I don't know why I chose the particular title I did, other than I could fit the word heartbreak into it twice, the post doesn't really relate to the similarly titled book.
I've spent a lot of time thinking about specific bad events. I've sort of mentally prepared myself for the worst, as much as one can. Maybe we all have. I've thought, what would I do if--heaven forbid--one of my loved ones was seriously hurt or died well before their time? During these contemplative moments I mostly ponder the concept of forgiveness. I hope that if I ever am tasked with the need to give great forgiveness, I'll be equipped to hand it out in abundance. It's hard to know till it happens, but I feel like a) being aware that you hope for it and b) actively visualizing it, will make it more likely when, if ever, it's called for. I feel like an athlete picturing in his mind the three-point shot he'll have to make at the end of the most important game of his life. You can go through it in your mind a thousand times but you still might not hit the shot when the time comes, but hopefully you've upped your odds.
Unfortunately this sort of meditation has left me ill-prepared for an event that took place this week. Actually the event took place a few years ago but my discovery of the event was just this week.
A friend sent me a message over Facebook with a link, he asked, "Did you see this?" I opened the link and found before me a picture of a different friend, a mug shot, and the description of the list of his crimes that included words like "thirteen year old girl" and "sexual assault in the first degree."
These things I can't understand. Honestly, when I think about it for more than a couple seconds I have to fight back the urge to cry. It's such a fucking mess.
There's the obvious, likely life long, pain some little girl will get to grow old with. That's the sort of suffering I feel like I've been preparing myself for. But this is something else, instead of the boogeyman being some stranger, some random act of violence perpetrated on one of my loved ones, it's one of my friends, he has become the perpetrator and it's not a state of affairs that I've equipped myself to deal with.
For redemption to mean anything it has to mean something for this man, he who has fallen the furthest. It has to do so without belittling those he has hurt, the girl in question, her family and his own friends and family. But all I can feel is, "God damn you, Jon! God Damn You!"
And then I feel stupid for even talking or thinking about forgiveness. It's not mine to give here. It belongs to a whole other family if they ever chose to give it. And yet it feels like mine, like it should be all of ours. He's likely ruined his life with these actions. At one point I tried to imagine what it felt like at the moment he had his mug shot taken. The terrible sinking feeling captured forever in a flash that says, "It's over. You're done." His own stupid useless staggering heartbreak. And I was crushed under its imaginary weight; I'm incapable of imagining what horror it must have been. There's more than one tragedy here, but I'm left only knowing how to feel about one of them. God damn you, Jon. I hope one day I'll be able to follow that up with a plea for peace upon your soul, but that day isn't today. God damn you.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Friday, January 3, 2014
Binding Agents
For posterity, especially Wren.
On December 20th, Robyn was ten days past due and went in for her regular stress test for her and the baby's health. While there the doctors noted protein in her urine which is a symptom of preeclampsia. They also measured her blood pressure and had her do a more thorough 24 hour urine test. Blood pressure was elevated compared to prior measurements but not considered high for a healthy pregnant woman.
The next day, the 21st, we went to the labor and delivery floor of UCSF to turn in the sample and talk to the doctors. They wouldn't have the results right away but they took Robyn's blood pressure again and monitored the baby for about an hour. All seemed well but the doctors pushed for induction because of her still elevated blood pressure, but Robyn greatly wanted to avoid induction. The official diagnosis was gestational hypertension, but they'd have the results from the 24 hour tests in a few hours and at that point they could decide to either call it preeclampsia or stick with hypertension. Either way they wanted to induce but with the preeclampsia they REALLY wanted to induce. Some major risks of preeclampsia: strokes and seizures; delivery of the baby/placenta is the only way to completely avoid the risks.
We decided to not induce at that time but would wait for the test results, hoping it was just hypertension. At midnight they called to tell us that the tests confirmed there were elevated levels of protein and that they were now extra interested in induction. We agreed to come in at 5am so that we could get some sleep prior to starting what we recalled being a very intense and tiring process with Berkeley.
At 4am we woke and had our friend Courtney come over and stay with Berkeley. We had warned Berkeley the last few nights that she might wake up one morning and find Courtney or Grandma Lynn there rather than us so we were sure she'd be fine with the change. We packed our mostly already packed bags and headed off to the hospital once Courtney arrived.
