she went to Shea's house. Rachel knew that she wanted to expand her horizons. It was important to her that she start going to pre-school, which for the longest time she has decided to call "Learning School". We decided that she must have a little hillbilly in her.

On August 28th Rachel started attending learning school at Our Lady of Fatima on 20th street in Lakewood. On balance we believe that the experience is going well for her. She has apparently made some friends, although we can never tell if the names she is giving us actually go to real people. There is the elusive Brian, who is often mentioned in conversation, but is also apparently never actually in attendance. Brian* may or may not be a little older (like 4) and typically has appointments scheduled or has contracted some sort of malady that precludes him from attending learning school. Other names she mentions are clearly fabrications and outright gibberish that might, on some level, be associated with actual children.

Bree found her eating Fruit Loops as an afternoon snack when she went to pick her up one day. Rachel suggested that we should get Fruit Loops for at home. This didn't sit well with my wife. They actually sound pretty good to me. Its been years since I've had Fruit Loops. I'll bet they would be good with some Skittles from Rachel's Halloween basket. But I wouldn't necessarily want Rachel to partake.

Here is a photo of Rachel on her first day.

*subsequent investigations have revealed that there is nobody named Brian enrolled in preschool at Our Lady of Fatima this semester. This would account for why he is never there.

Sunday Afternoon in the (Estes) Park

2011-10-17T09:00:00.000-07:00

Bree and I often try to make a trip up to Estes Park every year some time around our anniversary. Rachel has been up there with us a couple of times, but this was Clayton's first visit. We always go to the YMCA which is where Bree and I were married, now over 6 years ago.

When I got up on Sunday morning I wasn't sure if we'd be able to go or not. Clayton and Rachel both were clearly not feeling well. After a couple of hours, though, they both seemed to have improved. After the decision was made, is sure took a long time to get out of the house. Motivating and organizing for a day out of the house with two kids is substantially more challenging than with just one.

It was a perfect autumn afternoon here in Colorado. Temperatures were close to 70 in Estes Park and needless to say, the sun was shining. Rachel seemed very interested in the fact that this was where Mommy and Daddy got married. This made such an impression on her that she was pretending to have her Clifford the Big Red Dog doll retell the story of our wedding after dinner last night.

On the way into town traffic was stopped for a herd of elk milling by the side of the road. We came across several more elk on the drive and then several deer on the grounds of the YMCA when we walked around. We spent quite a bit of time at the outdoor chapel where we had our ceremony. We also went over to the livery to let Rachel check out the horses. There were even three small ponies in their own separate stables. I reached out to pet one, but was quickly advised by my wife of the "Do not pet the ponies" sign posted nearby. I thought this was very unfair that these little ponies should be right there but we're not allowed to touch them.

I took a short hike to a place called Bible Point, while Bree took the kids back down to the playground.
"The short but steep hike takes you to the top of Bible Point (.6 mile from 8,130
to 8,650 feet). This vantage point offers outstanding views of YMCA of the Rockies, Glacier Basin, and the Front Range of Rocky Mountain National Park.

Originally known as Buena Vista, the name was changed to Bible Point as a result of the tragic death of Edwin Bradt. The adventurous young man had climbed several mountains, including Longs Peak, and had stayed at the YMCA of the Rockies in 1916 when he attended the YMCA Student Conference. Afterward, Edwin and his father worked exceedingly hard to build a cabin on land given to the family by A.A. Hyde, the man who invented mentholatum. The land is an inholding on YMCA of the Rockies property. Even water for cement was manually hauled up to the building site within the YMCA of the Rockies grounds.

When Edwin was killed in an automobile accident in Nebraska, on his way to his brother's wedding, his father requested the body be taken to Estes Park where the funeral was conducted. YMCA of the Rockies employees carried the casket from the Assembly Hall to the top of Buena Vista where Edwin was buried.

Near the grave, the Bradt family placed a mailbox containing a Bible and register for hikers. Over the years the old name faded away and was replaced with "Bible Point." When hikers visit the site it is traditional to place a cone from a nearby conifer on the grave.

The marker on Edwin Bradt's grave reads, "A normal life. He advanced in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and men. His chosen text: 'All things work together for good to them that love God.'".......Waymarking.com

Bible point offers a great vantage point for viewing into Rocky Mountain National Park as well as a birds eye view of the YMCA grounds. It was nice to have a few minutes to stretch my legs out and get a little hill climb in, also. After a few minutes of being winded on the climb, I started feeling great and really enjoyed the trail. For being so close to the Y, there were only a few other people on the path.

It was not a moment too soon that I arrived at the playground to meet up with Bree. She was not feeling well, and Rachel was starting to show signs of being very overtired. I pushed her on the tire swing for a time while Bree fed Clayton. Afterwards Bree told me she needed to get back to the lodge and asked if I would follow shortly with both kids. She took the stroller so I was carrying Clayton. I ended up having to carry Rachel most of the way at the same time, also, when she she flopped on the ground in tears unwilling to move. It comes with the territory, I guess. She was in good spirits again after sleeping the whole way back to Denver. We finished up with dinner at the Yard House and finally watching the Brewers lose game 6 of the NLCS. I was very sorry to see the Brewers lose, but overall it was a pretty nice day.

Clayton still seemed like he had his cold this morning when I got him up. He is a nose breather, and breathing through the nose was clearly causing him some serious problems. Rachel and I have been fighting colds ourselves for a few days. Hopefully he will not get it as bad as we did. I appreciate that Bree took care of him last night so I could get some sleep before coming back to work today. As usual, she has been great about that, which has helped to keep coming to work tolerable during this period.

Anniversary Weekend

2011-10-07T14:04:00.001-07:00

This weekend Bree and I will be celebrating our 6 year anniversary. Thanks to my beautiful wife for helping to make this life so great.

Reading to Friends

2011-10-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

Rachel has lined up several of her friends for story time. She often wears her princess finery around the house. This is not any kind of special occasion or anything.

A Birthday Wish for my Wife

2011-10-03T15:11:00.000-07:00

Bree,

I know you are home today taking care of our children rather than out partying or enjoying a day at the spa, but I just wanted to take a few moments to wish you a very happy birthday.

You have gone through a lot lately between being pregnant, giving birth, being up nights with a new baby and being called upon to support other people, including myself, through some hard times. You are a strong person with a good heart and powerful sense of devotion. You have been a wonderful mother to our children, a good wife, and I want to make sure that you know that you are appreciated. Judging from the outpouring of support you got from friends and co-workers while you were pregnant, it is pretty clear that I'm not the only person out there who has a high opinion of you.

I am grateful to be able to share my life with you.

Happy Birthday,

Love,

Trevor

A Month of Firsts

2011-09-27T09:46:00.000-07:00

Bree and I have not really been the kind of parents that go out of our way to shelter our kids. We have usually tried to get them out in the world and expose them to new things right off the bat. This may partially attributed to the fact she and I are both anxious to get out of the house ourselves sometimes.

In Clayton's first month he has:
1. Attended his first Celtic/Irish Festival. This was a small festival over in the town of Edgewater in which there wasn't too much of the debauchery other Celtic fests sometimes are known for. The excitement didn't really start until the skies opened up and it began to pour. To

Rachel's dismay this interrupted our viewing of the little girls doing Irish Step dancing. Nobody wanted the rain to damage their ridiculous curly wigs. Fortunately we were able to take shelter under a tent next to some squash and pumpkins. Daddy was able to drink some beer with a small group of hardcore Celtic Fest afficienados and share stories of Ireland and other festivals. These folks had a different festival scheduled for themselves every weekend of the summer.

2. Clayton attended his first Music Festival. The Sunnyside Music Festival in Chaffee Park is held every September in Northwest Denver. It isn't exactly Woodstock, but it's a cool neighborhood festival featuring a bunch of local merchants and some half way decent entertainment. Rachel built a birthday cake out of dirt on the baseball diamond using sticks as

candles. She got filthy, but seemed to have a great time. I took in some of the acts such as Bonnie and the Beard.

3. Clayton's first Restaurant experience was at the Edgewater Inn, where we went for pizza after the Celtic Festival. Last Friday he also made his first visit to Carmine's On Penn. This was more of a date night for Bree and I as Rachel had been dropped off at Monique the babysitter's house. Carmines is always great although Clay was not old enough to be able to enjoy the Chicken Parmigiana.

4. Last weekend, we took Clayton and Rachel up to Red Rocks Amphitheater. It was time to start his musical as well as geological education. After spending some time admiring the dramatic rock formations I pointed out to him where the Beatles played in 1964. I went on to edjucate him on some of the other greats that have played Red Rocks throughout the years, including Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, U2, Jimi Hendrix, John Denver and Jackson Brown, to name just a few. Clayton was clearly overwhelmed and promptly fell asleep.

Other developmental items that should be noted here include the following:
1. Clay is now sleeping between 3 and 4 hours at at a stretch at night. This is not all the time, but he has shown a good capacity for prolonged slumber.
2. Clay has good head control for someone of his age. He is able to lift his head up and look from side to side. He commonly does this when he hears his mom's voice and senses the potential for a meal.
3. He is already out of newborn diapers.
4. Clayton apparently can smile. I have not personally witnessed this phenomenon, but Bree swears that he his all grins whenever I'm not around.

All things considered, it has been a good first month for the little guy. He's a pretty laid back is getting cuter by the day. Rachel is a great sister and is doing her three year old best to be a help to us taking care of him. I'm looking forward to my parents and other family members having the chance to meet him soon

Welcoming Baby Clay

2011-09-21T10:13:00.000-07:00

August 31st, 2011 my wife Bree gave birth to a son. After several days of deliberation following the birth, we finally settled on the name Clayton Daniel. The name Clayton closely beat out Calvin and Corbin in the final competition.

Bree put in another gutsy performance and with the help of our Doula Pam and Nurse Cindy Clayton was born after a very long and mostly uneventful night in the hospital. After about 10 in the morning things began to progress quickly until Clayton was finally born at 12:41. He was 8lbs 10oz and 20.25 inches.
Rachel, who turned 3 in July, has been a terrific big sister. after a few weeks the novelty of having a baby around the house is wearing off a bit, but she has displayed great affection for her baby brother and has often gone out of her way to be helpful.

Lunch With Friends

2011-08-25T15:02:00.000-07:00

Admittedly it has been a very long time since I have posted anything here. For all of you who have been eagerly awaiting the next installment I am happy to announce that your wait is over.

Bree is pregnant again with an expected due date of next Monday, August, 29th. She has been uncomfortable these last few months and is anxious to get it over with. I am looking forward to having another child but I can't help but be a little nervous about how well we are going to handle it. Rachel has gotten much easier over the past 6 months or so and it has been very nice.

Rachel finally decided to get potty trained last May. Bree told her that if she didn't get potty trained she couldn't have a birthday party. That's all it took. For the next several weeks Rachel could be heard muttering to herself while seated on the toilet that she was using the potty so she could have a party. Shameless bribery yes, but effective nonetheless.

I took Bree and Rachel to Costa Rica in April. It was an adventure taking a 2 year old and a pregnant wife to Central America, but overall the trip went very well. We didn't rough it too much but we didn't camp out at any all inclusive beach resort either. I hope to be able to take my family on many more trips like this in the future.

Sorry this wasn't much of an update, but I'm writing from my desk at work so I'm can't take too much time out of my day.

.....Bree just called me from home and it sounds like she might be going into labor! We'll see

Farewell to Our Dear Masha

2010-02-22T18:32:00.000-08:00

To the hungriest, gassiest, orneriest, sweetest and loyalest old Dalmation I've ever known.

This morning, February 22nd, 2010, I had just shuffled into the kitchen and had poured my first cup of coffee of the day when I heard a great rattling and thumping coming from the one of the bedrooms. As I was getting up to check it out I heard Bree call out for me. Upon walking into the bedroom I found poor Masha trembling on the floor by the bed and struggling to get up. It was obvious something was terribly wrong. I tried to help her up, but her legs stuck straight out in front of her and would not support her weight. We sat with her for a while trying to calm her and hoping it would get better. Before long Bree called the vet and got her an appointment to go in at 9. I wa afraid she'd had a stroke. The vet said instead that it looked like acute onset canine vestibular disease, a condition affecting the inner ear that makes the dog feel as though they are super dizzy and can't get their balance. This is a condition that will sometimes clear up. The vet put the chances at 50/50. Bree was left with a very tough call to make.

In some ways Masha was responsible for bringing Bree and I together. We used to walk our dogs together over in Cheesman park when we lived in the same building. That is how we first got to know each other. I think Masha was a little protective of Bree, because for a long time I don't think she completely trusted me. I had to earn her trust and affection. She did not take well to my occasional teasing. And I know she didn't like my overly friendly Golden Retriever, Otis, harassing her. Masha was a private animal who liked her quiet time and preferred to be around only a small, select group of humans. She liked certain cats, but I don't think she ever cared much for other dogs. The only purpose they ever really served for her was so she could filch a little food from them.

As a dalmation, she didn't have a big, thick coat of hair, so Masha was often cold. We'd put blankets on top of her when she slept when it got really bad. I remember one night just before New Years we were travelling and stopped for the night a tiny little, backwards town called Horse Cave, Kentucky. We stayed at the Horse Cave Motel. Not only was the room dirty and worn, but it was super cold as well. The heat was barely be functioning. Otis was fine with it, but I remember feeling terrible for Masha having to sleep on the threadbare carpet with no heat. She didn't have a lot of tolerance for for any accomodations rated less than 3 stars. I'm just glad she didn't have to see me bargain with the illiterate hillbilly at the desk just to get the privilage to let her in the room in the first place. The few times we went camping together it was obvious that she wouldn't be happy unless she practically got in somebodies sleeping bag with them.

I always appreciated that she was always game to take walks, though. She didn't care much for rain, and avoided sprinklers like the plague but she never balked at getting the leash on and going outside. Some of my favorite memories in recent years have been of going for walks with the dogs. I used to walk the dogs while pushing Owen in the stroller and later I think I must have developed a reputation in the neighborhood for being the guy who walked around the Baker Neighborhood and down Broadway at night with the dalmation and the German shepherd with the baby chattering away in the backpack.

Bree got Masha as a gift when Masha was only 5 weeks old. She lived in Cincinnati, Blackhawk and then in Denver. She must have shared 10 different residences with Bree, and several with me as well. The old girl turned 14 last November. That's a pretty long life for a dog, but this still came as a real blow. Only the night before I had been walking Masha and Oscar in a snowstorm and Masha was bounding through the snow like a pup. She looked very happy and I might say quite spry for a senior citizen. Mash had an insatiable appetite , and was hungry enough to finish my bagel, even when she couldn't get up out of her bed. I thought that said something about her spirit. Now we are very sad and the house is definitely not the same place without her.

We miss you, Masha.

Owen's Birthday

2010-01-27T13:49:00.000-08:00

Owen Edward Steldt would have been 3 years old today.

We miss you.

In Memory of Charles Dye, 1922 - 2010

2010-01-24T18:17:00.000-08:00

My wife's grandfather, Charlie, passed away this morning. (Jan. 24th, 2010) He was 88 years old.I had the pleasure to get to know him a little bit in the years since I met my wife. I certainly don't claim to have known him well, but I really did like the old man and I think he was pretty fond of me as well. Charlie had a reputation as somebody who could be tough to get along with, but I can't say that I really saw that side of him. I regarded him as a strong, proud man who had lived a full life with a lot of different experiences but who was struggling with the lousy issues associated with getting old. I was interested in his stories about his life and I think he was happy to share them with me.I believe that most people that reach that age don't necessarily see their lives as particularly exceptional. I never got the sense from Charlie that he felt that his life experience was really special in any way. He was probably no different than most of the other people he grew up with and the history he witnessed may not have seemed as exceptional to him as it might to a student of history from a younger generation.

Charlie grew up in Miami before air conditioning. In 1920, the city had only 29,000 residents. By 1930 it had grown to over 110,000, still tiny compared to the sprawling megalopolis it is today. When he was a kid, South Beach was just being developed. Tropical diseases were still common. In fact, Charlie talked to me once about all the diseases that were around when he was a kid. He grew up near a railroad tracks and I believe his father worked in construction.

Charlie served in the Army during World War II and apparently saw quite a bit of action fighting in Italy. He was involved in the famous Battle of Anzio in January, 1944. While I'm sure he saw some pretty heavy fighting, he never really discussed it very much during my conversations with him. Charlie preferred instead to talk about some of the good times he had while serving in Europe. And while he never got too into any specifics I definetely got the sense that he and his friends had some pretty rowdy times. Even though we were technically at war with the Italians, it sounded like the Army was well received by the locals. One of the last times I talked with Charlie he talked about some of the good times they had in both Palermo and in Naples. Wine was cheap, the girls were friendly, and US currency went a long way.

When Charlie got out of the military he settled in the Chicago area. He got a job in the printing industry as a typesetter. I'm not clear on all of the specifics but I believe that this is where he met his wife, Peggy. Charlie and Peggy had two children, Linda and Scott. They raised their family in Des Plaines, northwest of the city and for many years he suffered through a long commute to and from his work because he preferred the more rural setting to the congested urban setting of Chicago. He spent much of his time in the garage tinkering and fixing things. He was always taking in some old broken lawnmower or something and fixing it to resell it. He was always being a very sharp dresser and made an effort to look good all the time. My wife also remembers him as having a distinctive smell consisting of a combination of Irish Spring soap and Drakar Noir cologne.

I believe he worked in that business in the Chicago area for on the order of 40 years. During that whole time, he could never get used to the cold weather or the long drive and he always looked forward to retiring back in Florida. After he finally left he printing business he got the chance. He and Peggy lived at several addresses, first in Englewood and later on in Venice. Bree and I visited them at their townhome in Venice shortly after we lost Owen. They were very gracious with us during the afternoon we spent with them. I think Peggy served ribs she had brought back from Publix, which is the grocery store she was working for at the time. Charlie took me in his room and showed me his computer and some of the things he was did with the computer and pulled up some area maps off the internet. He was already moving very slow at the time and I remember really appreciating the fact that he was using the technology, but at the same time I wanted to grab the mouse and keyboard away from him because he was taking so long to do anything.

Charlie was always very interested in technology. He was what marketing people call an 'early-adopter'. Bree recalls that when she was very little Charlie had taped The Wizard of Oz for her and her sister off of a very early early video recorder. The only problem was that when they got it home they couldn't watcy the video because neither they or any of their friends had a VCR on which to play it. Within a week of his death, Charlie was still checking his email and forwarding jokes, many of which I still have saved in my inbox.

Things unfortunately didn't work out quite as well as he and Peggy had hoped. The pension plan into which he had been paying for the past several decades had some serious problems and they were unable to retire with the type of income that they had expected. Both he and Peggy were compelled to take jobs and work through their seventies. She worked a variety of jobs waiting tables and later at the local grocery store in the bakery. Charlie followed his passion and landed a job at a golf club. This was not exactly hardship duty for him. In fact he apparently really loved working at the club. He was happy to spend much of his time out on the golf course. He also loved to be around all of the various birds that are found in Florida. Bree has remarked at how well he was able to identify the many varieties he would point out when they were out together. In recent years he had several medical proceedures to remove skin cancers from his head. He had always had sensitive skin and made sure to cover up with a hat and long sleeve shirt when going out in the daytime. I suspect that spending all of the time outside doing what he wanted probably did him a lot more good than harm in the long run.

I first met Charlie and Peggy over Christmas one year when Bree and I went to stay at a condo Bree's folks had rented in Myrtle Beach. Charlie and Peggy had made the drive up from Florida and I think that they had taken quite a while to do it. I think that must have been in about 2004 and even then Peggy was doing most of the driving. Charlie was still walking well enough though to get out and walk on the beach.

