A Preference

When Robyn first got pregnant and people asked if we wanted a boy or girl I would honestly answer that I didn't have a preference. But in unidentifiable ways that has changed over the last nine months; I've slowly changed to have a preference. I can't explain it exactly, but it's somehow wrapped up in this:

Having been to my fair share of weddings I've seen this moment many times, where the father of the bride stands up and talks about his daughter, and at that moment his love for her becomes this living breathing palpable thing in the reception hall, and everyone there is better because of it. I want to be that guy someday.

Non-talkers

I liked this from Angle of Repose:

Like my grandfather, he [my father] was not a man of words, and it is an easy mistake to think that non-talkers are non-feelers.

A Little Scenery

Not often when reading a novel do I marvel at descriptions of scenery; in fact, more often than not I'm bothered by having to read too much about scenery. But Angle of Repose has drawn me in with scenery descriptions. There is a whole chapter dedicated to the descent into a mine that is really great (but way to long to quote here) and this description of a meadow that left me feeling and seeing tall grass all around me:

She guided her horse through willows and alders and runted birches, leaning and weaving until the brush ended and she broke into the open. She was at the edge of a meadow miles long, not a tree in it except for the wiggling line that marked the course of the Lake Fork. Stirrup-high grass flowed and flawed in the wind, and its motion revealed and hid and revealed again streaks and splashes of flowers--rust of paintbrush, blue of pentstemon, yellow of buttercups, scarlet of gilia, blue-tinged white of columbines. All around, rimming the valley, bare peaks patched with snow looked down from above the scalloped curve of timberline.

All but holding her breath, she pushed into the field of grass. The pony's legs disappeared, his shoulders forced a passage, grass heads and flowers snagged in her stirrup and saddle skirts. The movement around and beneath her was as dizzying as the fast current of the creek had been a moment before. The air was that high blue mountain kind that fizzes in the lungs. Rising in her stirrup to get her face and chest full if it, she gave, as it were, a standing ovation to the rim cut out against the blue. From a thousand places in the grass little gems of unevaporated water winked back at the sun.

Labor Eve

Yesterday Robyn and I woke up with the great idea of getting lots of baby stuff done with this extra day off. The list looked a little like this:

• Buy stroller


• Get new dresser


• get curtains for baby's room


• buy warm clothes for baby (we got a lot of summer dresses for the little one)


• sign up for diaper service


• find a pediatrician


• wash and put away all the new baby clothes


• finish thank you cards from shower


• put together email list of people who will want to know when labor begins

It was a good list, full of useful, necessary things to do (only four weeks from expected due date). So I looked at it and said, "hmm, maybe we should go to Santa Cruz instead."

And Robyn replied, "I think Napa is warmer right now."

So I looked on the Internet for a few minutes, reserved a room in Calistoga, scheduled some massages and off we went. We're back today, with nothing crossed off our list, but man was that sun and massage nice.

Proof of Life (old news for most)

There's this foot bridge in Maui, narrow enough for a couple people to walk across, high enough that I'm sure any sober person over the age of 25 wouldn't look over it and think, "hmm it would be fun to jump off this bridge." Under the bridge flows a small stream, it's hard to tell how deep it is but the sides of the stream are lined with gigantic boulders, they look like the type of boulders that would only sit next to a really deep pool of water. At the other end of the bridge is a forest of bamboo with a trail cutting through it that leads to your intended destination, a set of "sacred" pools.

You brought a couple of Friends. You look at Jason, you can tell he's thinking about the bridge too, you can see it by how he grips the railing, rolling his fingers across, white knuckled. Greg watches the two of you; he has no interest in the bridge; you are his sole interest.

It's been a good trip. Good food, good friends, wandering through mountains, shooting goats with the locals, not a worry in the world (except that girl back home who you just can't convince to love you). The air is perfect now, warm without a breeze, the guide book said the sacred pools are worth the three hour drive around the volcanic island and the hour hike, but there's this bridge.

"I'm going to do it."

No one believes you of course.

"It's probably eighty feet down."

"Fuck it. I'm doing it."