When we arrived at the hospital we called Lynn to tell her to come relieve Courtney whenever was convenient Also there at the hospital we met our friend Jenny who was going to be with us throughout the labor as a helping and comforting hand. For our prior labor and delivery Leisel took the journey with us, and we were hoping she would be here again, but that little baby cooked too long. But we felt confident and comfortable having Jenny's loving hands and heart there with us.
The trip over to the hospital was so different from when we did it with Berkeley. The first time Robyn had already labored at home for hours and was having mighty contractions. We noticed every bump and stop (her more than me); this time it was a calm drive up the same road with little to no note of the condition of the road.
We were admitted as planned and then assigned to beautiful labor room 2 (which has the best views, maybe in the entire city, not to brag). Robyn's blood pressure had gone up some more, but was still at safe levels. She was hooked up to an IV so that pitocin could be added to her blood stream. Some blood samples were drawn and by 8:30am they started dripping small amounts of the synthetic hormone into her body.
The great difficulty for Robyn was that we had been told that the introduction of pitocin can make labor pains more intense than those that come naturally. She wanted to do the delivery without pain medication, especially no epidural, and she worried that the pitocin would make that task all the harder. The doctors and nurses assured us that they could start off the contractions slowly so to simulate the natural birth process but at the peak strength the contractions would be, and must be, very strong regardless of whether or not pitocin was used or the process was started naturally. So we hoped and prayed that the pain could be managed even with the introduction of the hormone.
At the point of induction I called Jason and let him know that we had started; he planned to join us later that morning. I felt a little out of sorts at that point. Robyn didn't seem to need any specific assistance and even when the contractions started they were pretty minor. The nurse suggested that Jenny and I go get some breakfast. It seemed like a crazy idea to me but everyone else was on board so I assumed it must not be that crazy to leave Robyn on her own at this point. Breakfast was had, and we quickly went back up stairs.
The baby's heartbeat was monitored and the familiar thump thump of the monitoring system started up. It brought a tear to Jenny's eye as she remembered her own pregnancies. I on the other hand dread that sound a little; it was a source of stress for us with Berkeley's delivery. The length of the delivery had the heart rate changing frequently and the doctors worrying about it. This time we barely took note of it. It's so very strange how different the two experiences were starting out.
The pitocin levels were increased and soon the contraction strength matched the new levels of the pitocin. Robyn opted for a spell in the bathtub. She threw-up a lot during Berkeley's delivery and was feeling nauseated this time too. She really didn't want to go through the constant vomiting again. But more of a concern to the doctors was her blood pressure. Recent readings had reached levels too high. So they gave her some meds to try to bring it down. This worked a little but she remained right below the "too high" level for most of the rest of her delivery. Because preeclampsia causes seizures they wanted to put her on magnesium sulfate to help prevent them. It's a very rare symptom but they wanted to be precautious. There didn't appear to be any major side effects to the magnesium sulfate so we consented to it.
The contractions in the tub started being super strong, strong like I remembered seeing with Berkeley. Finally I felt I had something to do besides sit around and stare at my hands or out the window. Jenny seemed much better prepared and equipped for those quiet hours before the labor got really intense. She knew immediately to take a beeping medical device out of the room to avoid bothering Robyn (I just stupidly messed with it trying to figure out how to make it shut up). The muscle memory of lending Robyn my strength through words and body contact came back and I think I did a swell job of coaching her through some very difficult contractions. We did a lot of breathing. A lot of remembering the utility of the pain. And a lot of encouraging.
Jason arrived near the end of the bath. Though I didn't see him in that moment I knew he was there and a certain amount of relief filled my own body.
Once the magnesium sulfate was ready Robyn had to depart the bath. They didn't want her having seizures in the water. We took the long, long trip from the bathtub to the bed. Though the distance was mere tens of feet, the journey felt much longer and was great and trying.
I asked the nurse if Robyn could be checked for progress, she hadn't been checked since we came in that morning but the prior day she had already been at 4 centimeters. They hadn't checked earlier because she hadn't had any contractions between that time and when the induction started.
She laid down on the bed and one of the doctors came in to check her out. Eight centimeters was the determination. Robyn was laboring very strong at that point, I think in her mind she had to already be a ten and nothing less than a nine was going to ease her mind.