The last big trip Charlie took was when he and Peggy came to our wedding in Estes Park. I know that they had a great time when they were here and we were grateful that they were able to make the trip. My grandparents were all gone by the time we got married which, to me, reinforced the importance of their being able to be there. The day before the wedding I drove Tim and Charlie from Estes Park over the Trail Ridge Road to Grand Lake. We had lunch at a little cafe there in town before driving back. It was a beautiful day to do the trip. I think Charlie had a really nice time. It had been a long time since he had been in the mountains and unfortunately it would be his last time.

Charlie had the good fortune to be able to meet his great grandson, Owen, when we travelled to Florida over Easter weekend in 2007. Those were very happy times. I know he was very proud of Owen. He was very happy to have a great grandson. And when we lost Owen, I believe he took it hard, as well. We all had a good time during that weekend which left some very good memories with me. I remember Owen having some goofy Easter rabbit ears that Bree got for him and he had to endure wearing them while pictures were taken. It was very cute and Owen, as usual, was a good sport.

Charlie first met his great granddaughter, Rachel, when we took her down to visit them in the Villages last February. By that time he had Peggy had moved into a small house in the Villages so that they could be closer to their daughter, Linda and her husband Tim. From that time forward, as both Charlie and Peggy's health deteriorated, Linda and Tim spent a great deal of time with them visiting and helping out. Charlie became less and less mobile and was not always able to care for himself. There were instances when he fell down at night and had to have Tim come over in the morning to help him back up. Peggy became too weak to help him up. Even during these difficult times over the past year I don't think Charlie lost very much mentally although at times my understanding is that he could be dificult to get along with.

A few weeks ago Bree and I went down to Florida for a visit. Charlie and Peggy were both staying at the Arbor Village Rehab Center. Charlie had suffered a bout of phemonia over Christmas and never fully recovered. His health appeared to improve a little after he got out of the hospital, but he suffered a tremendous amount of fluid buildup as a result of the congestive heart failure he was suffering. He was clearly very uncomfortable.

The day before I left I went to see him in the afternoon after Bree and I returned from our night in Cedar Key. Tim and I found him sleeping but we decided not to wake him. Charlie had been complaining of not being able to get any sleep. So we let him be. It made me sad, though, because as I stood in the room looking down on him I knew that it would probably be the last time I would ever see him.

Charles Dye lived a long and productive life. I can't imagine that what I have written here would begin to do him justice. So for anyone who knew Charlie who happens to read this, I invite you to please leave any comments or recollections in the comments section here.

Christmas, 2010

2009-12-27T18:54:00.000-08:00

It has been a very long time since I have written anything here. Finding any time to sit down and spend any uninterrupted time at my desk or the kitchen table has become more and more difficult as my daughter Rachel had become increasingly mobile. About the time she turned a year old Rachel decided that walking was really the best way to locomote. Since then, all bets have been off. In fact, as I sit in the kitchen of my new house right now, Rachel has just pulled a chair out from the table and climbed into it where she is reclining comfortably with a bottle of water. Food and drink will keep her occupied, and stationary, but only for a short time. The rest of the time she spends on the go. She occasionally plays with her many toys. More than likely, however, she'll be pulling a dog tail, unpacking cabinets and drawers, throwing random objects or getting into some other mischief. As far as Rachel is concerned, everything is fair game.

I'm not complaining, though. I find Rachel endlessly entertaining. She is very funny. In fact I think she has the best sense of humor of anybody I know. Not bad for somebody with vocabulary of a dozen or so words. She is to the point where she seems to be regularly learning new words and generally seems to understand their meaning. For months she has been saying "uh-oh" whenever she drops something. The other day she pulled over a floor lamp in the living room. The glass globe shattered on the floor with a huge crash. Bree, my dad and I all instantly rushed to see that she was alright. Rachel just stood there with a puzzled look and said "uh-oh". A tad understated, but really quite appropriate.

But it is Christmastime. My mom and dad flew to Denver from Milwaukee on December 17th and left to go back this afternoon. It was a special treat to be able to have them here at Christmas as well as for my 40th birthday. That sounds awful, doesn't it? 40! The best thing about turning 40 is that it means that I didn't die while in my thirties. Time is going so fast. I wish I could slow it down sometimes. I know that won't happen, so I guess the best I can do is to try not to have too many regrets going forward.

On the 23rd Bree, Rachel, Dad and I drove to Carbondale (between Glenwood Springs and Aspen) where we spent two nights with my uncle Al, aunt Peg, cousin Jennie and her fiance Allen. Justin and my mom joined us later in the day. My uncle and aunt have a great new house in a golf course community which is where they have chosen to spend their retirement. On Chistmas Eve Bree and I were able to get away for the afternoon to spend some time in Aspen, which is about 30 miles down the Roaring Fork Valley from their house. It's not too often that we have the chance to get away without Rach these days so we enjoyed the few hours of freedom to hobnob with all of the high-falutin snobs. We didn't realize Charlie Sheen was in town, otherwise would have gotten together for a few drinks, I'm sure.

My cousin Jennie has spent many years in the Airforce flying around the world in C130s but next summer she will be getting married. As far as I can tell, she seems to be marrying a pretty good guy. Allen is from Cork, Ireland and now works at Microsoft. He was good enough to have a bottle of Bushmills waiting for us when we got there.

Christmas day, we all drove over Tennesee Pass to Debbie and Jerry's place on a windy mountainside just north of Buena Vista. Snow had been drifting over the winding dirt road leading to their house for the past couple of days, so we weren't sure if we'd make it. Jerry runs the music program at the Catholic church in BV and they all perform but this year they were unable to make it to mass on Christmas Eve or on Christmas morning because of all the snow that had drifted over the road on the way in. The stretch where most of the snow collects is called The Hackendorf. I'm not sure how it got that name, but by the end of the weekend Bree, my Dad and I all thought it quite funny to constantly hear about the horrors of navigating the dreaded Hackendorf. It got to be a bit of a joke. The wind was no joke though. It was blowing off of Mt Columbia to the west at a murderous rate. They had hired a plow to come through just before we arrived so we didn't have any problem making it in. The next morning a man had to come in with a front end loader because the plow couldn't make it through, so much snow had drifted in.

I had been looking forward to walking around their land and up into the forest on the mountainside butthe cold and the gale force winds made that idea seem much less agreeable. So we all stayed inside for the rest of the day. Jerry had set out a wide variety of booze, and after the snowy drive in, I was happy to help myself. They had picked up a bottle of Jamison the day before when they thought that they might have to spend the night in town. Over the course of the evening I made a big dent in the bottle.

The Hogans are a musical family so later in the evening they performed some Christmas carols for us. Debbie singing and on the piano, James playing the flute. Debbie made a ham recipe out of the Julia Child cookbook that was phenomenal. Everybody there seemed to have a pleasant night. It's not too often that I get my whole family together like this anymore. I try to enjoy it while it lasts.

I got a bit of a walk in the next morning as I scoped out the road out. The wind was still raging but I thought we'd have smooth sailing. Until I reached the dreaded Hackendorf, that is. It became clear that we'd have a tough time getting through this quarter mile stretch, even with our four wheel drive vehicles. That's when they called in the front end loader.

Thanks everybody for a great Christmas.

RockyGrass Music Festival

2009-07-27T20:53:00.000-07:00

"Give me some of that bread" the big man with the beard shouted across the campsite."There's only one piece left and I ain't giving to you" was the angry reply.

"God Damn it! I'm your father, give me the bread. Do you expect me to pick this greasy piece of sausage up out of the grass and eat it without any bread?"
"Fuck you, I don't care what you do. Eat your sausage, don't eat your sausage, I don't care but I'm not giving you the fuckin bread."
"I can't believe that you expect your father to pick this greasy piece of sausage out of the grass and eat it without any bread."
There was a pause and then the sound of a plastic bag hitting the ground after being thrown from some distance.
"There's the bread, now eat your fuckin sausage"

The sky had only just started getting light on Saturday morning of RockyGrass when this exchange took place. The father and son, who were our neighbors at the Meadow's Park Campground in Lyons had been up all night partying and playing their instruments and carrying on. Bree crawled out of our tent to see the father, Randy, slouched over on the cot we had set up as a bench outside of our tent. His still lit joint smoldered in the grass beside our tent and his beer had been tipped over. Bree, being a helpful and considerate neighbor, extinguished the doobie and placed it and the beer on one of the tables our neighbors had set up under a canopy.

I got up somewhat later and Randy was still on the cot beside our tent. I had been somewhat oblivious to what all had been going on so it was Bree who filled me in on all the details later. I had no idea that we would have a guest in our camp that morning, but considering the atmosphere of the festival and our campground, I wasn't at all surprised. 900 campers were packed into the relatively small park beside the St. Vrain River, but despite the cramped quarters and occasionally smelly portable toilets, everyone seemed to be getting along. Every one I met seemed happy to strike up a conversation and share stories. Only briefly during our second night at the camp did I get slightly irritated. And that was when I was awakened to some drunken shouting at about five in the morning which was followed up by the sounds of a jam circle with some scorching mandolin riffs at about five o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I like the mandolin as much as the next swingin' bluegrass aficionados, but I had gotten to bed late and was having a hard time sleeping the way it was. Dawn finally put a damper on the festivities.

We arrived Friday morning to find that the campground was practically full already. Apparently people had been arriving since Monday and setting up their compounds, some of which were very extensive. Although there were no vehicle campers around where we were, some people had generators while other camps were equipped with solar panels. We dropped off our modest stock of gear, and I went to park the car in a remote lot about a mile away.

We finally walked through the gates of the festival in the late morning in time to catch The Wilders. Since it was our first time at the festival, we found that most of the ground had already been staked out by people laying down tarps to reserve space for themselves. It seemed very first come first serve and it struck me that a lot of people were going to wind up with terrible seats for the performances, but the festival rules state basically that even though you can put a tarp down to reserve a spot for yourself, if you aren't there anybody else has the right to use it also. And according to the rules, also, if you come back and find somebody on your tarp, you have the "right to become lifelong friends." So basically it wasn't much of an issue. I figure, I'll let other people get in line at 7 in the morning to be the first one through the gate in the morning to throw down a blanket somewhere and then when I get up later and after some coffee and playing with Rachel, I can go over and find a perfectly good spot. In this case it wasn't even an issue at all. We wound up sharing a tarp with a group of guys from Tupolo, Mississippi, one of whom was sipping from a large flask full of Grand Marnais. He said he comes to the festival every year.

For Bree and I, having Rachel there posed some new challenges for us. We rarely made it through an entire performance without having to take Rach somewhere to go play or to go and change a diaper, but for the most part, she was quite good. She even seemed to enjoy herself. This is a very family friendly festival and parts of the grounds are simply grassy areas under massive cottonwood trees where children and families could go and escape from the crowds near the stage. For older kids, there is even a small beach area along the St Vrain River which was always packed during the day. Many people from the Meadow's campground where we stayed would bring their big inner tubes into the festival, and then hop in the river and float the three blocks or so back to the campground. No glass containers were allowed inside the festival grounds, but these huge rubber inner tubes were apparently no problem. Smoking weed apparently wasn't much of a problem for the people who run the festival either. Anyone who smoked cigarettes was restricted to a small tent far to the rear of the grounds, but pot was consumed openly just about everywhere with the possible exception of the Family Arts and Crafts Tent.

We saw a number of acts the first day, including Del McCoury, Sam Bush and Peter Rowan. I'd seen Del McCoury before but never Sam Bush. Even though he's been in the business since the late 60's, which is not quite as long as Del McCoury, he put on a fantastic, energetic show.

That night at camp Rachel didn't want to go to sleep. She thought being in the tent was just great fun and obviously didn't associate it with bed time. Our cause was not helped by all of the commotion going on around camp, but even without all the music and loud talking, I don't think Rachel would have wanted to go to sleep until very late. I took one small walk around the campground and witnessed some sort of bizarre wedding ceremony being officiated by a young guy in a bright red and ornately decorated sombrero going on under another group of canopies that had been moved together in a row. The bride was wearing a halter top and had a white feather boa wrapped around her head like a turban. The groom wore a tee shirt and boxer briefs. The best man wore a helmet that was not unlike the one Luke Skywalker wore when he piloted the X-Wing Fighter in his heroic effort against the Death Star. The line of canopies opened into a large peaked tent which had icy blue lights strung around the inside. This tent was referred to as the "Twinkle, Twinkle Tent" and was apparently where the consummation was to take place as the group of friends continued to party through the night right outside.

The next morning we saw a band called Bearfoot, who I had never heard of before. They are from Alaska and are all very young. I think they have the potential to do big things in the business. I am now officially a fan. Later in the day we saw the Claire Lynch Band. Eighty Five year old banjo pioneer, Earl Scruggs came on after she did with his band. Despite the fact that it rained off and on throughout the performance it was still a memorable experience to hear him picking on the bluegrass anthem, Foggy Mountain Breakdown.

It had been raining off and on all afternoon, which was getting to be kind of a drag. There were covered places where we could take Rachel to crawl around where she wouldn't get too soaked, but my butt was soaked after a brief downpour sent a small river down the tarp I was sitting on right into my backside. Bree and I were both concerned about keeping Rachel dry and warm as well. Steve Earl finished up the night playing with his old band The Bluegrass Dukes. Most of the music I've heard from him in the past has not been bluegrass, but this show, despite the almost constant rain was one of the highlights for me.

We got back to camp to find it very quiet. Our old friend Randy from the morning was sitting in a camp chair under a canopy telling stories to a couple of women. Few other people were around or out of their tents. We all blamed it on the rain dampening everybodies spirits. I had a couple of beers with them and learned that Randy lives on a large piece of land that he owns in New Mexico, just south of the Colorado border near Durango. In between drags on his blunt, he mused about setting up a bluegrass festival on his land someday.

We went to bed soon afterward and actually fell asleep. Sleep was not to last long because the campground filled up soon afterward with people who had been at a surprise performance by Red Knuckles in the Wildflower Pavilion that started at 11. So now that it was around 1 in the morning, it was time for the real partying to begin around the camp. I'm ashamed to admit I was not in the least bit interested in joining in. I was more concerned about them waking Rachel and keeping Bree and I up all night.

Sunday morning was very pleasant. The rain had finally stopped and our things started drying off. I made coffee by boiling water with my little camp stove and using the French Press. This is the type of roughing it that I can get on board with. Rachel played with Isabel, the little girl from the next tent, and we sat around and talked with our neighbors. Everybody had stories to tell and it was interesting for us to listen and share our own tales. I was a little surprised to find out how many people had travelled from other states to be in attendance. We talked to people from down south and states out east who claimed that this was their favorite bluegrass event. Most folks had been to several different festivals and many knew each other from years past. There is a sub-culture built around these types of events and the music whose existence I had never really been fullly aware of.

We took some time to break down the camp and I went to get the car so that we could load it up in the morning. We figured that if it started raining again that we would be better off having everything packed away so that it could stay dry. Not to mention the fact that breaking down a camp in the rain is never fun or is unpacking everything again after you get home so it can dry out.

That afternoonwe saw the Steep Canyon Rangers and Sarah Jarosz. Later we saw the 2nd half of the Darrell Scott Bluegrass Band. I really enjoyed Darrell Scott. After a late afternoon performance by Danny Paisley & The Southern Grass, there was a slot on the schedule that was listed as TBA. A rumour that I had heard that morning was that the secret performer that the promoters were keeping secret was Steve Martin, the actor and comedian who got his start playing the banjo. The special guest turned out to be The Yonder Mountain String Band. This is a group, formed over 10 years ago in Nederland, Co, that has really hit the big time. I've wanted to see them for years so I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were on the bill. Their performance did not disappoint. I look forward to seeing them again one of these days.

It was about 8 o'clock when they finished playing and Rachel was starting to act a little impatient. So rather than stay late and see Hot Rize, the evening's headliner, we opted to call it a weekend and head back to Denver.

I look forward to having the opportunity to attend more of these festivals in the years to come. It was a very nice way to spend the weekend with my wife and daughter. We saw a lot of great music and met some interesting people. Even the food from the on-site vendors was memorable. Maybe we'll finally make it to Telluride next year for their festival.

The Cheese

2009-07-21T21:31:00.000-07:00

Recently Bree and I decided to try our hands at the fine art of making our own cheese. People brew their own beer, make their own wine, cure their own meat and change their own oil, so we wanted to see if we could be industrious and craft some cheese in our kitchen. I found it difficult to find the necessary supplies. Even in such a big city, it seems that there isn't a very big demand for the tools of the cheese makers trade. You'd think that there would be more than one or two places in town that sell rennet. Rennet by the way is a solution derived from the stomach lining of a calf. It is essentially made up of enzymes that promote the seperation of the curd from the whey. It's one of those things that makes me wonder how this particular property was ever discovered. Thousands of years ago, maybe some poor herdsman decided to store his milk for the day in a stomach he had lying around and was no doubt terribly alarmed at its consistency when he sat down under a tree to have lunch.

We have made four batches now, none of which were disasters. However, I can't say that any turned out exactly as we had hoped either. One of the easiest cheeses to practice with is mozzarella. It doesn't require pressing, aging or any exotic cultures. We also made a ziegerkase, which is a whey cheese that is pressed and aged in a wine and herb solution.

Since we find making cheese to be exciting and enjoyable we have included it as one of our many possible dreams to choose from on how we will make a living. So when we were in Wisconsin, we decided to visit a working cheese factory and see what we could learn. Widmer's, in the small town of Theresa, offers daily tours and is not too far from Milwaukee. So we made the drive up through the pleasant countryside of southeastern Wisconsin in time to make the 9:30 tour.

Like many old time Wisconsin Cheese factories, it is in a very small building with an attached living quarters upstairs. This wasn't set up to supply Wal-Marts all over the country. But they have been making Brick, Chedder and a couple of other cheeses for generations now and seem to do a great job of it. The bricks they use to press the cheese are still the original bricks they used when the factory was founded several decades ago. They had three large tubs (maybe 15 feet by 5 feet) going with a couple of workers occasionally stiring the contents with rakes.

I can't say we learned a great deal from the presentation. It was pretty elementary. A lot of people take their kids there for a morning activity. And the tour was free along with the samples, so it worked fine for us.

Afterwards we spent a couple hours walking around Theresa. We took took Rachel to the small park down by the river and pushed her in the swing. It was one of the more lonely feeling parks that I've ever been in, but it was very pleasant nevertheless. We later stopped for snacks at the confectioners shop in town. We had deep fried beer battered bratwurst and some deep fried brocally and cheese nuggets along with some mini potato pancakes. All good stuff, but stuff we would not eat every day. Besides, I have yet to see beer battered deep fried brats on any menu here in Denver.

We later met my mom and aunt Myra in Cedarburg for a real lunch at The Anvil Pub and Grill. Our table was on a lovely patio overlooking the river. I hadn't seen Myra in years so it was a great pleasure for me to visit with her. She is my deceased grandmother's older sister and she is a wealth of stories about the old days when they grew up in Clayton, Wisconsin which was very poor and rural at the time. I hope to have the opportunity to get together with her again soon.

Rachel Goes Up the Country

2009-07-09T20:51:00.000-07:00

Rachel went over to Jeff and Michelle's house out in the country last weekend. As usual, Jeff and Michelle were fine hosts and had a great big vat of beverages out for their guests. Rachel, never the shy one, decided to crawl on over and help herself. Not unlike Goldilocks from the tale of the three bears, she sampled a couple different ones before finding one that was just right.