"Alright."

Greg heads to the end of the bridge then scampers down the bank to those large boulders. He peers into the water looking for any obvious dangers. He can't see any, shrugs a little then looks back up at you and the bridge. Before Greg headed off the bridge you handed him your stuff, stuff you didn't want to get wet, Jason does the same so you know he'll be following you.

Climbing over the railing you feel your heart. You think of Tori Amos, there's a bowling ball in my stomach and desert in my mouth. You think of that girl back home, this feels like kissing her for the first time. And the second first time. You hope the third first time will feel this way too (please lord let there be a third first time).

You don't do stupid shit. Risk taking is not your forte. You shouldn't be out on the edge of this bridge. You should be down there with Greg watching someone else jump off this bridge. You should be walking to the sacred pools, you hear it's amazing there. Why are you on this bridge?

"You gonna do it?"

"Yeah, of course."

You let go of the railing. Float there for a second. The sun is still shining, the air is still warm. Then there is wind, nothing but wind, and that helpless sense of falling. It lasts longer than you think it should, but you can't look down to see how far you still have to go. Maybe it never stops.

Splash.

You break a flip-flop, but swim out unharmed, but never the same. You lie on the rock next to Greg. "Shit. Shit. Shit." He laughs, gives your hair a little ruffling.

"You screamed the whole way down."

All you could hear was the wind.

Jason comes down like a torpedo. You're almost convinced the bridge must have gotten lower after you jumped, he wasn't in the air nearly as long.








Years later you marry that girl from back home. And a couple years after that you take her to Maui and show her that bridge. You tell her it's worth the three hour drive around the volcano and the hour hike. You stand on the bridge together. You're convinced you must have been insane to have stepped off it--she agrees. But damn it was worth it, being here with her, pointing over the edge.












Due Date July 30th. Baby Girl.

Some words I forced together

I speak as though you can hear me
I speak upon the rolling hills
Among blades of grass
Seed upon seed
Soft as a whisper

I speak deep in the green forests
Over maddening monkeys
And ceaseless insects
Wet as rain

I speak under the endless seas
Drowned beneath turbulent waves
Source of life
Songs of whales

I speak of love
I speak of books
I speak of happiness
I speak of sorrow
And Maybe
I speak of God
Yet somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow somehow
(thirty-two because nothing has ever changed
Then doubled
Because I'm certain of certain things)

Yet somehow
I've said nothing

So I rest my head
Upon your mother's swelling breasts
And pray
One day
I'll speak
And one day
You'll hear me

Football?!?!?!?

A few weeks ago I passed up the opportunity to join some friends for a gathering that would have been enjoyable for its intellectual stimulation as well as being nice just hanging out with some people I really enjoy. I may have picked up a reputation for thinking and intellectualizing too much. So this particular group of friends were sort of in shock (at least one was shocked in a positive way while the others were like "OMG, really? Him?") when I decided to skip that gathering and instead chose to drive down to Stanford to watch a football game on TV. That particular game wasn't overly memorable, nor are most of them, but similar to my love of a cars there is something very family-feeling about it for me. While most of my friends at this point probably look back on their childhood Sundays and recall getting up early for church, wearing uncomfortable clothes, seeing some of their favorite friend--equally fashionably dresse--and spending the day thinking about kindness, good deeds, Jesus, and reverence; my Sundays were nothing of the sort. We spent the day plopped in front of the TV, from 10am to 10pm (give or take a few hours on either side depending on the timezone we found ourselves in) watching our favorite teams run up and down a 100 yard field. On really special days large quantities of Taco Bell or KFC would be consumed as well. So now when I sit down with my childhood friend and watch the Colts play the villainous Patriots I feel a certain connectedness with my family (whom I don't see or talk to nearly enough, which I'm fully to blame for) that few other activities can invoke. I imagine my mom and dad and brother watching the game at the same time and it just feels right.

I don't know what my point it is.

But I do know there is a certain high after the Colts win a game like last nights that lasts for a few hours and is hard to replicate, and unlike many highs, it feels good and healthy, even after the high has passed.

Go Colts!