Things happened fast from there. Mostly I remember words.
Robyn: "NO NO NO NO NO."
Robyn: "I can't, it can't be only eight."
Robyn: "I can't do it."
Nurse: "The next two will go so fast."
Me: "You can do it. You are doing it."
Nurse: "Doctor don't leave. She's grunting. It will happen soon."
Suddenly someone picked up a phone and then the room was filled with nurses and doctors. They asked Robyn to rollover (there was some cord maneuvering that needed to happen) but she was somewhere else, somewhere primal where words and requests cease to mean what they mean to you and me in our regular waking hours. She arched her back. She howled. She wailed. She reasserted over and over that she didn't know what to do. Did she speak to me or the doctors or the baby or God? I can't say, but oh my heart.
One doctor told me I needed to make Robyn do what they were asking. As if I had super powers or something. As if I was the one who bent rivers and moved mountains. We did eventually get her to make the requested movements and no more than five minutes after she was checked, the baby's head made its first appearance. Nine had come and gone. Ten was here. It was time to push.
When Berkeley was born Robyn pushed for three hours while protected by an epidural. It was a long tiring process, like raising an army. But this baby was nothing like that. In the full throws of her motherly pains she pushed and wailed, exclaimed she did not know what she was doing or what she was suppose to do, when suddenly, at 11:38am, a new life entered the room, the youngest person on the planet for a second or two. I missed the actual exit it happened so fast. But there she was our new little family member. We were fortunate this time to not have any meconium in the delivery so our new baby was placed directly on Robyn's chest and she got to realize the double prize of her struggles (baby and pain relief). And we got to experience again the good and Godly tears of an enlarging family.
One thing that should not be overlooked is the admiration I have for Robyn. She was so strong and determined, and even when she thought she couldn't complete the task she set before herself, she did, and did it amazingly. I'm so proud of her and to be her husband; and so glad to have her be the guiding star for my two little girls to look up to.
Unfortunately our journey was not yet done. Robyn had internal hemorrhaging that the doctors were not able to stop there in the delivery room. After some deliberation we decided to send Robyn to the OR where she could receive some more powerful drugs and they could clear her uterus of blood clots and use a balloon type device to apply internal pressure to stop the bleeding. Robyn consented because her goal was only to deliver the baby without meds but she was more than willing to take as many as necessary once the baby was safely in our arms.
I went with the new baby to the nursery for her initial checkup while Robyn went to the OR. I thought Jason was going to go with her but the doctors wouldn't let anyone accompany her and it broke my heart to find out when I returned from the nursery that she had gone in there all alone. It was a mixed bag of joy for a successful delivery and the stress of having the love of your life go through more pain and I presumed danger. Luckily, for me, Jason was there with me; talking with him distracted my mind somewhat.
I would be remiss to not mention a thought that stayed with me throughout the day, before the day even, and still wanders through my brain now and maybe forever. We are so fortunate, so blessed and so fortunate. A friend of mine a few weeks prior, her little sister's husband had a heart infection that required surgery. After his surgery, maybe the day after, his wife delivered their first baby. He was there for that, he saw his little baby for ten minutes then complained of a headache, passed out and never awoke. Ten minutes. Those two words and so much weighty meaning have been with me since, and were especially there in the delivery room. I'd spent some days watching the clock, wondering what happens in ten minutes? When our baby was born I couldn't help but glance at the clock. Ten minutes went by so fast. The tears I shed that day weren't just for my family, and they weren't just for joy. On that day some sadness traveled with me as well. Those tears were for Baby Logan, his passed father Josh and his grieving mother Erica. What little help it may impart I don't know, but I hope they can one day know that their sorrows are spread far and wide, and maybe that net of humanity will somehow help hold up the weight they feel all around.
Those ten minutes passed so fast. I can't imagine. All I know is we've been unfathomably and unfairly blessed.
Robyn returned from the OR drugged up but in better repair. We waited for some of the fuzz to clear and then had Berkeley and Lynn come meet their new sister and granddaughter. It was a joyous meeting. Berkeley came in with the greatest smile, clearly eager to see us and her sister. She had written a note with the help of grandma telling us that she loved us. She wanted to hold the baby and she knew when the baby cried to rock her. It was a heart softening experience to see her little body bounce up and down in an attempt to soothe an even smaller body.