Here Rachel is surveying the various selections. "So many to choose from" she says. "How can I ever possibly decide?"

At first she sampled the Leinie's, but she didn't like it very much. "Too bitter" she said.

Then she tried the Busch. "Tastes too much like urine!" she exclaimed.

Finally, our young hero finds a can of Coca Cola, takes a slug, and decides that it's just right

Tomorrow Rachel will be ONE! July 10th, 2009.
Happy Birthday
We love you even if you do have a dirty schnoz.

Accidents Will Happen

2009-07-08T21:32:00.001-07:00

On the night of July 5th, 2009 while performing at Milwaukee's Summerfest, Elvis Costello dedicated a rousing rendition of his hit tune Accidents Will Happen to his long time fan and occasional lyrical advisor, Brian Hinshaw. That morning, Hinshaw had shattered his femur during a run in with a bull moose in the wilds of Northern Minnesota. He avoided further injury by taking shelter in the hollow of a massive white pine and fending off the aggresive beast with his new Shakespere fishing pole oufitted with 12 pound test line.

Brian was lucky to escape with his life and is now resting comfortably back at his comfortable Victorian mansion on Milwaukee's hip and happening East Side. He noted that the injury may actually be a blessing in disguise as it will give him more time to concentrate on beer.

Bombs Bursting in Air

2009-06-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Milwaukee late last night. My plane had been delayed by about 2 hours. So eve though the United Airlines website and even the sign at the gate indicated that the flight was on time, I was informed by the gate attendant at the time we were supposed to start boarding that the plane I was supposed to get on was in Rapid City, South Dakota. I felt bad enough that I was having my dad pick me up at the airport at 11:30, and now felt even worse that it was going to be 1:30 instead.

Rachel has once again proven to be a wonderful travel companion. Next week she will be one year old and this is already her fourth trip somewhere on an airplane. I got lucky that I was seated next to a girl who must have been about twelve and loved babies. This girl ended up being a big help and was nice to talk to as well. She explained that this was only the first time in her life that she had been on a plane. Her family had gone out to Colorado for a week where she got to do some hiking and spending time in the Glenwood Hotsprings. I finally got to bed at my mom's house about three o'clock in the morning.

After going through a fiasco renting a car this morning I picked Bree up at the airport about an hour after she landed. We got some lunch at a burger place on Brady Street and walked down to Bradford Beach. It was a nice day and the beach was crowded. Bree took Rachel wading in the very shallow water near the shore. Rachel still can't walk on her own, but she is able to walk with help and I think she was intrigued by the way the sand felt on her feet. But as with everything else, after a while she reverted to trying to eat the sand. That was our queue to move on down the beach.

Back at my mom's we got a much needed nap followed by a nice dinner prepared by my mom. After dinner my dad, Rachel, Bree and myself headed down to the lakefront to see the fireworks. This was Rachel's first trip to see the fireworks. Last year we went to see the fireworks in Golden, CO, which were good but no real comparison as far as the size of the display. Rachel was there also, in Bree's belly. The fourth of July was past Bree's due date last year and she had been hoping that the noise of the fireworks would throw her into labor. As it turned out, she didn't have Rachel for another week.

The display tonight was very impressive and Rachel seemed to enjoy it for a while. In time, however, her short attention span got the better of her. She was able to crawl around in the grass and seemed to enjoy herself for the most part anyway. I remember the first time I went to the fireworks here in Milwaukee. It was with my dad and my grandpa. We set on the grass down by the old gun club. I remember thinking how absolutely cool they were and through the years as I got older, my brother and i often went down to see the fireworks with my dad. My grandpa didn't go often, but he lived on the other side of town and it probably wasn't his thing so much. He had been in WWII and probably got more than his share of explosions at Iwo Jima and Okinowa.

I saw in the paper this morning that the Brewers are playing the Cubs at Wrigley Field this weekend. That hit home pretty hard. It was two years ago on June 27th when we lost Owen. We were all set to take him to Milwaukee in a few days for the 4th of July celebration and I had been trying to get tickets to the Brewers and Cubs at Wrigley. It was going to be the first trip to Wrigley field for both of us, and I wanted it to be for a Brewer game.

April in San Francisco

2009-05-01T10:15:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago Bree, Rachel and I took a long weekend and flew out to San Francisco. Neither Rachel or Bree had ever even been to California and we were all itching to get out of town for a little while so with the help of some outstanding recession-priced airfares we settled on San Francisco as a destination.

We flew out of Denver early on Wednesday morning. We had some concerns about how Rachel would react to getting up so early in the morning to be rushed off to the airport. We were pleased to see that she behaved very well. That morning she really set the precedent for the rest of our trip. On the plane it helped that the little girls sitting in the seats behind us were smiling and making funny faces at her through much of the flight. Rachel really feeds off of the interaction with other babies and small children. Unlike her father, I doubt seriously that she will wind up being a shy child.

To save money and the hassle of parking, I put off renting a car for a couple of days. We figured that we could find plenty of stuff to do around the city without needing a car. That meant that we took the train, commonly known as the BART, in to the city from the airport. It turns out that this is really the way to go. The train picks up passengers right at the airport and after about a half hour ride, drops them off in the heart of the Union Square neigborhood. When we emerged from the subway station we were surrounded by tall buildings with crowds of people pushing their way past us. With the help of a hot dog vender we quickly got our bearings and made the three block walk to our hotel.

We stayed in a hotel that I had found a special on after many hours of searching the internet. It was called the Hotel Serrano. The building probably dated from the 1920's, was about 19 stories tall, and had been built using the Moorish architecture that was common in that period. The lobby was small but ornate and they had a table full of board games which guests were welcome to play. Every evening the hotel hosted a complementary wine reception for one hour where guests could spend time in the lobby drinking wine and mingling with other travelers. The couple of times we were around the hotel when they were holding the wine reception, I made sure to take full advantage of it. After all the walking around and hard core sightseeing that we were doing it was nice to come back to the hotel for some wine. In the mornings they had free coffee in the lobby and your choice of newspapers including the NY Times and the Wall Street Journal. This was an incentive for me to get up before Bree and Rachel so that I could go downstairs and have a little quiet coffee and newspaper time before heading out for the day. The only thing to disturb it was that the sliding doors to the lobby were often open and it got very cold in there in the mornings.

Our first afternoon, after checking into the hotel, we walked over to Union Square and watched a small Passover celebraton that was taking place. A Jewish one man band of sorts was playing highly dancable songs to the small crowd of Jews that was gathered nearby. I had arranged to have lunch with my old friend Serena Huang from business school here in Denver. She is now working at an old, and very stylish department store called Gumps. www.gumps.com
The store itself is really worth a visit. Most items are well out of my price range, but they have some really unique and gorgeous merchandice. Serena seems to have a pretty responsible job there and works upstairs in one of the offices. But she was able to give us an interesting tour around the jade selectin in the jewelry department. I had never known that jade comes in as many colors as it does and that buyers will go all over the world to get the best specimins of different varieties of the stone.

We had lunch in a nearby food court that was buzzing with activity. It was good to catch up with Serena whom I had not seen since I was in San Francisco several years ago for Halloween. Serena has since gotten married and from the sounds of it, she married a pretty interesting guy. They met after they and some other friends of theirs had gotten laid off after the dot.com bust. She said that there were a lot of people around with no jobs and a lot of time on their hands. The solution was to organize a large music festival. It turns out the festival was pretty successful. I was impressed by this story. A lot of people when they lose their jobs will get depressed and circle their wagons. The fact that these people got together to organize a festival with multiple musical acts as well as several vendors is pretty darn impressive.

After lunch and spending time admiring the merchandise in Gump's, we walked up through China Town. China Town in San Francisco is worth a visit but I wouldn't spend too much time there. I believe the much of the authenticity of this historic, ethnic neighborhood has given way to gift shops and other businesses geared toward the tourist trade. We took a circuitous route back to our hotel by way of Nob and Russian Hills. This way we were able to get our exercise for the day as well as get an opportunity to walk through some of San Fran's more traditional neighborhoods and admire the ornate Victorian architecture.

The first night we had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory on the top level of Macy's overlooking Union Square. I can't think of a more touristy place that we could have had our supper. That said, it was really nice. There is rooftop patio from where we were able to have a beer and look out over the city while waiting for our table. An added bonus was that the Brewers happened to be playing the Giants and the game was on the TV above the bar.

It was raining the next morning. It wasn't a hard driving rain, but it was the kind of misty rain that forms in coastal cities when the clouds roll in off of the Ocean. The clouds were low over the city giving it a very different feel from the previous afternoon. This is what I imagine San Francisco being like much of the time, cool, misty and gray.

We decided that since it was raining that we would take the train over to Golden Gate Park the, walk around, and go to one of the museums. We were misinformed about subway so after walking to station and realizing that the train was not going to go where we needed it to, we decided to walk. We had rain coats, and Rachel's stroller had a built in umbrella and she was wearing a warm coat so we figured we'd be okay.

Market Street in San Francisco as you make your way away from Union Square gets seedy fast. The grittiness of the neighborhood was accentuated by the grayness of the morning. Homeless people milled about with businessmen and women making their way to their jobs in the government buildings at the nearby civic center. Every corner seemed to have its own doughnut shop. Many of the buildings appeared to have historic value. Some were ornately detailed. But most of the buildings around here still seemed run down and in need of some serious rehab.

After walking for several blocks the neighborhood was gradually improving. Eventually we came to Haight Street and turned right and headed up a steep hill. Immediately the area we were walking through began to feel much more friendly and the general maintenance and upkeep of the real estate took a giant turn for the better. We walked up and and down several hills and for what seemed like a very long time until we finallypassed Buena Vista Park and were in the famous Haight-Ashbury Neighborhood.

It was still pretty early in the day, so many of the little shops catering to tourists were not even open yet. We decided to stop in the People's Cafe for a late breakfast and some coffee. Bree looked through some of the shops afterward while Rachel and I walked along the sidewalk looking in windows and watching the interesting mix of people that were becoming more abundant as the morning wore on.

It was still raining lightly when we walked to the end of Haight Street and entered Golden Gate Park. We walked by the antique merry go round and the playground and saw a drug deal go down nearby while making our way to the Conservatory of Flowers and then to the Japanese Tea Garden.

I thought it was a perfect day for the tea garden with the mist and fog making an ideal backdrop for the meticulously planned gardens. We also happened to be lucky enough to be there at the height of the cherry blossoms. The Conservatory of Flowers is basically an old greenhouse split up into three different rooms each hosting a slightly different environment. They keep it very hot and humid inside for the benefit of its impressive orchid collection.

As the aftenoon wore on the rain started coming down much harder so we decided to go into the DeYoung Museum of Fine Arts. They were hosting a large special exhibit of works by Andy Warhol which we decided to forego due to its significant additional fee. We also agreed that it was not especially important that we go see pictures of Cambell's Soup labels. The rest of the museum had more than enough to keep us interested and occupied. The de Young boasts a large collection of American art dating from the 17th century through the present as well as large collections of traditional and historic pieces from Africa and the Americas. San Francisco has a large and respected museum devoted soley to Asian Art which we unfortunately did not have the opportunity to visit on this trip.

After leaving the museum we went to find the bus route that would take us back to Union Square. I, however, uncharacteristicaly steered us in the wrong direction and we wound up walking deeper and deeper into the park. We were beginning to get cold and tired although Rachel was still doing great all bundeled up in her stroller. Everybody we asked for directions seemed to also be a tourist. Several of the people we came across did not even speak English. Although my inquiries did get me roped into taking pictures of what I think was some sort of French soccer team.

Finally we found some people who were able to point us in the right direction. Instead of the bus we took a street car. Not one of the touristy street cars, but one that looks like a bus on tracks.
It was crowded when we boarded and it only got more so has the trian got closer to downtown. Bree was holding on to Rachel, but we had been pushed apart by the throngs of passengers. Abouth half way back Rachel started screaming. I wanted to go and help Bree, but there was no way I could have reached her, especially while holding the folded up stroller.

I rushed Bree back to the hotel where we fed Rachel and let her crawl around for a few minutes, not nearly long enough to work off all of the energy I'm sure she had been saving up all day stuck in the stroller. I had made plans with our neighbors, Donald and Jennifer, to meet at the Top of the Mark, at the top of the Mark Hopkins Hotel. Bree didn't know they would be in San Francisco at the same time as us so I thought I'd surprise her by meeting them out for drinks without telling her. In retrospect this was sort of a stupid idea because Bree thought I was an idiot for wanting to be at a certain lounge at the top of a certain hotel right at 7PM on the 2nd night of our trip. But Donald and Jennifer were waiting for us when we arrived and they had gotten lucky with a table that commanded about the best view in the place. It also had a bench where Rachel could lie down and take a nap. The view was phenomenal. The sky had started to clear and the sun was setting casting bluish-gray and orange hues all over the San Francisco landscape stretching out below us. Donald and Jennifer had just sold their duplex down the block and were moving out a few days later to go pursue a new life in some small town in northern Alabama. After that night I ran into Donald once, but I doubt we'll ever see them again. They were very nice people and now I wish we had made more of an effort to get to know them socially before this. Our interactions had been limited pretty much to letting our dogs play with their dog, a black lab - sharpay mix named Riley, over at the playground down the street.

On the way back to our hotel we stopped at a restaurant for some sushi and then decided to call it a day.

The next morning I took the train back out to the airport to pick up the rental car I had reserved. If I had picked up a rental car at a branch location closer to our hotel every rental company I contacted would have charged me an additional $125 or so for the privilege. That seemed so ridiculous that I instead opted to get up early and and go back out to the airport. Ever concerned about the environment, I rented a Prius Hybrid. The part of getting the car that seemed to take the longest was getting the child safety seat installed. But after some trial and error, working up a sweat, and finally asking for help, I was off to pick up Bree and Rach back at the hotel.

We spend the day heading north out of town, first making the obligatory stop at the Golden Gate Bridge. We popped Rachel in the stroller and walked about half way across the bridge. The views were great, but we had to share the sidewalk with plenty of other tourists and there was so much traffic noise on the bridge that it made it difficult to talk. From there, we headed up through Sausalito to Muir Woods, the famous preserve of Redwoods that escaped logging early in the 20th century due to a few very forward-thinking people who were able see what a national treasure these giant trees were and still are. Muir Woods was also very crowded, at least the parking area and the first quarter mile of pathways into the park. As with so many trails here in Colorado, the crowds thinned out considerably the further we got from the cars. I carried Rach in the Erbo carrier and she seemed to be enjoying getting out and having a look around also. We spent about an hour meandering through the small valley containing most of the largest specimans and then decided to take a side trail up to a place called Camp Eastwood. To our amazment this place was not named after Clint, who of course makes his home not far from here, but instead after someone named Alice Eastwood.

Alice Eastwood, as it turns out, was a reputable botanist who made her name in the early years of the 20th century by identifying and clasifying new genuses of ferns and sunflowers. Much of her time was actually spent in Colorado although her most of her most famous botanizing took place later on in California. "She was by all accounts a woman of robust stature and ample voice." according to one website dedidcated to those people who have been commemorated in plant names of the Eastern Sierra. I suppose she would have had to be a hard woman to play in the ultra-macho world of serious botany. The trail that we took that bears her name was delightful and allowed us an opportunity to see some of the surrounding landscape without the company of hundreds of other people. In fact, in the hour or so we were walking, we only came across one other person.

The plan was to leave from Muir Woods and drive up Highway 1 to Point Reyes National Seashore. We took a wrong turn upon leaving the woods that led us back to Sausalito. So after a little cussing and a quick stop at Taco Bell, we drove back up through the windy canyon and found the road that led us down to the coast. In many ways I think that this drive was the highpoint of the trip for me. The drive was slow on the the narrow, windy, two lane road and it took much longer to get up to Point Reyes than I had planned, but every bit of the trip was filled with some of the most unique and beautiful land and seascapes that I have ever seen. With few exceptions, the beaches didn't look very inviting. Most of the coast was made up of craggy cliffs and rugged, rocky shorelines. But the hills to our right were green and inviting. There were several pristine pastures where cows and sheep grazed and very few houses or buildings of any kind to mar the view.

Point Reyes National Seashore itself was generally a much harsher landscape. It stretches inland for several miles from the ocean on a large peninsula. The narrow road leading in toward the coast took us past several small ranches or farms, each of which had a number. I suspect that these old ranches are somehow grandfathered in and sanctioned by the Park Service. The area probably was not heavily settled because of the harsh conditions in the area. The wind was blowing throughout our drive up the coast, but at Point Reyes, the wind was at a totally new level. The famous old lighthouse, which had been our ultimate destination that day, was actually closed due to the conditions. There were only a few other cars in the parking lot at the end of the road. We got out and walked to a spot overlooking the ocean. Bree, being a little lighter than I am, had to lean into the wind to stay upright. I had Rachel in the carrier pressed to my chest covered up by my coat. We managed about 10 minutes out of the car, but that was about all we could handle. If the the wind blows like that more than occasionally out at Point Reyes, it is no wonder that more people didn't want to settle here.

We got back to our hotel fairly late in the evening, and after such a long day Bree just sent me out to find some carryout to bring back to the hotel. Several people approached me for money in the couple of blocks I ventured away looking at the menus in the various restaurant windows. I even gave a dollar to a skinny, sickly looking woman who was very grateful, and told me that since it was Friday that it was a late night at the shelter, so she was trying to scrape together enough cash to go and have a good time before curfew. Knowing that I was able to help her out gave me a nice feeling as I walked back to my nice hotel room with a load of Thai food.

Rachel had been crawling a little bit before we left on our trip, but she really seemed to make some serious improvement while we were in San Francisco. Our room seemed very clean so we didn't feel too bad about letting her crawl around on the floor. We tried to let her crawl as much as possible when we were in the room because she spend so much time cooped up in the car seat and in the stroller over the course of our trip.

The next day we had considered going up to Sonoma and touring a vineyard or two, but after having spent so much time in the car the day before, we decided to stay in town instead. It was a nice day so we decided to go down to the beach since we hadn't really been able to spend any time at the beach the day before due to the conditions. As it turned out, when we got down the the beach, we found the wind to be howling in off of the Pacific much the same way it had the day before. We parked our environmentally friendly hybrid in a public lot acroos the road from the western edge of Golden Gate Park, so when we found that the shore was not going to be hospitable to us, we walked into the park. Once we got into the trees and away from the ocean, the conditions improved dramatically and we were able to spend several hours walking around admiring the gardens, ponds and towering groves of euchalyptus trees in the park.

Later in the afternoon we went back to the Haight-Ashbury district so Bree could spend some time poking around in the eclectic shops that make up the neighborhood. She didn't even buy anything, but I think that she had a good time browsing. One of my minor goals of the trip was to find a little cafe where I had spend a couple of pleasant mornings the last time I was in San Francisco, which is going on 9 years ago or so. I was pretty sure it was up in the Cole Valley nearby, and sure enough we found the place, much as I remember it being several years ago. It is called Crepes on Cole and I still think they have a great place and a great concept for a cafe and restaurant that might do well here in the Denver area with the right location. http://www.yelp.com/biz/crepes-on-cole-san-francisco

That evening we went up to Fisherman's Wharf for dinner. I haven't been to San Francisco's Fisherman's wharf since I was a kid, so I didn't remember it much. We found it to be basically one great big tourist trap, but since we were tourists, we decided to make the most of it and ended up having a great meal of bay scallops and shrimp in a cramped little restaurant that looked like it had been serving since the 1940s. The booths were apolstered with vinyl and the walls covered with dusty and weathered looking nautical stuff, much of which looked like it could have come from a rummage sale.

