You're Going to Meet Some Gentle People There

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

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

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

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".

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

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

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

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

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.