That night I went home with Berkeley and we played a little before she went to bed. Then exhaustion and stress and adrenaline and the after affects of a great emotional upheaval took their toll on me. I sat in front of the toilet for an hour, waiting for what my stomach told me was inevitable. But it never came, so instead I grabbed a bowl and curled up in a ball in my bed and let stomach pains do battle with an exhausted mind. Eventually the latter won out and I was a sleeping father of two.
The next morning I took a shower. And there something really sunk in that hadn't occur to me explicitly after Berkeley's birth. These little children and these big experiences of labor and delivery, they are great in and of themselves, but they are also mighty binding agents. It's hard to think of moments when I've felt closer to Robyn than during the birth of our two children. Because of that day and because of many days before us, these two little girls will draw Robyn and I so much closer. It's an honor and a privilege and I hope I can always do right by the three of them.
After the shower I had a new experience, so fast upon me, of having the competing interest of a child at home and a recovering wife and new baby at the hospital. I did't expect to have to cope with that point quite so soon. On the morning of the 23rd, I sat at home with Berkeley playing Legos. And there I had to manage what felt like gravity from some great star holding me at Berkeley's side while an infinite desire pulled at my heart to rejoin my wife and new one at the hospital. These shall be interesting and trying times no doubt.
The hospital stay beyond that wasn't too exciting. Robyn ended up staying two nights and had a blood transfusion before we left to get her red blood cell count up, but otherwise it was a good stay and we were ready to go home after the two days.
The hour before leaving the hospital we decided upon the name Frankie Wren Kessler. Robyn has always wanted to name a little girl Wren. We had another name that was up for serious contention that we would have loved to use too (Clementine J.). Robyn still isn't convinced she made the right choice. Frankie is in honor of her Uncle Frank, who we're sure will love her greatly, as he does Berkeley. We'll be calling her Wren when she's young and it will be interesting to see when she decides to discard her middle name in favor of her first name, if ever. Frankie Wren was preferred to Wren Frankie because of the way it rolls off the tongue.
Tonight I was struck by the microcosm of life that labor can represent. In such a compact little space you have necessary pain followed by an explosion of joy. So many other animals seem to produce less painful birth experiences. Somewhere in here, in our suffering, is humanity, perhaps. It too, the labor, in its own way, is a binding agent. To each other, there in the moment, and hopefully way beyond. Somewhere in all that is what it means to be human and to see the face of God.
And lastly, I reviewed my prior rememberance of Berkeley's birth and it's interesting to note how singular that event was. How I had nothing to compare it to. But this one, I can't even talk about it properly without comparing it to the first. They're too entwined. They always will be. Not just the event, but the girls. Somewhere in that is the essence of having a sibling. I hope it's a great experience for both of them.
On December 20th, Robyn was ten days past due and went in for her regular stress test for her and the baby's health. While there the doctors noted protein in her urine which is a symptom of preeclampsia. They also measured her blood pressure and had her do a more thorough 24 hour urine test. Blood pressure was elevated compared to prior measurements but not considered high for a healthy pregnant woman.
The next day, the 21st, we went to the labor and delivery floor of UCSF to turn in the sample and talk to the doctors. They wouldn't have the results right away but they took Robyn's blood pressure again and monitored the baby for about an hour. All seemed well but the doctors pushed for induction because of her still elevated blood pressure, but Robyn greatly wanted to avoid induction. The official diagnosis was gestational hypertension, but they'd have the results from the 24 hour tests in a few hours and at that point they could decide to either call it preeclampsia or stick with hypertension. Either way they wanted to induce but with the preeclampsia they REALLY wanted to induce. Some major risks of preeclampsia: strokes and seizures; delivery of the baby/placenta is the only way to completely avoid the risks.
We decided to not induce at that time but would wait for the test results, hoping it was just hypertension. At midnight they called to tell us that the tests confirmed there were elevated levels of protein and that they were now extra interested in induction. We agreed to come in at 5am so that we could get some sleep prior to starting what we recalled being a very intense and tiring process with Berkeley.