We had walked over half the way back to our hotel before our bus finally showed up and after having to sit across from the psychotic gentleman mentioned in my last post, I wish we had walked the rest of the way.

Our last day in town we started off by walking back through China Town. This time we spent a little more time in the shops, although not too much. I got Bree a pair of jade earrings. We walked over to the Embarcadero and made our way all the way around until we were back at Fisherman's Wharf. We toured the USS Jeremiah O'brien, one of only two surviving WWII liberty ships. This was an inexpensive and interesting attraction that did not seem overwhelmed by other tourists. The people working here were made up of an interesting mix of people, mostly ex-navy, who all seemed absolutely into what they were doing and all seemed very knowledgable about the ships history, not just in WWII, but its subsequent missions as well. The ship is maintained in functioning order and still sails periodically for different functions.

We also went to Ghiardelli Chocolate Factory and split a sunday and had a lunch of clam chowder in a sourdough breadbowl. We walked back to Union Square over what has to be the steepest hill in town and were sadly off to the airport to catch our evening flight back to Denver.

We were able to pack quite a bit in to our long weekend, but it didn't seem nearly long enough. San Francisco is a great city to explore, especially if you don't mind doing some walking. On our next visit, I'd like to spend some more time in the countryside as well and maybe be able to take in a theater performance or two. Our next trip looks to be Milwaukee for the 4th of July.

You're Going to Meet Some Gentle People There

2009-04-11T23:20:00.000-07:00

Less than an hour ago walking back from the bus stop along Geary Street by Union Square I looked down to see a panhandler seated on the sidewalk opening up his zipper and exposing himself to the crowds of people walking by. Most people probably didn't notice. Bree didn't even notice. In fact she commented to me shortly thereafter about how he had his shirt up and he was clawing at his belly. Only a few minutes before while we were seated on the bus, the keenly dressed man in the gray suit, red silk shirt and fedora sitting across from us had looked up and me and out of the blue started exclaiming that "I'm one nigga you don't want to fuck with." and "Mutha Fucka I'm gonna shock your world" among other randomly aggressive and threatening things. Bree and I stayed silent and tried not to make any eye contact for the rest of the ride while the man across from us withdrew into just muttering quietly to himself.

If there has been an aspect of San Francisco that I haven't liked, it has been the pervasiveness of street people, many of whom have displayed pretty obvious signs of mental illness. I've heard in the past that San Francisco has a serious problem with homelessness, but I have still been taken aback by the extent of it which we have witnessed in our few days here. One reason for our heavy exposure to this aspect of San Francisco is undoubtedly our hotel's proximity to the infamous Tenderloin District which has the reputation for being one of the seediest areas in this otherwise upscale and heavily-gentrified city.

As a general rule I don't mind a little seediness. In fact, I've been known to seek it out from time to time, but San Francisco's Tenderloin really took me off guard. Massage parlors, check cashing places, single room occupancy hotels and liquor stores fill up every block block in the area. To save a few bucks I parked our rental car in a garage in the heart of the Tenderloin. I dropped Rachel and Bree off at the hotel before going to park the car one night when we got back from a long day out on the road. The three block walk back from the dingy little garage was like navigating a scene from Night of the Living Dead. I must have looked a little out of place in my khaki pants, Eddie Bauer shirt and fleece vest pushing an empty stroller through this minefield of shell-shocked junkies, panhandlers, drug dealers, prostitutes and all other assorted ne'er-do-wells to get back to the hotel. I was sorry Bree had taken the camera with her in the diaper bag. It was actually an enjoyable walk for me as I weaved through all the weirdness to the liquor store across the street from my hotel where I bought some wine and Jack Daniels to even things out a bit.

Over the few days Bree and I spent in the city we couldn't help but discuss the issue of all of hte derilects walking around. As a mental health worker herself, she pointed out that we were witnessing, first hand, an excellent argument for bringing back state run insane asylums. During the 1960's and 1970s, for various reasons, there was a widespread deinstitutionalization of the chronically mentally ill. Where before the incorrigible loonies were kept safely locked away and out of sight, those same psycos are now out busily frightening people at bus stops.

If this country wants to get serious about combating the "problem of homelessness" we should consider taking a stop back and consider starting to put more people in facilities again where they can receive regular treatment for their illnesses. Ultimately this will benefit the insane by ensuring that they always have a roof over their heads, food to eat, and medications to treat whatever condition they may be suffering from. It would also limit their access to the hard drugs many of these people are self-medicating with on the streets. Furthermore, our cities would benefit a reduction in those people walking around begging for change, sleeping on sidewalks and crapping in doorways.

Rachel got to see her first rail-thin junkie smoking crack from a glass pipe on this trip. Perhaps I'm being an over-protective father but I was hoping to put that sight off for my daughter for at least a few more years. That said, we all had a wonderful time during our visit to San Fransisco. My next post will deal with the far more numerous positive aspects of our five days there. It really is a wonderful city and most of the people whom we met were friendly, interesting and helpful.The mannequin in the window behind Rachel is actually Mr Magoo dressed in drag. This is just one more glaring symbol of the sordid depths this city will stoop to.

Monday Morning You Sure Look Fine

2009-03-11T11:47:00.001-07:00

I usually make it a rule not to pander to my audience, but in this one case I will make an exception. In one of the comments on my last post, one of my most loyal of readers made a valid point. He pointed out that my last post would have been more interesting for my readers if I had provided more details on Louis getting plastered on Superbowl Sunday and not concentrated so much on providing details about the retirement community in Florida. Now that I'm pushing 40, retirement communities with golf courses don't seem quite so boring to me anymore, but I can still see the value in his criticism.

It was almost four o'clock on Monday morning when Louis woke up in the complete darkness of Fred's bathroom. The first things he noticed was that his head was spinning wildly and and he was immediately seized by the overpowering, acrid stench of fresh vomit. Louis was completely disorientated. As he tried to sit up, he put his hand down on the floor by his side and found that he had placed it in something cold and slimy. Louis slowly began to realize where he was and how he had come to be in this particular situation, although the details remained fuzzy. His head was swimming as he reached up to pick of partially digested chicken wing out of his hair. The first thing he saw when he reached up to turn on the light was the slowly congealing pool of stomach juice, blue cheese dressing and chicken skin where his head had been resting only inches from the base of the toilet and all its many weeks worth of accumulated filth.

Louis felt the familiar sensations of dizziness and nausea as he made his way into the living room and collapsed on the the sofa, giving no thought to what he might be tracking in with him from the bathroom. Cold beads of sweat had already begun to accumulate on his forehead from the exertion. Fred's dog Maggie, a happy but very drooly boxer, awakened by the activity in the living room, trotted over and began voraciously licking the previous night's meal off of Louis's soiled bluejeans. Louis weakly tried to push the dog away, but with such delicacies to be slurped off of Louis's cloths, there was nothing that would deter the dog. Doing his best to suppress a new bout of retching, Louis choked back the acidy liquid, slumped back in his seat and began slowly piecing together the previous nights events.

Louis had just finished helping his friend Justin move from his 13th floor luxury apartment into a gritty little hovel on Ash St that he would be sharing with his buddy Todd. Justin had been completely unprepared for his friends who had graciously offered to help him out, so Fred and Louis ended up spending much more time helpng out than they had ever anticipated. They hurried over to Hooters on Colorado Blvd but did not make it quite in time for the Superbowl's opening kickoff. Louis arrived in a fowl mood. Justin's lack of preparation had irritatd him and he was upset that he was late for the start of the game. In payment for all his hard work, Justin filled up an empty 12 oz bottle of Aquafina with some old vodka he dug out of the back of one of his cupboards.

Louis took his vodka and headed for Hooters. When the scantily clad waitress came to the table for the first time to take his order, Louis grabbed the bottle off of the table and and hid it between his legs. He couldn't possibly have acted any more guilty for somwbody with an Aquafina bottle sitting next to them filled with a clear liquid. The waitress even called him out on it and had him bring the bottle out to show her. He told her that it was just water, so she of course let him slide. At the time I didn't even realize that it was filled with vodka, but thought it very strange teh way he had behaved with the waitress.

Our table ordered several dozen wings in a wide variety of flavors ranghing from Three Mile Island to Cajun and we all dug in, Louis especially. He was on the Adkins Diet at the time so he felt obliged to eat as much as he possibly could. Wings are all fat and protien after all and he of course would be forgoing on desert. Before long, Louis had single-handledly polished off about 30 or so wings and drumsticks. His personal favorite was the teriaki. All the while he made steady progress on his bottle of vodka, taking regular slugs. However, Louis did did not limit himself to just the vodka. He went through several mugs of beer, as well. There was no question, Louis was in a mood to party tonight!

The Pittsburgh Steelers looked like the stronger team through the first half of the game, but as the game wore on, Kurt Warner and his scrappy Arizona Cardinals began to show some serious sigs of life. They eventually took the lead and looked as though they may pull off a huge upset. By this time, however, the Vodka was gone Louis was well on his way to losing most of his facalties and thus was not really getting much out of the game. He was slurring badly and was having more and more trouble focusing. It was at this time that I made the decision to buy a round of shots. They were out of Rumpleminze so I picked Jaegermeister instead. Louis downed it like a champ as I knew he would. I knew he had already had far too much to drink, but I couldn't resist the mischeivous temptation to push the envelope just a little bit more, sort of like a science experiment. I knew better. I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I knew this could well be the straw that broke the camels back, but for some reason I did it anyway.

It wasn't long before the results became apparent. Louis was over the edge. He began to break out in a drenching sweat and burried his face in his hands on the table. He no longer seemed interested in eating anymore wings. For Louis, that is possibly the truest sign of distress. Most of us didn't pay too much attention to him as the football game we were watching was turing out to be one heck of a great game and the excitement in the room grew.

So wouldn't you know it, less than a minute to go in the game, the Cardinals are clinging to the lead, but the Steelers are mounting what could be a game winning drive and Louis looks over and tugs on my shirt asking to be helped outside so that he can rest in the car. I looked at him incredulously and told him that he was crazy. and that he didn't want to miss the end of the game. But I could see it in his eyes that he was in serious distress. One of our other friends, Brian, took him by the other arm and we helped him out of the resturant and out to his car on the street. He knew that somebody else would be driving his car for him later, but he just wanted to rest in the back seat. When we got him out near the car, Louis assured us that he would be fine, and Brian an I returned to watch the end of the game. I later admonished Louis for turning the car on and having the headlights on while parked on the street and passed out in the back seat. My understanding is that a police officer could possibly get him on a DUI just for being alone in a running vehicle. Fortunately, we got out there before any officers happened upon him.

By the time we were taking him back to Fred's house, Louis had become incoherent and was drifting in and out of sleep. Louis's recollections ended at just about this time although as he sat on the couch that morning he tried very hard to remember anything else that might have taken place. Soon it dawned on him that he had to be at work in an hour. He stood up to get ready, but made it only a couple of steps before he realized that he would be having to call in and take a sick day. There was no way in the world that he was going to make it into the office this morning.

Thinking back later that day, searching for an excuse for what had happened, Louis decided conclusively that he must have contracted food poisoning from something that he had eaten. He rationalized that since he had never thrown up from drinking before, that that could not have possibly have been the reason this time either. He asked all the rest of us who were there if we had gotten sick as well, and seemed almost disappointed to find out that none of us had gotten anything worse than a mild case of heartburn.

I'm happy to report that it didn't take Louis long to get back on his horse and get back out there to the bars and taverns. Although from now on he will be making extra sure that his wings are cooked all the way through.

Congratulations to the Pittsburgh Steelers who did indeed score on that final drive.

I Want To Catch Something That I Might Be Ashamed Of

2009-03-01T15:52:00.000-08:00

I know its been a while since I've written anything here, so while I'm sitting here at the Fox Sports Bar in the Orlando International Airport I figured I'd start getting caught up.

On New Years Day when we were out for a short hike in South Valley Park, Rachel looked up from her carrier strapped to my chest and quite clearly said "Hi Da Da". The next day she said it again and a couple of days after that as well. At first I thought it was just a fluke, but after a while it became clear that Rachel was indeed identifying me as 'Da Da'. I'll admit that this made me feel a great deal of pride. I knew she recognized me a long time ago, but verbalization was something new, and at only 5 months old. Since then, she has made all sorts of other remarkable strides. Just yesterday she got up on her knees in her crib and held onto the railing. She also has learned how to clap along with me when I sing 'When You're Happy and You Know It". It's great to finally have an appreciative audiance for my singing.

With the exception of going skiing a few times on the weekends and watching my daughter grow and change every day, and of course seeing Louis get drunk enough to be violently ill after the Super Bowl, the last couple of months haven't been especially interesting. I've fallen into the dark and depressing drudgery of going to work every day while having very little to look forward to on the weekend or the future in general. Bree has been working most weekends so I'm home with Rachel. During the week, I'm working and have been taking Spanish Classes on Wednesday nights. One of these days or years, I hope to get down to Latin America again, although it's hard to say exactly when that will be.

Bree's grandmother, Peggy, has been undergoing chemo for a while now. Early last week Bree flew to Florida to see her parents and spend some time with her grandparents. I flew down to join them on Thursday after work. I pulled into her parents driveway in The Villages sometime after one in the morning. The Villages has to be the nations largest retirement community. I believe the population now stands at around 70,000 full and part year residents, all 55 and over. I'm not sure if this is true, but I've heard from more than one source that The Villages had one of the nations highest rates of newly diagnosed STD's a couple years ago. http://www.clickorlando.com/news/9283707/detail.html After spending a little time there, I would not be surprised if that weren't true. The Villages are laid out over an area that, right now, spans about 33 square miles. There are two town squares that feature nightly live entertainment and dancing. Throughout the complex there are several other clubs where people get together to listen to music, swim, eat, play golf, bicycle, play tennis and apparently, have a lot of sex. The atmosphere at these places in some ways resembles Spring Break for seniors. My in-laws belong to two separate motorcycle clubs in The Villages, but folks there can get into a club that mirrors just about any interest you could possibly have.

My first morning I went for a run. After living in Denver, with it's thin, dry air, running at sea level is a treat. I felt strong and went much further than I had expected to, while listening to on old Chili Peppers record on the I Pod. It also felt great to be out of the office and stretching my legs in the sunshine surrounded by golf courses, palm trees, and all manner of geezers tearing around on their golf carts.

Bree's sister Tamara was there with her daughter Norah. Norah is only 18 days younger than Rachel, so when they get older we hope that they will be able to be good friends. They already really seem to like one another, even if their interaction is limited to passing the occasional toy back and forth. When I got back from running we all took a nice walk together and later that afternoon went to one of the many swimming pools. This particular pool admits people 30 and younger, which includes infants. All the other pools you must be at least 30 with a valid ID to enter. We took the babies in the water with us and they had a great time. These babies had no fear of the pool and seemed to naturally move their legs in a swimming, or frog-like, motion. We, of course, had to support their bodies, especially Rachel who has been suffering from a double ear infection.

That night we went out for a fish fry at one of the country clubs in The Villages. We went there the last time I was there for a visit and as before, I was totally impressed. They have just about the best fish fry that I've ever had outside of Wisconsin. In fact, the first time I was there, I talked to a couple of people who were from Wisconsin and were in some sort of Villages Wisconson Choir. Since there are so many folks from WI that now live in The Villages, it shouldn't be surprising that they demand a good fish fry. The best part of the dinner, however, was that we sat by the windows and outside the dining room, by the pool, a group of older folks in their swim suits were doing the Electric Slide to the music of a dj by the poolside.

Bree's grandparents, Charlie and Peggy, joined us for dinner. I sat next to Charlie, but he has some trouble talking these days so I had a difficult time carrying on a conversation with him. I found this disappointing because I think Charlie is an interesting guy who has a lot of stories to tell. He was born in 1922 and lived in Miami until he was 17. I'm sure Miami was a very different place when he was a kid. Those were the days before air conditioning and the city was only a tiny fraction of its current size. so I was curious to hear some of his stories. stories. He said that dengue fever was still common in the area when he was growing up. He went on to tell a story about how his father got malaria and almost died. However, his father was serving in the British Army in India when he contracted the disease.

The next morning Bree and I took off for the Ocala National Forest to have a look around and take a short hike. On the map the national forest looks very close to The Villages. Unfortunately driving anywhere in central Florida seems to take a very long time if you aren't on the Interstate so it took longer than we expected to get there. We took a short hike to Lake Eaton and another to the Eaton Sinkhole. We covered only about 3 miles on foot, but it was good to get out and see the country from outside of the car out of sight of all the everpresent Florida big box stores and strip malls. The country itself which we were walking through wasn't terribly interesting. It was mostly scrub and pine forest and was very dry. We saw only a few birds and even surprisingly few insects, but we still had a very nice time.

We hurried back to the Villages so that I could meet my father in law Tim to go golfing. I have almost never golfed in my life and only one other time on a course other than the pitch and put at Lake Park in Milwaukee. He took me to the Caroline Course to play nine holes. This was easily the nicest course I've ever played. Several of the holes were over 500 yards and the course is riddled with all sorts of interesting hazzards including waterways where alligators are known to reside.

Golfing looks much easier than it actually is. After a couple of pretty solid opening shots, my game deteriorated badly. No less than four of my shots wound up hitting houses bordering the course. As far as I know, I didn't break any windows, but I did get a very fortuitous richochet off of a roof at one time. Tim made a great approach shot on a green by skimming a ball off of the surface of a pond and up the hillside on the opposite shore. We managed to get our game in before dinner and had a fantastic time. I don't know if I'll ever be much of a golfer but its something I'll definetely do again if I get the chance.

Before leaving the next day we went to visit Bree's grandparents at the small house they bought in the neighboring village. Tamara had to leave for the airport around noon but Bree and I stuck around a little longer to visit. Afterwards we packed Rachel into the golf cart and unfurled the plastic sides and took a run over to the Village Polo Grounds to watch a little bit of the horse pulls. The wind was furious and threatened to rip the plastic sides off of our cart as we made our way along the 40 min. ride, but we eventually made it, albeit a little late for the horse pulls.

Rachel is just about pulling herself up into a standing position, so I figure it is only going to be a little while until she is walking. I don't even know where to start child proofing our house, but we'll figure out a way to make it safe. I hope the dogs have an easy time adjusting to her being more mobile.

Christmas, 2008

2008-12-28T17:01:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2008 was a success. I'm not sure that, in my adult life, that I can say I've ever had a what I would call a truly unsuccessful Christmas. Nevertheless, it is always a pleasant surprise when the holiday turns out well since I often dread the worst in some form or another. The problem is that there is always such a buildup to the occasion that the pessimist in me can't help but anticipate a letdown.

I picked my dad up at the airport here in Denver on the morning of December 20th. I am, of course, always happy to see him. He was a bit tired after getting up at 4 AM to battle the bitter cold and a snowstorm to catch a 7 AM flight out of Milwaukee. It was cold here in Denver also, but at least there was bright sunshine which was a welcome change for him after several days of rough weather in the Midwest. Justin picked up my mom that evening, who came in on a later flight. Her flight had been further delayed for several hours by bad weather out east.

Both of my parents were thrilled to see their granddaughter, Rachel. It had been several weeks since either of them had seen her and she has been changing so fast that she is almost like a different baby now. Since the last time they saw her in October, Rachel is much less fussy and is much more interactive. Overall, she is just way more fun to be around right now. That's not to say that she still doesn't do her share of crying or have her periods where she insists upon being walked around, but on average she has become a much more grandparent-friendly child.