At 4am we woke and had our friend Courtney come over and stay with Berkeley. We had warned Berkeley the last few nights that she might wake up one morning and find Courtney or Grandma Lynn there rather than us so we were sure she'd be fine with the change. We packed our mostly already packed bags and headed off to the hospital once Courtney arrived.
When we arrived at the hospital we called Lynn to tell her to come relieve Courtney whenever was convenient Also there at the hospital we met our friend Jenny who was going to be with us throughout the labor as a helping and comforting hand. For our prior labor and delivery Leisel took the journey with us, and we were hoping she would be here again, but that little baby cooked too long. But we felt confident and comfortable having Jenny's loving hands and heart there with us.
The trip over to the hospital was so different from when we did it with Berkeley. The first time Robyn had already labored at home for hours and was having mighty contractions. We noticed every bump and stop (her more than me); this time it was a calm drive up the same road with little to no note of the condition of the road.
We were admitted as planned and then assigned to beautiful labor room 2 (which has the best views, maybe in the entire city, not to brag). Robyn's blood pressure had gone up some more, but was still at safe levels. She was hooked up to an IV so that pitocin could be added to her blood stream. Some blood samples were drawn and by 8:30am they started dripping small amounts of the synthetic hormone into her body.
The great difficulty for Robyn was that we had been told that the introduction of pitocin can make labor pains more intense than those that come naturally. She wanted to do the delivery without pain medication, especially no epidural, and she worried that the pitocin would make that task all the harder. The doctors and nurses assured us that they could start off the contractions slowly so to simulate the natural birth process but at the peak strength the contractions would be, and must be, very strong regardless of whether or not pitocin was used or the process was started naturally. So we hoped and prayed that the pain could be managed even with the introduction of the hormone.
At the point of induction I called Jason and let him know that we had started; he planned to join us later that morning. I felt a little out of sorts at that point. Robyn didn't seem to need any specific assistance and even when the contractions started they were pretty minor. The nurse suggested that Jenny and I go get some breakfast. It seemed like a crazy idea to me but everyone else was on board so I assumed it must not be that crazy to leave Robyn on her own at this point. Breakfast was had, and we quickly went back up stairs.
The baby's heartbeat was monitored and the familiar thump thump of the monitoring system started up. It brought a tear to Jenny's eye as she remembered her own pregnancies. I on the other hand dread that sound a little; it was a source of stress for us with Berkeley's delivery. The length of the delivery had the heart rate changing frequently and the doctors worrying about it. This time we barely took note of it. It's so very strange how different the two experiences were starting out.
The pitocin levels were increased and soon the contraction strength matched the new levels of the pitocin. Robyn opted for a spell in the bathtub. She threw-up a lot during Berkeley's delivery and was feeling nauseated this time too. She really didn't want to go through the constant vomiting again. But more of a concern to the doctors was her blood pressure. Recent readings had reached levels too high. So they gave her some meds to try to bring it down. This worked a little but she remained right below the "too high" level for most of the rest of her delivery. Because preeclampsia causes seizures they wanted to put her on magnesium sulfate to help prevent them. It's a very rare symptom but they wanted to be precautious. There didn't appear to be any major side effects to the magnesium sulfate so we consented to it.
The contractions in the tub started being super strong, strong like I remembered seeing with Berkeley. Finally I felt I had something to do besides sit around and stare at my hands or out the window. Jenny seemed much better prepared and equipped for those quiet hours before the labor got really intense. She knew immediately to take a beeping medical device out of the room to avoid bothering Robyn (I just stupidly messed with it trying to figure out how to make it shut up). The muscle memory of lending Robyn my strength through words and body contact came back and I think I did a swell job of coaching her through some very difficult contractions. We did a lot of breathing. A lot of remembering the utility of the pain. And a lot of encouraging.
Jason arrived near the end of the bath. Though I didn't see him in that moment I knew he was there and a certain amount of relief filled my own body.
Once the magnesium sulfate was ready Robyn had to depart the bath. They didn't want her having seizures in the water. We took the long, long trip from the bathtub to the bed. Though the distance was mere tens of feet, the journey felt much longer and was great and trying.
I asked the nurse if Robyn could be checked for progress, she hadn't been checked since we came in that morning but the prior day she had already been at 4 centimeters. They hadn't checked earlier because she hadn't had any contractions between that time and when the induction started.