Mondy the 22nd was my 39th Birthday. For years now I've stopped looking forward to birthdays as good things. Although I still don't feel "middle aged", I will admit I'm a bit achier than I used to be and turning 40 will be a milestone I face with quite a bit of trepidation. That night Bree was working, but she had been thoughful enough to bake me a birthday cake during the day which I shared with my parents and brother after a nice dinner of hommade birthday chili.

Tuesday night Grandma and Grandpa were kind enough to babysat for Rachel so that Bree and I could get out to see a movie. It's been a long time since we have been able to hit the town for a few hours together by ourselves. We saw Woody Allen's most recent film, Vicky, Christina, Barcelona, which was shot on location in Catalonia.This is a place we have discussed visiting on one of the many trips we have planned for the not too distant future. Javier Bardem played the male lead. His character was not nearly so compelling as the one which he played in No Country but it showed a very different side of him as an actor, this time portraying a charming artist and womanizer. I thought he did a great job, especially during the heated exchanges with his ex-wife, played by Penelope Cruz. For a variety of reasons Penelope Cruz happens to be one of my personal personal favorites. After the movie we even got to stop in at Sobo 151 to catch the last round in that evenings round of trivia. I'm afraid my presence didn't help much. Our team wasn't doing well when we got there, and we did even worse afterwards.

The morning of the 24th my dad and I drove up to Buena Vista where we would be spending Christmas eve with my aunt Debbie, uncle Jerry and cousin James. We met them at the Catholic Church, St Rose of Lima, where my uncle is the new music director. They had asked that we arrive early so that we could see James perform before the mass. Although we arrived in plenty of time, I ended up missing his performance because no sooner than I sat down did Rachel have the biggest blowout I've ever had the pleasure to clean up. I was pleased to see that there was a small changing table in the men's room of the church, but found that when I went into the diaper bag that there were only four wipes left. Occasionally that might suffice, particularly for a Number One, but was barely enough to scratch the surface of this disaster. We used moistened paper towels from the dispenser to handle the rest. Her onesie was deemed a total loss and discarded in the trash. Forty minutes later I emerged, not in the greatest of Christmas spirit, I'm afraid. Half way through the mass I had to take Rachel out and feed her again, but after that things went smoothly and my mood quickly improved.

Justin had driven up a little later in the day with my mom, and as soon as the mass was over, we all went up to Debbie and Jerry's new house about 7 miles north of town on the lower slopes of Mt Colombia. We had a nice dinner, some wine, and sang a few songs around the piano before the Hogan family had to go back to church for the 11 o'clock mass. I was exhausted and felt badly for them that they had to go back out, but for whatever reason I was still awake when they got back. This was Rachel's first night away without her mother so I think that I was a little on edge and had a very hard time relaxing after putting her to bed in the Pack n' Play.

When Chistmas morning arrived I was still tired from the night before but Rachel mercifully slept in until after 9 which allowed me a little extra time to pull myslf together. After a wonderful brunch of leftover ham and an egg and mushroom dish I strapped on my snoeshoes and with James in tow, we headed up the slope in back of the house toward the national forest. Their home has the advantage of having no other houses behind it to the west. If one had the ambition and stamina he could walk for 30 miles or so due west without hitting another road. At this time of year that would be a considerable feat, so we only mile or so. As we went further and further up the slope, the snow got deeper and deeper. At one point a large heard of elk moved out of the trees and stood directly in our path about 50 yards in front of us, watching. James thought we should turn around, but I assured him that the elk would surely move on as we got closer. A few seconds later the elk turned around and moved back down into the draw from where they had emerged.

There was little traffic on Christmas afternoon and the drive back to Denver along US 285 went quickly. Mom and Justin spent Christmas night in Buena Vista so Bree, my dad and I had a quiet Christmas dinner together at home followed by watching a couple episodes season 3 of The Wire. Bree told me that, for Christmas, she had gotten us a three day pass to the Rockygrass Festival in Lyons, CO for next July. This is a great gift and I'm very excited about going. We don't have camping accomodations set up yet and the on-site campground lottery has already taken place, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. It will probably be Rachel's first music festival. http://www.bluegrass.com/rockygrass/ I don't think she is looking forward to it as much as I am, though.

I had to work on the 26th and Bree worked that night. While Bree was at work, we took the opportunity to watch The Dark Knight. I had actually not seen the movie before and Bree was not especially interested in seeing it, so we watched it while she was away at the hospital working. I liked it a lot, although I'm sure it would have been even better on the big screen as opposed to my dated TV with it's lousy sound.

My folks were supposed to leave the next day, but found out after I dropped them off at the airport that their flight had been cancelled. They were rebooked on a 7 pm flight on Sunday night. That gave us the chance to spend another evening with them at our house. They helped with the leftovers, after which Bree and I roped them into playing a board game with us for the next couple of hours. Justin left to go and watch some Ultimate Fighting Championship thing on pay per view at the bar rather than stay home and play games with us. My aunt and uncle were actually supposed to drive down to Denver that morning and have brunch with us before going to see The Nutcracker, but they never made it out of their driveway which had been blocked by snow drifts.

Sunday afternoon was warm and sunny which gave us all the opportunity to go for an hour long walk around City Park. It was nice that my parents had the chance to spend some time outside in the sunshine before having to head back to the midwest. Shortly after getting home from our walk, they said goodbye to Bree, Rachel and myself and left with Justin for the airport. I hope they come back to visit again soon.

Finally, I would like to send a special holiday thank you to Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich for his willingness to stand up and fight to hold on to his job as governor in the face of all the pressure to resign. This could have been a problem that was quickly resolved, and the story basically forgotten about a few months later as in the case of Elliot Spitzer last spring. Instead Gov. Blagojevich has dug in his heals and appears willing to drag this out for as long as he possibly can. I am not really taking a great deal of partisan pleasure in this. My pleasure comes mainly from seeing an Illinois politician live up to the hard earned reputation for corruption that so many politicians from that great state worked so hard to cultivate. In 2006, the Chicago Sun Times reported that "in the last three decades, at least 79 local elected officials have been convicted of a crime, including three governors, one mayor, and a whopping 27 aldermen from the Windy City." What a truly amazing track record! And it goes back much further than the last 30 years. In the late 19th century Chicago's first political machine was created by Michael Cassius McDonald which started a great tradition that lasted through the administration of Dick Daly Sr. So much for the Land of (Honest Abe) Lincoln.

I look forward to 2011 when Charlie Sheen is slated to star in in a new Oliver Stone film now tentatively titled "Rod".

2008-12-12T10:18:00.000-08:00

It's been an uneventful month here in Denver. I've gotten out for a couple of short hikes. Bree has gong back to part time and has been home more. I bought a used Saab wagon, which I am loving so far. Rachel continues to get bigger and continues to grow more coordinated and interactive. A couple of days ago she had her five month birthday, which for obvious reasons, held a significance for me. Bree had been asked by her manager to go into work but I told her that it might not be a good night for her to work and that I preferred that she stay home. I hope that in a few months I'll be able to start relaxing a little bit, but we'll see.

I think about how Owen was when he was five months old and try to compare how he was to Rachel, but it is hard to do. I often think about how old Owen would be now, had he lived, and what he would be like today and what kinds of things he would be doing. His second birthday would be coming up next month. We probably would have thrown hims some sort of party. I imagine that is old enough for a little boy to appreciate having a party and getting presents. I realize that these types of thoughts are not necessarily productive for me, so I try not to dwell on them too long but still miss him terribly every day.

I caught a bad cold a few weeks ago. It even kept me out of work for a day, which is pretty unusual. I prefer to save my sick days for other things, like paternity leave or the very occasional day off with my wife. Just about the time when I was getting over it Rachel came down with the same thing. I had been afraid that I would pass it along to her and thought we had dodged the bullet, until she started sniffling and coughing. Each sneeze seemed to produce rush of thick mucus which would get everywhere if Bree or myself were not on it in an instant with a tissue to wipe it away.

Poor Rachel seemed so sick and miserable it was painful for us as parents to watch. When Bree was away at work, I fretted over whether to give her any baby Tylanol and if so, how much. She had a fever, but I don't think it ever got too high. Mostly she just had a bad cough, a wheeze, and a runny nose. I knew she wasn't feeling well, but I wished she was able to talk already so that she could tell me exactly what was wrong so I could choose the best course of action toward fixing it. Rachel is better now, but it seems like every time I go to pick her up at daycare, some snot-nosed little kid is using her as a Kleenex, so I imagine that the chances are that it won't be very long before she catches her next cold.

On another note, I saw in the paper this morning that we just lost Bettie Page. This came as a bit of a blow, especially since I hadn't even really been aware that she was still alive. She hasn't exactly been in the news a lot lately even though she had undergone a resurgence in popularitly in recent years. We have Bettie, at least partially to thank for my wife's current cute hair style. A few months ago I watched The Notorius Bettie Page, with Gretchen Mol playing the lead. It wasn't as compelling as it could have been and movie didn't go into any great detail about any one part of Bettie's life and seemed to only scratch the surface of what it could have, but I did come away from it feeling a greater appreciation for Bettie as a person, her integrity and the unique challenges she had to face. She was sort of like the Rosa Parks of Porn. It's just too bad she had to become a born again Christian and sully her whole glorious legacy. We will forever remember you for who you were, Bettie.

October in Wisconsin, Part II

2008-11-16T14:56:00.000-08:00

Shooting guns and drinking beer wasn't the only thing we did while we were in Wisconsin for the weekend. Our first day Bree, Rachel and myself climbed in our rented Hyundai Sonata and drove up to Terry Andrae State Park in Sheboygan County. The park is now known as Kohler-Andrae State park adjacent state parks on the shore of Lake Michigan were merged. It was a cool but sunny Friday afternoon and there were very few people which made for an especially nice afternoon of walking the boardwalks through the sand dunes and strolling along the beach. This was Rachel's first trip to Lake Michigan, an event to which I afforded some significance. I grew up only a few blocks from the lake and spent a great deal of my childhood going to the lake, at all times of the year. I have spent many good days walking or biking along the lake front and often feel a nostalgia for it. Bree always likes getting down by the water herself and my mom obviously had a great time with us and her new granddaughter as well. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kohler-Andrae_State_Park

I remember when I was very young making trips up to Terry Andrae with my parents as well as my grandparents on warm summer afternoons. It used to seem very far away to me. Now it seems that it is just an easy drive up I43. The drive itself is something that I appreciate more now than I ever did before. After years of living in Colorado, driving through the pastoral countryside of southern Wisconsin is something that I get a great deal of satisfaction from. I love looking at the old barns that dot the landscape in various states of disrepair as well as driving through the small towns whose residents can often trace their ancestors back several generations to those same small towns. Most of Colorado has been very diluted by newcomers such as myself through the past few decades which I think has taken away from the communal sense of identity shaped from a common history and geography that I seem to feel when I visit my home state.

On the drive back to Milwaukee I kept off the interstate and took the country highways past dairy farms and through the corn fields. I made a point of taking us through downtown Port Washington where Bree and I popped into an old style butcher shop which had all sorts of delicious looking meats, cheeses and sausages in the display cases, along with a wide selection of craft beers. I commented to my wife that if we had a store like this in our neighborhood we would never have a need to shop anywhere else. www.berniesfinemeats.com

After dropping my mom off at her house in Fox Point and a quick change of cloths, we were off to meet my dad and our friends Brian and Kirsten and their two young boys, Sam and Caleb, at the popular Lakefront Brewery for a traditional Wisconsin Fish Fry. The Lakefront Brewery hasn't been around all that long by Milwaukee standards, but it has become very popular in its trendy location down on the recently gentrified Commerce Street. They serve a tolerably good fish fry (I had the bluegill), they have outstanding beer, and they host a polka band every Friday night. Rachel got her first taste of The Chicken Dance that night. Unfortunately I doubt she will remember it, but she did look as though she was having a good time. Brian's kids were having a ball. Neither of them seemed especially interested in their meals, but the did like around, or in some cases flopping down on the dance floor. The whole scene was very festive and enjoyable and was loud enough so that when Rachel cried Bree did not have to feel self-conscious about disturbing the people at the next table. And after a few East Side Stein Beers I felt comfortable enough to get up and dance a polka or two with my wife while grandpa kept an eye on Rachel.

After dinner we all went over to Brian and Kirsten's. After picking up some Schlitz down at corner grocer, the night took a diabolical turn. My dad sat down at the old, out of tune, upright piano sitting in the dining room and started to play. One thing led to another and the next thing we knew dad was on his way out to the car to get the sheet music for Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Leave it to my dad to be driving around with sheet music in his car. I can't help but love that about him.

Kirsten sang the vocals for Somewhere over the Rainbow, and shortly thereafter I took the lead in a rousing rendition of Desperado. Everybody was thoroughly impressed, especially Brian. From there Kirsten broke out the children's song book and had my dad play a few numbers that Sam and Caleb might appreciate and be able to sing along with such as The Itsy Bitsy Spider. For that hour, I think we all felt a little connection to an earlier, simpler and more wholesome time when friends and family would gather around the piano and sing songs rather than sit in front of the TV or even the radio.

I had arranged with Bree's cousin Karen to have us meet at her at her aunt Dorothea's (Sweet's) home in Wauconda, IL on Saturday Morning. Bree's other cousins Janet, Julie and her two kids, and Bree's grandmother Kissane were also there to see us and meet the new addition to our family. Sweet had layed out a magnificent midwestern style spread complete with headcheese, various kinds of pickles, mustards and other lunch meats and breads for everybody to enjoy. She had also gotten a couple of apple pies from Apple Holler for which she had taken a very long drive to get as Apple Holler is actually north of the Wisconsin border. My big mistake of the day was not trying a piece of that apple pie. According to Bree it was the best pie she's ever had. Sweet claimed that they use something on the order of a dozen different varieties of apples in each pie. I am skeptical of that claim but the pies looked great nevertheless. www.appleholler.com

Everyone was thrilled to meet Rachel. She got passed around quite a bit because everybody wanted to hold her. Karen even changed a couple of poopies although as we learned, she may have been wanting to get a little practice. After several years of trying all sorts of different proceedures, Karen had just learned that she was pregnant. A few weeks later after the ultrasound, we learned that she is expecting twins. That seems like it will be a terrific amount of work for her, but she is thrilled, and we are all thrilled for her. Even though Karen lives a couple hours to the west in Sterling, I think that the support group that she has in her mother and sisters will be indispensable, not to mention that I believe that Karen has the perfect sort of temperament for motherhood. My fingers are crossed for her.

A good part of the opportunity I spent playing with Julie's 8 year old daughter, Jade, who had just come in from cheerleading practice. She even showed us some cheers. Later she had me help her clean the spider webs off of her playset in the backyard which was no fun for me. For how much she doesn't like spiders, I probably like them even less, and some of the specimens we found were huge, ugly and hairy monsters. We tried playing catch with the football, also, but Jade was too afraid to catch the ball because she was afraid that it would hurt. So I wound up chasing her around the outside of the house with it and pegging her in the back. She was a good sport, though and I'm sure we're still friends.

Bree's Grandmother seemed to be doing pretty well, also. She spent a lot of time holding the baby and for a woman in her late 80's she didn't seem to have much trouble getting up and walking around. I was glad that we got to see her and that she had the chance to meet Rachel. Overall the day was a great success and I decided that I liked Wauconda more than I had before. Sweet lives only a few blocks from the old downtown area which is situated on a good size lake. There was an old mid west style supper club on the lake that looked like it would be a fun place to go sometime.

We listened to Bob Uecker do the play by play for the Brewer game on the way back to Milwaukee. The Brewers were in the playoffs for the first time since 1982, when I was just a kid. They, of course lost the series to the Phillies who went on to become the World Series Champions. When we got to Milwaukee, my dad had gotten us some pickled herring, cheese and braunsweiger for dinner, all of which are personal favorites of mine. We didn't stay out too late though, and were back at my mom's place to get to bed at a reasonable time.

Sunday of course was spent out in Washington County visiting my farm and Jeff and Michelle. On Monday, we got a leisurely start to the day reading the paper up at my mom's place. The rest of the day we spent primarily at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Bree had never been there, and I liked it much more than I remember. A few years ago they put on a beautiful new addition that was almost worth going to see all by itself. The temporary exhibit that they had going was an interactive computer art exhibit. I can't say that I would have characterized any of it as great "art", but it was a lot of fun. Several hours later, just about the time we were going to view the Georgia O'Keeffe section, Rachel did a number 2. After changing her that was basically our queue to move on.

We walked from the museum up along the lake to the Alterra coffee shop that now inhabits the building where the old municipal water pumping station used to be located. It's not an especially large building. However, I think that Alterra really did a nice job converting the old cream city brick structure into coffee shop. They even cleaned up some of the old pumping equipment and left it in place to serve as a sort of museum exhibit within the seating area of the restaurant. Bree and I sat outside so we could take in the crisp autumn afternoon air. Rachel usually prefers sitting outside herself. If anything, exposure to the elements have had a calming effect on her, at least so far in her life.

After finishing our coffee, we walked up the hill and over to Brady Street, scaring up a big fat hedgehog from the trees along the way. Brady Street comprises an old style commercial retail district in Milwaukee. Once upon a time it was the center of a very Italian neighborhood. Most of that Italian character has been disappearing with the passing of the years. A few remnants of that past remain in the form of Glorioso's Grocery Store and Sciortino's Bakery. For years, an older gentleman named Frank Pecoraro, used to walk around from bar to bar with a cooler full of wares shouting "pepperoni, cannoli" over and over again trying to drum up business from the hard drinking local crowds. To be honest, I never actually bought anything from him and I'm not even sure if he is still making the rounds anymore, but for a long time he was a neighborhood fixture. www.gmtoday.com/content/best_of_2004/W_84_01.htm
There wasn't anybody on the east side who didn't know the Pepperoni Cannoli guy. It is often the slightly off center guys like that who are out there and visible that really help to make the character of a neighborhood. Art Smart's Dart Mart and Juggling Emporium is a small shop on the corner of Brady and Humboldt is a store that has been in business since 1985 at that location, but until this visit to Milwaukee, I'd never set foot inside. Although I'm neither a juggler or dart player, but I have always appreciated that such a quirky little place could survive for so long in this little eclectic neighborhood where so many retailers have come and gone throughout the years.

We were scheduled to fly back to Denver Tuesday morning on a a 7:20 AM flight. This is pretty early for us but we made sure to have everything packed up and organized the night before. My mom assured me that her alarm clock would work properly but after checking it and rechecking it to make sure it was set properly, no alarm was heard the next morning. The big problem with this was the awkwardness of having to call in to work and try to explain to them why I wouldn't be in that day. No mid-level manager at a big company wants to call in and tell his boss that he won't be in because his mother's alarm clock didn't go off. Other than that, things worked out fine. We at least got a little extra sleep, and had a chance to have coffee and breakfast with my mom in the morning. We were able to get rescheduled on an afternoon flight at no additional charge. Before we went to the airport, we even had enough time to stop in at the Renaissance Bookstore downtown for an hour or so. The Renaissance Bookstore isn't for everyone. In fact, I doubt most people would properly appreciate it. It is a gigantic used bookstore founded in the early 1960's taking up 5 levels of an old furniture warehouse. It is reported to house well in excess of a half a million volumes. The place has a character all its own, though. The building smells musty and it is hard to believe that it has not collapsed under the weight of all the books. The stairs are worn, the plaster is falling off the walls and dust covers some of the old periodicals in the basement so thickly it is hard to read the titles. But if you enjoy picking through the stacks looking for gems you would never find in a Borders or Barns and Noble and don't mind an extreme amount of disorganization and allergens, it might be worth a stop. I can't imagine there is any other bookstore in the country quite like it.

Goodbye Milwaukee. Until next time.

Wisconsin in October Part I

2008-10-28T20:46:00.000-07:00

After polishing off 8 or 9 cheap beers on Sunday afternoon in Jeff's garage on his semi rural property outside of West Bend, Jeff and I decided that it was time to start carving some pumpkins. He reached into a drawer in his workbench and pulled out the tool we would be using, a short barrel .38 Special. He went back in the house and came back with a box of hollow point bullets. This is widely considered to be the best ammunition for most pumpkin carving jobs. Sometimes a standard smaller caliber round is what you want if you are doing more detail work, but since I was a beginner at this I decided to stick with what we figured would get us the best results under the circumstances.

Jeff fired off the first set of rounds from a crouching position about 50 feet out from the gourd we were working on. He took careful aim, pulled the trigger taking out a large chunk right off the top. I took the gun and tried it from the same distance. Squeezing off the first round when firing a handgun is always a little bit of a shock. It's louder and there is more recoil than you'd ever think from watching people shoot on TV and in the movies. Nevertheless, I gave the effort great concentration and emptied all the chambers on the revolver, missing every time. I didn't even come close. That's another misconception from the movies I think is that it is easy to hit a target with a pistol. It is not. Not even after several beers which I was sure would have calmed my nerves and help to steady my hand thereby improving my aim.

I kept having to walk back into the garage to get more ammunition as I was getting frustrated by my lack of success. I considered putting a few slugs into the chicken coop or some other object that would have provided an easier target. After a while Jeff went to get a scuffed up old .25 cal. semiautomatic from Michelle's bedside table. Jeff and Michelle never bother to lock their doors, even if they are going to be out of town for a while, but ironically she likes to keep a semiautomatic within easy reach when she crawls in bed at night. Rather than point out the irony I instead hastily took the gun back outside with a pocket full of bullets and a fresh beer and got back to blasting.

After a while Jeff offered to take us for a walk down the road to visit his neighbor Gary the Farmer. Gary was a stereotype of the quintessential Wisconsin small farmer. He said he grew up about 11 miles down the road in Saukville and that out of all the kids in the family, he was the one who had moved farthest away from home. He had a weathered looking face that did not betray very much emotion. We watched him pull a hopper full of grain with his old 1950's tractor into the lower level of the old barn. The grain was unloaded onto a conveyer belt that carried it into a large trough which a group of a dozen or so black and white steers would come and eat from. I thought I liked the look of some of the cows as they gazed back at me with that gentle, curious cow look, and I asked Gary if it ever bothered him to take any of the cows to market. He looked back at me like it was a really stupid question and answered "Well.......I ain't had a complaint yet." Gary must have liked us ok because he came back over to Jeff's garage with us later for some beers. Jeff speculated that all the farmers like to come to his place for beers because their wives don't let them drink at home.

I liked Gary and actually came to respect him a great deal. He knows that there is no way he could make ends meet just by running the farm, even with the extra acreage he is leasing. So he works at a factory as a machinist putting in upwards of 40 hours per week before coming home every evening to do chores around the farm. He said that if he won the lottery that he would just buy as much land as he could possibly farm. That's all he really wants to do, aside from some hunting and plenty of beer drinking. He was a very honest sort of character and is an example of someone who is helping to preserve the old, honest lifestyle of the small family farmer. It's more of a labor of love for Gary, but without men like him, small farms would disappear.

By the time we got back to Jeff's, Jim had arrived and was sporting a bigger, shaggier beard than I had ever seen on him before. It was something that had clearly taken a lot of time to cultivate. We were glad Jim had made it out that afternoon, although by this time it was running late, I was getting pretty loaded, and my wife was starting to think about heading out. She had been there, not drinking, and for the most part watching Rachel all day and was starting to think that maybe this was too much of a good thing. All the cigarette smoke billowing about in the garage wasn't helping things either. Before we left, she asked me to change Rachel's big 'ol poopy diaper. Trying to be a good husband I readily agreed, and took her upstairs and laid her out on a blanket on the kitchen floor and went to work. I remember it being a terrific mess and feeling pretty miserable at the time as Rach cried and carried on while I struggled to get her cleaned up while doing my best not to get poo all over Jeff's kitchen floor, but we finally got it taken care of. After a long series of goodbyes, we set off on the lonely country highway heading back for my mom's house. I could tell Bree was a little miffed, but overall we had had a good time that day. It's always fun when to go out there for a visit and when we do we can always expect to get some new and entertaining stories told with humor and enthusiasm. Unfortunately we had not been there the next weekend when they were going to be throwing their big Halloween party when they would be serving an an entire pig that was to be roasted while stuffed with bratwurst and saurkraut (a Wisconsin favorite) and Jeff would giving hay rides around the property on a trailer he would be towing with his 1950 Ferguson tractor.

Back to Work

2008-10-20T21:16:00.000-07:00

The moment my wife and I have both been dreading has finally arrived, although we have been dreading it for somewhat different reasons. Last night Bree went back to work. After over three months off on maternity leave, Bree finally had to go back to the VA Hospital to her job on the lock down psychiatric unit. She has not wanted to go back to work partially because she has not been liking the job particularly, and because she does not want to leave the baby. I don't want her to leave the baby either. She is wonderful with Rachel. Our daughter responds to Bree like nobody else and it is a beautiful thing to witness. While Rachel seems to like me a whole lot more than most strangers, she still does not seem to like the idea of spending more than a few hours alone with her daddy. Although she finally is eating from me a little bit, especially when I break out the rice cereal, she has a hard time going for very long without crying hysterically.

Trying to sooth a crying baby isn't any fun. Often the only thing that works at all is to hold her in my arms, facing out, and walk around. Standing still won't do. Rachel isn't happy unless she is on the move. Sometimes I will cradle her in my arms and pace up and down the block. She seems to like the cool night air, it shocks her into not crying anymore, at least for a little while. As an especially nervous daddy and even on those rare instances when she does fall asleep, I often sabotage it by grasping her and or her foot to make sure that she is alright.

Most of this evening has been pretty rough on both of us, but for a while just now, we lay on the bed together playing and talking. Rachel was very responsive and seemed to be in especially good spirits. I hope that much more of our time is like that in the nights and weeks to come, as
Bree will be spending most nights away, either working or at class. I'm sure that our dogs, Oscar and Masha feel the same way. I think we would all like a little bit more quiet around the house right now. I'm sure things will get easier, though, and I look forward to coming home and seeing this little baby every night. Despite all the abuse to my eardrums, I thoroughly enjoy the privalage of being able to be a father again.

Mount Shavano

2008-10-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago Louis Morton and I endeavored to climb Mount Shavano, in the southern Sawatch Range. At 14,229 feet, it is the 17th highest in the state of Colorado. Those of you who follow this blog will remember Louis Morton from a previous entry when I wrote about our ride from Boulder to Ward. Climbing up one of these peaks is never easy but Louis is usually game for just about anything. Plus, it had been a while since either of us had climbed a "14er", which seems to be a bit of a shame, since I live so close to all of those fine mountains.

We drove up the night before and stayed at my aunt and uncles house just outside of Buena Vista. They just moved here from Florida and seem to be perfectly happy in their new surroundings which consist of 40 acres on the lower slopes of Mount Columbia (35th highest). We were going to take a motel in Salida, or even camp, but since we were going to drop off Masha at their place anyway and they had extended the offer, we decided to spend the night. This turned out to be a good decision, and we had a very nice visit.

I was up by 7 the next morning, not bad by my normal Saturday standards, but not nearly as early as I would like on a day I am planning a climb. Even though it was the end of September, and the summer monsoon season should really be over, it is still best to get an early start. To make matters worse, so to speak, it was bitterly cold in the morning and my aunt and uncles hospitality made it hard to get out of house until we had had several cups of coffee and some delicious bran muffins made with Grandma Betty's old special recipe.

After we finally got on the road we still had almost an hour to drive to get the trail head, which is down near Poncha Springs at the southern end of the Arkansas River Valley. The morning weather was gorgeous, and it looked like we were going to have a fine day out on the mountain. To make things even better, the golden fall colors of the aspen trees were in full bloom. This was surely one of the nicest times of the year to be up in Colorado's mountains.

We were in good spirits when we started out on the trail. Although the morning air was still very brisk, we soon heated up as we began the long uphill grind. I got so hot that before long I even took my shirt off, which is not something that I have felt especially comfortable doing lately after putting on a little extra blubber. Those additional pounds weren't exactly helping my effort at getting up the mountain either, but I wasn't doing too badly. In the meantime, Louis was going like a bat out of hell.

The lower part of the trail follows part of the Colorado Trail. This was a pleasurable stretch where the grade was not too steep and we were often walking through brilliantly colored aspen groves. The going got much tougher as we turned left on to the Shavano Trail itself. Unfortunately for Oscar, this is one of the few mountain trails I have hiked in Colorado where we didn't cross any streams, so I had to let him drink from my own personal supply which probably did not give him quite as much as he otherwise would have liked to have.

Once we got above timberline, the views were exceptional looking back toward the southeast. The long valley below us was full of the color of thousands of aspens. Beyond that stretched the golden plain of the Arkansas River Valley. To my dismay, however, there were clouds that appeared to be building fast. While it was only 10:30 or so, the sky was already showing some ominous signs.

I have a long ingrained fear of getting struck by lightning when I am high on a mountain, away from the cover of trees so I was watching the developing weather with great trepidation. By this point Louis had opened up a sizable lead on me and although I could see him up ahead, I knew he would be listening to his I Pod and would not be able to hear my calls for him to hold up for a conference. So we went on and on, climbing toward saddle high above where the route would lead to the summit ridge.

By 11, I was starting to see bolts of lighting flashing from the black bank of clouds hovering over a mountain several miles to our south, but it was still not looking too bad where we were headed. After another half an hour, though, some very threatening looking clouds started billowing over the ridge for which we were headed. I passed a few people heading down who had obviously gotten a much earlier start on the trail than we did. They all said that things didn't look any better on the other side. Louie had found a comfortable rock to sit on while he waited for me to catch up. He was actually looking a little concerned also, as we were beginning to hear the occasional distant rumble of thunder. We went on a little further hoping for some miraculous clearing, but it the thunder only got closer. He and I finally decided to turn back. We figured we had reached about 13 thousand feet, easy striking distance of the summit, but Shavano would have to wait for another day.

Somewhat despondent, we made our way back down the mountain. This part of the day seemed to take a very long time. Descending is never my favorite thing anyway, its much tougher on the knees and feet than going uphill. After reaching the bottom we had an early dinner at Amica's in Salida and drove up to Buena Vista to pick up Masha and say goodbye to Debbie and Jerry. By the time we got up to their place, the weather was really bad. there wasn't lightning, but a front had definetely moved in and it was cold, windy and an icy rain had started to fall. According to Jerry, Masha had sat by the front door all day looking out the window. I'm sure she felt bad that she wasn't able to come with us. Old dogs never understand their limitations.

Inability to Post

2008-10-13T09:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Bree was gone all day on a field trip of sorts for her herbal medicine program. She left early in the morning to go high up in the mountains of Boulder County to harvest osha (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osha) with her class. Although I was somewhat dreading having to look after Rachel all day by myself, I anticipated being able to get caught up a little on some of the things which I wanted to write about in this blog.

It turned out to be an especially exhausting day and I couldn't get myself to shift gears away from focusing on my fussy little girl even for a few minutes to do any of the writing I had planned. Instead I carried her around the house while she screamed and watched over her nervously during her brief naps. Rachel still has a strong aversion to taking the bottle, but has shown some interest in eating runny rice cereal mixed with breast milk from a tiny spoon. Although this type of feeding is very time consuming and incredibly messy, I think it is all that got us through the 9 hours or so that mommy was out of the house.

I fell asleep almost as soon as my wife got home and am still tired and out of sorts at work today. Rachel and I are not looking forward to next week when mommy goes back to work and will be gone most evenings. Perhaps things will start going better for Rachel and I and I will be able to handle a few more posts. We are keeping our fingers crossed.

Dreaming of Homer

2008-09-18T22:07:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been finding myself feeling unsettled. This happens to me from time to time. I get frustrated and dissatisfied with my current situation and start thinking that the grass might be greener somewhere else. I think a lot of these feelings just stem from boredom. Other times I just get so frustrated sitting in Denver traffic jams that I get the strong urge to go anywhere that doesn't have traffic problems. My job can get pretty dull at times as well. I'm not getting any getting any younger and I often feel like I'd like to have my own business of some sort. A lot of people want to be their own boss, or to build a successful business from the ground up and I'm no exception.

The other day I was perusing the Businesses for Sale section of Craigslist as I have done often lately. I came across a listing for a small bed and breakfast in Homer, Alaska. I read a little snippet about Homer somewhere last week and it sounded very nice. The bed and breakfast itself sounds very nice too. It is in an old building on a hillside overlooking the bay. Since then it has held a sort of romantic appeal for me. It is located on the southern tip of the Kenai Penninsula, about 190 miles southwest of Anchorage. It is a small fishing town located on Kachemak Bay with views of mountains and glaciers rising out of the water on the opposite shore. It is billed as the halibut capital of the world, which I find particularly appealing since I love Halibut. What a great thing, to live in the halibut capital of the world. I didn't even know such a thing existed until the other day. Some of the fish caught nearby can literally be several hundred pounds. The salmon fishing is supposed to be fantastic as well.

Right now, I find the idea of the relative solitdude very appealing. Were I ever to move to a place like that, I'm sure I would miss the city. I've always been a pretty urban-oriented guy, even eschewing the suburbs for a grittier and colorful setting. Nevertheless there are times when the peace and quiet and the slower pace has a very strong appeal. I like to think that I could spend more time engaging in artistic pursuits. I could hone my skills as a photographer, practice writing or learn to paint. Maybe I also like the idea of living somewhere more wild, where there are still places to be explored. I have often thought I would have made a good explorer four or five hundred years ago.

My wife is not thrilled with the idea of going anywhere that the weather might be colder than it is here in Denver. There's also the issue of a lot of darkness during the winter months. Neither of us would like that I don't think. And there is the problem of being just that much further from our families. Denver is already plenty far from Wisconsin, Ohio, North Carolina or Florida and adding a couple thousand miles to the trip wouldn't make visiting our families any easier. But it does seem like it would be a safe and wholesome place for my daughter to grow up. While there would be plenty of dangers to watch out for, I believe that they would be of a different nature than what she will be facing here in the big city. Somehow bears and moose don't seem as bad as muggers and pedophiles.

I'm sure that Bree and I will stay here in Colorado for the time being. Overall we have made a very good life for ourselves here. We both have good jobs, even if we aren't always completely satisfied with them. Rachel is 2 and a half months old now and it seems she is smiling more and more every day. We have so much to look forward to with her. She is already making noises like she is trying to talk, and it will only be a matter of time before she is walking. Now if only she'd settle down at night so we can turn the lights off a little bit earlier it would be perfect. So for the time being, I think Homer will have to wait. In the meantime, Rachel has some Halloween preparations.

We are going to Milwaukee in a couple of weeks. This is something that I am looking forward to very much. I hope that Rachel has the opportunity to spend some time there in the coming years. I feel a strong connection to the place, and I hope that she can share that feeling some day.

September Weekend

2008-09-14T10:24:00.000-07:00

Friday night I got to go to see the Rockies play the Dodgers at Coors Field. I hadn't planned on going but my company had some extra tickets that had been reserved for the yearly Owners Conference. Several of the attendees left Denver early because of Hurricane Ike. While I was sorry to leave Bree at home with Rachel by themselves on a Friday night, it ended up being a nice change of pace for me, as well as an opportunity to shake a few hands with some of our Franchise owners from around the country. Furthermore, you can always be sure that there will be plenty of beer being consumed at just about any of our company functions. Friday night was no exception. The company had leased out three contiguous luxury suites which were continuously stocked with beer, chips and hot dogs. The Rockies lost the game, but most of those in attendance weren't really watching it anyway.

Yesterday morning my friend Louie and I went up to Boulder to do a ride. I have been wanting to do the Boulder -Ward Loop for a while now. The problem is finding the time to do do it, because it is not a short ride. It is definitely not an easy ride either. We were on the road by 10:30 or 11 and almost immediately began the long climb up Boulder Canyon to Nederland. For the first several miles, the grade was manageable, and we kept a relatively good average speed, but as we approached Boulder Falls, the grade got noticeably steeper and it started taking its toll. Another problem with riding up Boulder Canyon is all the traffic. For much of the time there is at least some shoulder to ride on, but on a perfect Saturday afternoon, the line of traffic never lets up. It would be a great stretch of road for riding without all the cars.

We took a break at Boulder Falls, which was about 9 miles or so up the canyon. I had two water bottles with me and I had already gone through my first one. It wasn't too hot, so in that respect yesterday was a nice day for riding, but it is very hard work and we were still both sweating a lot. Louie had brought only one bottle with him and had already finished it by this point. We kept riding and the grade continued on at a pretty steep grade. Louie, who had been racing on ahead for most of the morning was clearly beginning to struggle. A mile or so further up the road he said he was ready to throw in the towel for the day. He was getting a little dehydrated and it was taking a toll on him. I suggested he refill his water bottle from Boulder Creek which flows down the canyon. For the most part, the water should be pretty clean as it is all mountain runoff, but you're always taking a chance picking up something that won't agree with you. He agreed that it was a good idea and guzzled a bottle full and immediately felt much better. After this point, the grade of the climb decreased quite a bit as well, which we both were thankful for.

We made it to Nederland around 1:30 and stopped the little grocery store there for lunch. A half hour later we were back on the road beginning the rest of the climb to Ward. This was a much nicer stretch of road for riding on. The road was in great shape and there was much less traffic. Plus, once you get up on the Peak to Peak Hwy (hwy72) the scenery gets phenomenal. The Indian Peaks rose in front of us and to our left, recently dusted with fresh snow and the aspen trees were just beginning to change colors. In a few weeks they will be at their most brilliant. If there was a problem it was that we were already a little tired and this stretch of road has some pretty steep and sustained climbs on it also. Nederland is approx. 3000 feet in elevation above Boulder, and Ward is another 1000 feet above Nederland. Rather than being a solid 1000 ft climb, the Peak to Peak Hwy rolls quite a bit, so we got some short descents in there, but had to climb again and make up the altitude we had given up in the descents. This stretch of road was about 10 miles long and for my money is the nicest part of the ride.

The town of Ward is a funky little place, first settled in 1860 when gold was discovered in the area. This old mining town that thankfully doesn't see very much change from one year to the next. Currently the population sits at 169. Most of the buildings are from the old mining era, and there are rusting, broken down cars and trucks out in the yards representing every era since. There is one store that I know of, an old general store where an gray haired man was sitting on a chair outside on the wood sidewalk out front waiting for customers. The road through town is the upper entrance to Lefthand Canyon, although it isn't marked. Probably just as well, because that would inevitably lead to more traffic. This is my kind of place and I always enjoy passing through here.

For us yesterday, Ward represented our goal. From here on out it was almost all downhill back to Boulder. The grade out of town entering the canyon approaches 10 percent and we both hit about 45 mph going through here. Most of the rest of the descent through the canyon was more gradual, but a welcome change from the several hours of climbing we had endured to get to this point. Down near the bottom of the canyon we had the choice of either going straight, which would have led us back down to Hwy 36, or going right on the Old Stagecoach Road. We flipped a coin and the decision was to take the later. Hwy 36 would be a little longer ride, but with no climbing. The Stage road was a little shorter, but as we found out, it held the most wicked ascent of the day. The climb itself wasn't very long, but to make it to the top required a lot of getting up out of the saddle and cranking it out. Once we crested that rise, though, it was smooth sailing the rest of the way back to Boulder. According to my computer, I topped out at 51.7 miles per hour heading down the other side of the hill. For me this was a new top speed, the fastest I have ever gone on a bicycle.

Later that night Bree, Rachel and I met Louis, Fred and Justin out at Hooters for some beer and wings. It was Rachel's first time at Hooters and she seemed to like it just fine. We were sitting out on the deck overlooking Colorado Blvd, and while we were there a front moved in. The wind started blowing things things in off of the street and it began to rain. This came as a surprise because the whole time we had been out, we had nothing but nice weather.

Today Bree has class, so Rachel and I have been home spending the day together with the dogs. This is why I have had the time to write such a wordy blog entry. Rachel and I do fine together, but she does not like to take the bottle from me. So when she gets hungry, it causes some pretty major problems for us. I have tried different bottles, with different nipples, but for now she is being stubborn and only gets upset when I try to feed her. Bree was able to stop home for a half an hour over lunch and get some milk in the baby. Rach and I are hoping that tides her over for the next few hours so we don't have to get into it again with the bottle.

Brett Who?

2008-09-10T22:19:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago on Monday night the Green Bay Packers beat the Minnesota Vikings on national television. By the time I got home from work, my daughter Rachel was already geared up and ready to watch the game. Bree and I had been getting her pumped up for her first Packer game for a few weeks now and she was chomping at the bit for kickoff. Since the game started at 5:00 locally, I had to rush home from work and still did not make it for the coin toss.

Although Rachel was had not yet been born when Brett Farve was still the quarterback for the Green Bay Packers, she was certainly privy to a lot of the drama surrounding his coming out of retirement and eventual trade to the New York Jets. While on the one hand she was disappointed that Brett started for another team over the weekend, her allegiances still lie with the Packers, that's not going to change.

Rachel fussed a lot during the first quarter of the game, when the Packers only first down came off of a forward fumble. When they pulled it together in the second quarter she had many smiles and seemed utterly pleased, although we could not be sure whether she was watching the game or was more focused on the Tiffany lamp in the corner. True to form, she fell asleep during half time and remained so for most of the second half waking up only occasionally and showing very little interest in what was going on on the TV.

The Packers ended up winning the game and we decided that this Arron Rogers kid might not be so bad after all.

Holiday in New Mexico

2008-09-04T20:22:00.000-07:00

We just got done watching McCain's acceptance speech. Overall I thought it was a solid effort on his part. I've liked him for a long time, but nevertheless been struggling with actually being able to support him in this election. In the past few years he has lost some of my support and admiration through his kissing up to the Christian right wing of the Republican Party/Bush and his exceptionally weak stance on illegal immigration. While I thought Sarah Palin was great in the Van Halen Video, Hot For Teacher, back in the 80's, I'm pretty sure she isn't ready to be president should anything happen to McCain. And while I'm sure Cindy McCain is a great person and she seems to be a person who is willing to put her money where her mouth is when it comes to helping other people, she came off as plastic and syrupy in her speech and I had to change the channel.

But that's not why I am writing this evening. Thursday afternoon after I spent all day at an off-site meeting at the lovely Wilshire Inn here in Denver, Bree and the whole gang came down and picked me up and we drove down to Taos for Labor Day weekend. Thankfully we had a free place to stay that had been arranged for us by our friends John and Piper. The drive down went very well. For Rachel's first long car trip she performed admirably. We only made one stop at a gas station south of Pueblo for her to have a bite to eat. We were able to listen to most of Obama's speech on the radio, although when he was speaking we were making our way over La Veta Pass and had to switch radio stations a few times to try to maintain an intelligible signal.

We got to the little adobe two bedroom home on the northern outskirts of town around 10. The house had been left completely open by the owner who was out of town for the week. Spanish language music was playing rather loudly on the stereo when I stuck my head in and felt about for a light switch. It felt a little spooky in a way. When the dogs came in they both immediately smelled the cats and went about in a frenzied effort to locate their mortal enemies. We found one, a long haired orange tabby, cowering on top of a bookcase, clearly not interested in meeting our German Shepherd, Oscar. I put the cat outside after a while, as the cat's owner said that her cats were primarily outdoor cats and would do fine on their own for the weekend with the dogs in the house. I never saw the 2nd cat that was supposed to be there, and that was the last I saw of the orange one. I hope they are ok.

Everybody, including the dogs had a tough time getting to sleep that first night. There were paintings propped up against several of the walls and potted plants sitting on the floor. I think my wife and I were both concerned that our dogs would do damage to this woman's property. In the end things went smoothly, but from the way the dogs acted that first night, we never would have expected it.

The next morning, before John and Piper arrived, we went into town to walk around a bit. We stopped to share a sandwich at the Cafe Renato, which we later learned was the former site of the home of a local entrepeneur who whose decapitated corpse was found there after some failed business deal. There was WiFi avilable so I could contact John and let him know that the hideaway bed that I had thought would be in the living room and available to the kids had been replaced by something that was not suitable for sleeping on, even for a 5 year old. After a lite lunch we had a nice time walking around with Rachel who was riding comfortably in her new and overpriced Ergo Babycarrier.

Piper arrived with Evelyn and Lorelei a little after 5 while I was sitting outside and reading a copy of Slaughterhouse Five which I had found in one of the many bookcases. I've never read the book before although I know it is one of those books that I probably should have read at some point, preferably when I was in my early 20s. However, when the Wohlbier girls are up and about there isn't much time for reading anything, although I did get a thorough introduction to Hannah Montana. Sorry Kurt Vonnegut.

John came a short time later on his new BMW Dakar 650. He had taken the long road from Los Alamos through the hills and had a nice ride. He barely beat the rain when he arrived. It seemed storm clouds were closing in on both sides. We stayed up late that first night drinking Pabst and talking. We didn't have much dinner, so that left plenty of room for more beer. John stoked up a fire in a portable fire pit he had packed into the back of their car and we got to work polishing off the better part of a case of beer.

We all went downtown the next morning and walked around a small art festival. For us, the farmers market was much more interesting, though. There were actually several vendors there selling fresh vegetables, which is almost unheard of here in Denver where the local farmers markets are an excuse for businesses to get out and sell their fancy artesian breads, flavored pastas, jars of pesto and other wares of that nature. The market in Taos seemed to attract people from all over northern New Mexico, which of course is not exactly known for its produce, with the possible exception of peppers. I took the motorcycle out for a ride that afternoon and was riding up the long canyon toward the Taos Ski Area when it suddenly started to rain very hard. I wasn't surprised. The whole time I was riding up the canyon I was chasing an enormous rainbow silouetted against the backdrop of a large dark cloud. It was gorgeous and exillerating but since I am out of practice on a motorcycle I decided to turn around and head back. I felt really cool whenever I passed another biker coming in the opposite direction. The would always give a little underhanded wave off the handlebar. I tried to replicate it but I'm sure I looked awkward doing it. I was afraid they would pick me out as some sort of poser. That night we had dinner at the Outback Pizza restaurant which was very good, as well as being kid friendly.

The next morning John and I took off for the Wild Rivers Recreation area to do some hiking. This is an area on BLM land that has been set aside with several trails leading down into the deep canyons of the Red and Rio Grande Rivers. We took two short trails. The first of which we were along most of the time on. It descended steeply into the canyon from the rim on a rocky trail that didn't look like it had gotten a great deal of use. We had to thrash our way through some underbrush that had overgrown the trail at the bottom just to get down to the river. It was running quickly here and there was definitely a feeling of solitude down in the canyon. I even saw a small snake but was unable to catch it before it scooted back into the weeds. The next trail was the La Junta Trail, which had been billed as the toughest trail in the area. It dropped almost a thousand feet off the rim to a plateau before making its way down to the very confluence of the two rivers. The trail passed through an enormous boulderfield made up of giant basalt stones. We don't see as much basalt like this up here around Denver. It is a smooth, volcanic rock and is very slippery to walk on when it gets wet. I think we were both grateful for the chance to get out for a little while that morning and stretch our legs, but unfortunately Piper was having a bit of an issue with Evelyn and Lorelei and called John wondering when he would be back. We had already taken more time than we had expected so we hauled ass back up to the rim of the canyon, working up a serious sweat in the process.

She had asked us to stop for some milk and vegetable oil on the way back so we went into the small general store in the town of Cuesta. There are always a lot of rough looking characters around here when I drive through, which is usually at night. It is a small crossroads town that seems to attract weathered, heavy drinking men from all over for a night out in this very poor part of the country. At the only store, which was directly connected to a bar room, we had to ask where the milk was. There was a whole wall full of beer and wine, including a wide selection of my personal favorite, Boones Farm. The woman behind the counter invited us back later to do some partying with the locals, but I don't think either John or myself seriously considered the offer.

To give Piper a break from the kids I took her, Bree and Rachel into town so that they could walk around and do some shopping. It was actually very nice. There is a lot of interesting retail in Taos, if you are so inclined, as well as many fine art galleries. We spent a while at a coffee shop as well where we all, including Rachel, had something to drink.

Bree had a very tough time at dinner later. We were at the small brew pub in town and had ordered our meal a short time before when Rachel started screaming. After being perfectly good all day, she chose the time when Bree's food was being placed in front of her to let loose with a good hearty fuss. I felt bad and wanted to help, but there isn't too much that I can do. If anybody is going to calm Rachel down when she gets into a tizzy, it isn't me I'm afraid. Dinner was good, but hard to enjoy when my wife was feeling so absolutely frustrated.

On the drive home Bree agreed to take a more roundabout route back to Denver by going up through Chama. This ended up taking a lot longer than I had expected. The first part of the drive was amazing. We took Hwy 64 northwest from Tres Piedras through the national forest. For a long time we didn't even see another car. The scenery wasn't spectacular, but was nevertheless beautiful. We drove through rolling hills and forests. Large meadows opened up, some with ponds. It looked like great country for wildlife, although all we saw were some deer. In Chama we parked the car and walked around some. I really liked the town. It has a year round population of 1200 and had a good small, mountain town flavor. It does draw a lot of tourists in the summer months though with good fly fishing and its being the terminus of the Chama Toltec Railroad, which is one of a few old narrow gauge railroads that still runs the old coal fired steam engines for tourists and train freaks.

One woman I talked to in town who was running a small gift shop was from Milwaukee. She informed me that they had gotten 180 inches of snow last winter. The snow caved in the roof of the town's only grocery store and ever since everybody has to make the 50 mile drive up to Pagosa Springs to lay in supplies. Another woman told me that the company that owned the grocery store had told them that they would have another one up and running by September 15th. She was skeptical though, and went in to great detail explaining to me why. For one, she said that they hadn't even laid the foundation for the new building yet, much less anything else, so how were they going to get this thing built and stocked in time to open in 14 days. I had to agree that I thought in unlikely that they would make the deadline. "Well" she said, "I wish they would just tell us one way or another and stop stringing us along. We just want to know the truth so we can make plans." The woman was clearly trying to strategize on how she and her husband were going to make it through this coming winter and wanted plenty of lead time.

After 10 hours of driving we made it home. All of us were very tired, and I had to go to work the next morning. Back to the boring old grind. It was good to be out on the road.

The Democrats are Coming....Run for the Hills

2008-08-21T20:39:00.000-07:00

Well we had a new deadbolt lock installed on the house today in anticipation of all the riffraff that we expect to be swarming all over our fair city by the end of the weekend. That's right, the long agonizing wait for the Democratic National Convention is almost over. I have been looking forward to it in the same way I look forward to anything painful and unpleasant.

For the past several months, a tremendous amount of local news coverage has been given to all of the fringe groups that are supposedly going to be descending on the city and engaging in civil disobedience. I have been listening to a lot of NPR during the day, and I have to say that, local program, "Colorado Matters" has been one of the worst culprits in propagating all of this nonsense. Giving a voice and a platform to these boneheads isn't doing anybody any favors. I have to say that, even after hearing so much of the coverage on these guys, I still don't even fully understand what they are trying to accomplish. Barrack Obama is the party's nominee. I don't think that the extreme left could ask for much more.

A few of these groups that I am talking about included:
1. Unconventional Colorado - Their official website on MySpace describes them as "
Unconventional Denver is an autonomous chapter of Unconventional Action, a network of anarchists and anti-authoritarians organizing against the political conventions happening this summer."
What the hell is this foolishness? Anarchism? I thought that went out with punk rock in the 80's. If people want real anarchy they should look at the situation in Iraq after the US Military removed the heavy handed authoritarian government. Is that what what they want? Or no, that's what they are protesting against. I'm confused.

2. Recreate 68 - "R68 agrees with the proposition, POTESTAS IN POPULO, “all power comes from the people.” What stands between the people and power are the party machines. The parties were devised as a means to represent the people. Today they represent nobody, not even party members, but only party bureaucracy. The people have been left without appropriate institutions for their representation. We intend to create those institutions!"
Recreate 68 has gotten probably more press than any of the other groups that plan to be protesting during the DNC but their message is only slightly more coherent than that of Unconventional Colorado. People have been talking about getting rid of parties forever, but nobody has ever come up with a real alternative, at least as far as I know. They can complain as long as they like, but unless they get a candidate who agrees with them elected president I doubt anything will happen with their agenda. Glenn Spagnuolo, this groups primary spokesperson and friend of Ward Churchill, has been on the news more than any of these other rabble rousers. It is because of threats made by Recreate 68 that the Denver City Council felt it necessary to pass a special ordinance making the throwing of feces illegal. In their defense, the group subsequently claimed that this was unnecessary because they had already decided against using this tactic. I have to wonder why this would have been on the table to begin with.

3. Tent State University - " Tent State University is a model, not an organization. Young people across the country have used this model to take back their campuses and their communities. This August we are using this model during the Democratic National Convention in Denver to reclaim our future. Our future will not be cannon fodder for these parties' wars. We will reclaim and define what "Hope" and "Change" mean to us."

Again, I'm not sure exactly what this is supposed to mean, but if you read further on their website they seem to be pretty focused on ending the "war" in Iraq. In their defense, at least they seem to be advocating non-violent tactics, unlike the previous two organizations I've mentioned. These guys plan to set up a bunch of tents in City Park and listen to music. I think they have Michelle Shocked coming to perform, which I have to say is another redeeming factor for them. I know she's a super left-wing radical type, but I admit that I like her music.

There are other groups as well, but my prediction is that they will all be disappointed in the results. They have been building this up as the event that will serve as their great national platform, but in the end, they will be a footnote at best. My sense is that, for all that is wrong with America right now, most folks just aren't that angry. Certainly most people don't want violence and vandalism either. Whether Glenn Spagnuolo and his ilk like it or not, people actually do care about their private property and don't want it damaged by a small band of idiot blow hards.

Lasagna Cone?

2008-08-17T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take note of a creative bit of parenting that was passed along to me today. Rachel is still to little to know anything but her mother's own milk but I am well aware that as children grow older and parents start introducing more foods into their diets that they are not always cooperative about eating everything that is put in front of them on their plates. My wife Bree witnessed this very phenomenon when she went to visit her friend Ellie this afternoon.

Ellie has a two year old son named Matthew. Matthew did not want to eat the lasagna that had been given to him for lunch. Instead he was insisting that he get some ice cream. His parents patiently advised him that he could have some ice cream if he would at least eat some of his lasagna. But Matthew wasn't having it. He wanted ice cream or nothing. So as the story was relayed to me, Matthew's father Eric finally just said to put the lasagna in a cone and give it to the kid. So that's what they did. Matthew ate it all, and never even asked for the real ice cream again afterwards.

I appreciate the imrovisation that this showed and I hope that when I am faced with similar challenges that I am able to come up with similarly clever and effective solutions.

Today was also the first time that Rachel was introduced to Ellie's new daughter Anna. Anna is about 2 months older than Rachel, and we hope that they can be good friends one day.

Anarchy In The CO

2008-08-15T21:40:00.000-07:00

While our young daughter's musical tastes have leaned heavily toward reggae in her first weeks out of the womb, her style has been unquestionably influenced punk rock. In particular, she seems to be taking her fashion and hairstyling queues from the late Sex Pistol, Sid Vicious.

Her mother and I have had to take a firm stand with her concerning her desire for certain aggresive piercings and have had to say no to an expensive studded leather onsie. Rachel is a very live for the moment kind a gal and doesn't understand or doesn't care that she will just grow out of it in month or two anyway.

We are confident that this is just a phase that she is going through. When she matures a little bit Grandma Karen hopes that Rachel's interests will start leaning more toward Viennese Waltzes and square dancing. However, in the meantime we will love he no matter what her hair looks like.

Let's Get Dirty

2008-08-09T08:19:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I participated in the annual March of Dimes Mud Volleyball Tournament which was held in a large field on the far northeast side of Denver. The company I work for sponsored two teams and although I had never played mud volleyball before, I thought it would be good time. I had considered riding my bicycle in the the Copper Triangle ride instead, but this seemed like it would be a good cause and would be a little closer to home. I'm especially glad I mad the choice that I did since Rachel had had a few bad nights in row and I had been struggling to get enough rest.

The high temperature in Denver on August 2nd, the day the event was held, was 103 degrees. Cooler than the high of 104 the day before, but still plenty toasty. It turns out that pigs really have it right, slogging around in the mud is a pretty good way to stay cool. There were tents set up around the outside of the competition area that provided some shade for the onlookers. Bree and Rachel even came out for a while to watch daddy slog around in the mud with a bunch of other people most of whom had started drinking beer bright and early in the morning. I'm afraid to say that I was no exception.

I'm sorry to say that our team did not do especially well. We finished the day with a 1 and 4 record. The other Collect America team fared considerably better and competed late into the afternoon in the playoffs before finally getting their butts kicked by a far superior squad. Despite my normally ultra-competitive nature, I didn't feel too bad about having to call it an early day. Playing in the mud is exhausting. Just taking a step or two in one direction or another takes considerable effort. Then there is trying to stand back up after falling down or diving for the ball that can be really tough. Before even going in the mud to begin with it is highly recommended that you duct tape your shoes to your legs, so that they do not come off when you try to lift up your leg. Every year many people lose their shoes in the quagmire. Although, once the initial aversion to the mud wore off it really didn't bother me anymore. Other people actually started flopping down and rolling in it, or in some instances, wrestling in it, which I must say that I approved of.

A girl on the other Collect America team had given her wedding ring to Kim, our HR director, to hold while she was out playing. As luck would have it, a couple of people thought it would be funny to throw Kim in the mud between matches. Sure enough, there went the ring into the mud which set off a good deal of crying by the young bride. A dozen people probably got down on their hands and knees in the pit to search for it, but to no avail although the ring was eventually found the following Tuesday.

Possibly the most interesting part of the day for me was watching an enormous dust devil form in the ajoining field. I'd seen dust devils from a distance before, but never such a large one so nearby. It was made all the more specacular because of all the dry soil that had been churned up by the hundreds of cars making their way across the field that morning on their way to the parking area.

When all was said and done, this worthy charity event had raised over $215,000 for the March of Dimes with well over a thousand people participating on over 100 seperate teams.

Uncle Justin's First Visit

2008-08-09T08:04:00.000-07:00

Justin was very happy to meet Rachel for the first time. So much so, he got himself especially spiffed up for the occasion. Nevertheless, certain questions still remain about Justin's suitability as a role model for for young children.

Last week a male staff member of the Girl's Gone Wild crew was arrested for sexual assault after a shoot on Long Island. My Brother Justin would like everybody to know that, while he proudly sports the gear, he in no way endorses the actions of that staff member.

Time To Reign in Judicial Activism in New Zealand

2008-08-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

Last week a story made the news here in the USA about how Rob Morfitt, a meddling family court judge in New Zealand took the radical step of making 9 year old Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii a ward of the court for the purpose of changing her name to something more conventional.

After having recently gone through the process of naming a child myself, I found myself sometimes walking a fine line between trying to pick a name that was unique, interesting and with character and picking a name that was bland, or overused. Choosing a name for a child is a great responsibility that no parent should take lightly. In trying to pick a great name for my child, I will freely admit that at times I wished that my choices were not limited to the relative few that would be deemed acceptable by the conventions of society. Part of me wanted to choose a moniker that would be a real stand out, something that would differentiate my child from all the other children out there with their boring, pedestrian names, something that would symbolize just how special a person my son or daughter was going to be.

In the end, we decided upon Rachel Alexandra, not exactly the most unusual name out there, but one which my wife and I thought fitting for our brand new beautiful daughter. However, had we gone in a different direction and picked a more far out and eccentric name I think that it would have shown courage and creativity. Any loving parent that chooses to go in this direction should not be chastised for their decision and they most certainly should not have the courts step in to overrule their choice.

Talula Does the Hula From Hawaii was a name we never actually even considered. Even if it is something that we had thought of, I doubt that it would have made the final cut. This is beside the point though. What does matter is that this do-gooder judge in New Zealand clearly overstepped a boundary. I don't think the judges in Australia would get away with this kind of interference.

Talula Does the Hula From Hawaii is a great name and I would like to see more parents take that kind of risk. It's sure a lot more interesting than Jane or Susan so I salute them for their creativity. I'm sure she will be a stronger person for the experience.

On a side note, Eugene Volakh of Slate Magazine in an article last week reported in in a related article that there are no known cases of boys changing their names to, or from, Sue. Also, if anyone wants to change their name to a number, at least in the United States, you might have a problem as a result of a North Dakota Supreme Court Decision in 1976 where it was ruled that Michael Dengler could not change his name to 1069 despite what I found to be an entirely convincing argument.

Petition of Michael Herbert Dengler to Change His Name to 1069

The petitioner, in support of his request, states that he was adopted and given the name Michael Herbert Dengler; that his personal philosophy has experienced expansion and quests for answers to various philosophies, including recognized schools of thought as well as his own personal philosophy, which he has adapted from those of other schools of thought and other cultures; that a person's name should be a mark of indicium which corresponds to and is a verbal and graphic manifestation of the person's philosophy. This is followed by petitioner's explanation of the characters:

"The first character, 1, stands for my concept of nature which manifests itself as one individual among the various forms of life. I stand as a single entity amongst millions of other entities, animate and inanimate. But yet even though I am an entity unto myself, I am part of the whole of life which is one. I am one; life is one; and together we are one.

"The second character, 0, shows my relationship with time in movement through life; I feel that I recognize a

[246 N.W.2d 760]

past, experience a present, and am aware of a future with equal regard. I am therefore zero with respect to my march on the road of life.

"The third character, 6, is equal to the relationship I have with the universe in my understanding of space of my spatial occupancy through this life.

"The fourth and final character, 9, stands for the relationship I have to essence in the difference in the meaning when actualizing the spatially ever present nature of life. This final digit is like a string which surrounds the entirety of the previous three digits and explains the first three digits' concepts as they interact among each other to produce my philosophy."

Petitioner concluded with:

"The interaction of these phenomenon, which are represented by these numerals, creates an identity which is me. The only way that this identity can be expressed is 1069."

**The photo I used was lifted from a fellow blogger. If she should ever happen to come upon this I hope that she is ok with it. The photo is not of Talula herself.

The Midnight Meltdown

2008-07-23T15:37:00.000-07:00

In general, our daughter Rachel is an amiable, cute as can be, well behaved little girl. Until it is time for us to go to bed, that is. The change in her sleep schedule has roughly corresponded with my going back to work and she seems to have an uncanny sense for adjusting her volume according to how tired her parents happen to be at the time. A more polite child would tone it down a bit when her mommy and daddy kiss her goodnight and turn off the light. Not our Rachel though. She will not immediately launch into a full blown tirade. Usually she will wait about ten minutes or so, so she can be most likely to catch us when we are drifting off to sleep. I see this as quite ingenious on her part as this tactic increases the shock value of the first scream ten fold. We have learned quickly that the first scream will never be an isolated incident either. At this time of day we can count on it quickly snowballing into a unholy and demonic tirade.

Bree has bourne the lions share of the burden of trying to get Rachel to sleep during these epic nocturnal outbursts. For that I am extremely grateful. Her bossum often seems to provide the only solution on most of these occasions. The problem, however, is that even the bossum itself is rarely a quick fix. Feeding takes time, and even when Rachel drifts off to sleep and she goes back into her crib, as soon as she realizes it is dark and that nobody is holding her, she inevitably restarts the process.

We have worried that our little girl will be one of those babies that you can't put down because they always want to be held. So we consider whether or not to try to break her of this early on by putting her down in the bouncer or putting her to bed when she is sleeping or is very calm. The thinking being that this will make her more accustomed to being in a position where we are not cradling her. But then, we think that hey, this baby isn't even two weeks old yet! Why shouldn't we be holding her all the time? Babies like to be held. After all, they've spent most of their time, thus far, snugly tucked away in a nice, warm uterus. So it should be only natural that they would want to held all the time. But how much holding is too much? I guess this is just one of the many questions that we will struggle with over the years that will someday seem inconsequential. For now, we just want to do the right thing were we can strike that happy balance between her needs and ours.

As with this morning, when the alarm clock goes off at 6:30 after being awake most of the night, I'm sure it is only natural for me to want Rachel to be able to lay happily and quietly in her crib regardless of whether or not she's sleeping. I know that that is not realistic, and I don't hold it against Rachel. In fact, this evening, she has been more angelic than she has ever been since she was born. We gave her a bath and slicked down her natural mohawk. Best of all she smiled at her daddy. That smile has a way of making everything else that happened the night before ok. If she doesn't hold a grudge, I guess I won't either.

As an aside, after my alarm went off this morning, the radio was playing for a long time without my fully waking up. The DJs were discussing the recent news that Sarah Silverman and Jimmie Kimmel had broken up. When I finally woke up, I realized that I had incorporated this discussion into my dream. I dreamed that Jimmie and I were buddies and that I had to go talk to him about what had happened between him and Sarah. In real life, I really don't care, but I awakened very concerned for him.

Rachel's First Outting

2008-07-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

On this past Saturday morning as the temperature here in Denver was climbing steadily toward the hundred degree mark, we decided that it would be a good idea to take our daughter Rachel on her first outting to the mountains. After all, she was 10 days old already and hadn't even been outside the Denver city limits yet. Bree's mom was in town also and we thought it might be nice for her to get out into the high country while she was here in Colorado, see some scenery, and get out of the heat for a while.

Rachel performed admirably as I hoped that she would. Her older brother Owen, had always seemed to like riding in the car for whatever reason, which made it much easier for us to take him places. However, I have heard that this is not the case with all babies, so I was admittedly relieved.

So it was a day of first for our new daughter, for not only did she make her first trip to the mountains, but she also paid a visit to her first brew pub when we were in Nederland. Some people may not consider that to be such a momentous occasion, but considering my Milwaukee/German/beer guzzling heritage, I can't pass up taking special note. While there wasn't much beer guzzling happening on this particular occassion the Rueben was passable and they served an interesting 3 bean baked bean dish as a side.

After lunch we spent some time going through some of the little shops in town and had a cup of coffee outside by a train car turned coffeeshop. Instead of coffee, Rachel opted for some fresh milk. We took the long way back to Denver and went through Gold Hill. Gold Hill is a wonderful little town tucked away in a valley on a dirt road several miles west of Boulder. There is one tiny, rustic general store, and the old restaurant was recently reopened, but other than that there are not really any specific attractions. What is cool about the town, though, is that it is made up mostly of the original old log cabins from the mining days which are now long-past. The population seems to be a mix of hippie artist, escape the city types along with a fair number of curmudgenly long time residents. It is my understanding that the one room school house in Gold Hill is the last functioning one room school house in the state of Colorado. Rachel appeared impressed. Like her father, she already seems to have a melancholic affection for a past she never knew.

Will Work for Smokes

2008-07-16T22:42:00.000-07:00

Some time ago I had decided that it would look good if I put in a stone wall with a raised flower bed along my south fence in the backyard. So recently, Bree and I made a trip up to Lyons, where the good sandstone is quaried , and placed an order for a full ten thousand pounds to be delivered the following week. Half of the stone was devoted to building the wall. The other 5000 pounds is still stacked next to the garage and will be used to build a patio area.

As with most of my projects, this wall and flowerbed turned out to be more work than I had originally anticipated. Hauling the stone in from the alley, leveling the plane, and stacking the stones to construct the actual wall had been a pretty grueling task in and of itself. Almost every day lately we have had high temperatures in the 90's, which has not make things any easier on those of us choosing to engage in strenuous physical activity during the afternoon hours.

A couple of days ago I finished up the wall. So now all that was left to do was to backfill it with dirt. The wall was actually a little taller than I had originally anticipated and it was clear that this was a job that was going to take more than a few bags of topsoil from the Home Depot. As luck would have it, a crew had started digging the foundation for a new duplex on a vacant lot up the block earlier this week. I took it upon myself yesterday afternoon to go over and ask if it would be ok to take some of the dirt away for my own personal use. I got the permission, although I'm not so sure that the front end load driver who gave me the go ahead had any authority to do so. He just said that if I had a well barrel to go ahead and help myself. While I don't actually own a wheel barrel, I moved quickly to borrow one and was at work within the hour loading the sandy soil up with my shovel and pushing the loads unsteadily through the alley down the block to my back yard.

By the time I had hauled eight loads, I was soaked with sweat and had that nagging feeling again that I had bitten off more than I could chew. For all the work it felt like I had done, it hardly seemed like I had made a dent in the job. As I was shoveling the sandy dirt for my 9th load, a scraggly looking guy approached me holding a beat up old utility bucket and glass squeegee asking if I could use some help. I looked him up and down. He was a tall, lanky white man wearing a dirty white t-shirt and a pair of tattered shorts. I noticed immediately that he was missing a couple front teeth, but he did not smell bad at all, certainly not in comparison to the overpowering aroma of dog shit that was wafting from across the alley from somebody's backyard. As for the teeth, I wondered whether or not they had disappeared as a result of poor dental care, or if I was looking at a case of meth mouth.

My first response was to politely decline his offer. Oh that's not necessary I told him, but all the while while thinking, 'hmmm, could this guy actually do the work?' He was pretty wiry looking and this dirt was really heavy. The man was persistent though. He told me he was only trying to earn a few honest bucks, just enough to buy a pack of cigarettes and he said he wasn't the kind to be standing out on street corners looking for handouts. He chuckled and said "I smoke Spirits (American Spirits), and they're over four bucks a pack now." I'll admit thought that this was funny that he should say that. For a guy so obviously down on his luck, that he should be picky about the brand of cigarette he was saving up for, and because it is a brand I myself am partial to myself, I agreed to let him do some work. After all, anyone who smokes all natural cigarettes with a picture of an Indian on the pack can't be too bad.

He introduced himself as Mike and told me he was from Ogden, Utah. As soon as I handed him the shovel he threw himself into the work. He started off at such a pace I worried he would wear himself out right away in the heat. Mike told me that he had worked construction for years, so this was no big deal. "What's up then?" I asked. "Why are you out on the streets? What's going on that you're out trying to wash car windows and not working?"
"Well, I was having some problems with my old lady, he replied, and just one thing led to another. We were camping one night up in Ogden Canyon and we got to fighting. I got up and told her I was going to the liquer store, and well, now here I am. That was five weeks ago now."

I walked into the house where I found Bree vacumning. She saw how sweaty and dirty I was and asked how things were going. "Great! I hired a homeless guy to finish it up for me." I announced. I could tell that Bree didn't share my enthusiasm. "You know Elizabeth Smart was stolen by a homeless man" she pointed out. "Well yes, now that you mention it. Well, maybe just keep the house locked up when we're out there." I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and went back out to help out and do some other work in the yard.

A couple of hours later Mike had just about finished the job. I was amazed. Not only had he done all the work, but I'm pretty sure that he finished it up in a lot less time than it would have taken me. He had worked like a horse. Before I paid him I talked to him a little bit more about his situation and how he came to be doing what he was doing. I asked if he ever worked day labor through one of the many agencies in the area. "No, not really, I like to get up a little later in the morning." He said, "I don't really need to be in this situation right now. I tell myself I'm out here learning how to be humble." he paused "But really that's a bunch of bullshit, I guess what it comes down to is that I'm just being mean." He went on to say that he had been talking to his old lady on the phone a couple of times and had told her that he would be going back, but he was just going to make her wait a little longer. However, as far as Mike was concerned, he was not homeless at all, he was living in a tent he had set up in a friends backyard, so things were pretty good. However, things apparently were not always so good. He told me that he had been homeless here in Denver for two years a while back. What he said next surprised me. He basically explained that he had been homeless for so long because he had gotten strung out on drugs and had "gotten too comfortable. They make it too easy to be homeless here in this town. They give you food, clothes, a place to stay, you really don't have to do anything. It would be better if they took some of that money and made people learn a trade or something."

Too easy to be homeless? No incentive to find work? The concepts he was expressing didn't sound like what I would have been expecting to hear from someone, who by most standards, was pretty down on his luck.

I handed him $25, which was much more than he had asked for. He thanked me and said that he thought that was more than fair. All he was looking for was a little cash in return for some honest work. In fact, this was going to cover his expenses for the rest of the week. He smokes about a pack a day, and of course, he does like his morning Starbucks he said with a smile. We shook hands and I wished him luck. $25 well spent, although one of these days I'll have to write about how I feel about the regressive nature of taxes on tobacco products.

Welcoming Rachel Alexandra to Our Family

2008-07-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

For years now I have been pretty sure that I have wanted a daughter. Three days ago that desire came to fruition when a beautiful little girl came into this world at 9:30 in the evening on July 10th. For my wife Bree, it was a long pregnancy, somewhat longer in fact than what she had been anticipating. Through most of the pregnancy she and her doctor's had set her due date to be June 22nd. The official due date was later pushed back to June 29th based on the early ultrasound results. However, the of June came and went with no baby. So almost two weeks later, when my wife seemed to have given up almost all hope of ever going into labor on her own, we went in for a scheduled induction at the most unpleasant hour of 5:30 AM. My suspicion is that the medical staff doesn't want its patients overly alert or energetic so that they will be bothering them will all sorts of questions or requests.

At 10:30 in the morning, after several hours of sitting around and waiting, the doctor finally came in and broke Bree's water bag in the hopes that that alone would send her into labor. In many cases this is supposed to work, particularly with women who are as far along as she is and who have already borne one or more child. But as with the last time Bree's water broke when she had Owen, she did not go into hard labor afterwards. This was a disappointment as Bree and was hoping for the birth to be as natural as possible. So at about 4:30 in the afternoon the doctor's started a slow pitosin drip.

Shortly after five, when Dr. Elizabeth Warner, her primary Ob/Gyn arrived. She came in and after a little small talk proceeded to deliver a very tough love speech to Bree and myself about the risks involved in starting a chemical induction at this point. The primary issue involved the increased risk for uterine rupture in patients who have undergone previous c-sections. While we were both somewhat aware that there were some increased risks involved, neither of us were thinking that the risks were anywhere near as significant as what she was now describing. I think we both came away from this meeting with the doctor feeling more than a little disheartened. There is no question that we both felt that the prospect of Bree's having to go through another c-section was now greater than ever. And while I had been worried about some sort of catastrophic incident before, our talk with the doctor only made my concern much more acute.

The turning point seemed to be about the time when our doula, Becky, arrived around 5:30. She and Bree had been working together for quite some time preparing for this day, and to be honest, I had been hoping for some time that she would get there to add another perspective to what was fast turning into a very stressful situation. Becky's presence seemed to have a positive affect on my wife almost immediately. Becky's attitude was positive from the start and she was able to give Bree the honest and caring encouragement that she was needing desperately at this time.

Amazingly, as Bree's outlook seemed to improve, she also began to have some serious, get down to business contractions beginning around 6. She also began to feel very sick to her stomach and was spending more time in the bathroom. At first, I did not even recognize this as the actual labor kicking in, but Becky assured me that everything that we were seeing were good signs and that she remained confident that Bree would be able to do this on her own, without surgery. Becky was confident in her role as birth support. She was like some sort of touchy-feely field general directing my to rub my wife in places where she should be rubbed, hold heat packs to her back, hold her hand when it needed holding and to get ice from the ice machine down the hall to make ice packs to cool her forehead. All this time, while I did what she asked of me, I remained focused with hawk-like intensity on the baby's heart rate monitor. At one point, while Bree was in the bathroom, I noticed a sustained drop in the heart rate, where the rate dipped to around 70 or so beats per minute. This is considered dangerously low for any baby at this point in the delivery. I went immediately to the nurses station across the hall to request that somebody check on my wife. At the same time, the doctor and nurse, rushed into the room from across the hall where they had been monitoring. They basically dragged Bree off of the toilet and back into bed where they could make sure that they were getting an accurate reading on the baby. Thinking about this now, the memory seems almost hazy and dreamlike, but at them time this incident was absolutely terrifying and intense.

From here on out the order was for Bree to remain in bed where they could make certain that the monitors were all in place and were functioning accurately. The doctor checked her dilation level and found that she was at 9 centimeters. I was amazed because only about a half an hour before she had been dilated to only 6 cm. A series of hard retches in the next few moments put her at the full 10cm and the time for the honest to goodness pushing was on.

After only a few the doctor pointed out the baby's dark hair barely visible down in the birth canal. A few pushes after that the amount of hair I could see had increased to the size of about a half-dollar. Things progressed very quickly, even though Bree was obviously in a great deal of pain. She screamed and cried and at one point begged for an epidural, but Becky sitting close at her side somehow convinced her to continue. I'm afraid, that if I as the husband had tried to tell her at this point that she didn't need any pain medicine, I might have been spending the rest of my life trying to live it down.

Even at this point I was not so sure that she would be able to deliver this child without surgical intervention so I was very relieved when Dr. Warner announced that she was confident that the head was past the pubic bone. The head looked like the top of a beer can covered in wet black hair as it slowly inched its way out of my wife. When the whole head was finally out the doctor grabbed on to it and began pulling on it very hard. I was afraid that she would break the child's neck. But from here on out, it was only a couple of minutes before Rachel came out. Although Bree maintains that this was actually the most painful part of the process, as the shoulder, hips, knees and feet passed through her with their uneven surfaces. She was all purple and wasn't breathing when they first pulled her free from the birth canal, so they promptly cut the cord and took her over to a nearby platform where after sucking some fluid out of her throat, our daughter took her first breath and let out her first cry.

The relief I felt at this point can not be overstated. The nurses checked her out and everything looked good. Furthermore, until now, we had not know the sex of the baby. Through most of the pregnancy I had been thinking it would be a girl, somehow I was expecting to see a penis and scrotum when this baby was finally pulled free. I looked closely, but there was none, which was still fine with me. I miss my son every day more than I can express sometimes, but I am grateful to have a little girl in my life and expect that she will grow into an incredible person who my wife and I can have endless fun raising. Once again, I am proud to say that I am a father, a proud father. This little girl is so lovely and already is showing her own personality.

We celebrated tonight with a bucket of fried chicken from KFC and a bottle of Alsatian Riesling.

Soon I know it will be time to feed again so I need to get some sleep and be ready.