She laid down on the bed and one of the doctors came in to check her out. Eight centimeters was the determination. Robyn was laboring very strong at that point, I think in her mind she had to already be a ten and nothing less than a nine was going to ease her mind.
Things happened fast from there. Mostly I remember words.
Robyn: "NO NO NO NO NO."
Robyn: "I can't, it can't be only eight."
Robyn: "I can't do it."
Nurse: "The next two will go so fast."
Me: "You can do it. You are doing it."
Nurse: "Doctor don't leave. She's grunting. It will happen soon."
Suddenly someone picked up a phone and then the room was filled with nurses and doctors. They asked Robyn to rollover (there was some cord maneuvering that needed to happen) but she was somewhere else, somewhere primal where words and requests cease to mean what they mean to you and me in our regular waking hours. She arched her back. She howled. She wailed. She reasserted over and over that she didn't know what to do. Did she speak to me or the doctors or the baby or God? I can't say, but oh my heart.
One doctor told me I needed to make Robyn do what they were asking. As if I had super powers or something. As if I was the one who bent rivers and moved mountains. We did eventually get her to make the requested movements and no more than five minutes after she was checked, the baby's head made its first appearance. Nine had come and gone. Ten was here. It was time to push.
When Berkeley was born Robyn pushed for three hours while protected by an epidural. It was a long tiring process, like raising an army. But this baby was nothing like that. In the full throws of her motherly pains she pushed and wailed, exclaimed she did not know what she was doing or what she was suppose to do, when suddenly, at 11:38am, a new life entered the room, the youngest person on the planet for a second or two. I missed the actual exit it happened so fast. But there she was our new little family member. We were fortunate this time to not have any meconium in the delivery so our new baby was placed directly on Robyn's chest and she got to realize the double prize of her struggles (baby and pain relief). And we got to experience again the good and Godly tears of an enlarging family.
One thing that should not be overlooked is the admiration I have for Robyn. She was so strong and determined, and even when she thought she couldn't complete the task she set before herself, she did, and did it amazingly. I'm so proud of her and to be her husband; and so glad to have her be the guiding star for my two little girls to look up to.
Unfortunately our journey was not yet done. Robyn had internal hemorrhaging that the doctors were not able to stop there in the delivery room. After some deliberation we decided to send Robyn to the OR where she could receive some more powerful drugs and they could clear her uterus of blood clots and use a balloon type device to apply internal pressure to stop the bleeding. Robyn consented because her goal was only to deliver the baby without meds but she was more than willing to take as many as necessary once the baby was safely in our arms.
I went with the new baby to the nursery for her initial checkup while Robyn went to the OR. I thought Jason was going to go with her but the doctors wouldn't let anyone accompany her and it broke my heart to find out when I returned from the nursery that she had gone in there all alone. It was a mixed bag of joy for a successful delivery and the stress of having the love of your life go through more pain and I presumed danger. Luckily, for me, Jason was there with me; talking with him distracted my mind somewhat.
I would be remiss to not mention a thought that stayed with me throughout the day, before the day even, and still wanders through my brain now and maybe forever. We are so fortunate, so blessed and so fortunate. A friend of mine a few weeks prior, her little sister's husband had a heart infection that required surgery. After his surgery, maybe the day after, his wife delivered their first baby. He was there for that, he saw his little baby for ten minutes then complained of a headache, passed out and never awoke. Ten minutes. Those two words and so much weighty meaning have been with me since, and were especially there in the delivery room. I'd spent some days watching the clock, wondering what happens in ten minutes? When our baby was born I couldn't help but glance at the clock. Ten minutes went by so fast. The tears I shed that day weren't just for my family, and they weren't just for joy. On that day some sadness traveled with me as well. Those tears were for Baby Logan, his passed father Josh and his grieving mother Erica. What little help it may impart I don't know, but I hope they can one day know that their sorrows are spread far and wide, and maybe that net of humanity will somehow help hold up the weight they feel all around.
Those ten minutes passed so fast. I can't imagine. All I know is we've been unfathomably and unfairly blessed.
Robyn returned from the OR drugged up but in better repair. We waited for some of the fuzz to clear and then had Berkeley and Lynn come meet their new sister and granddaughter. It was a joyous meeting. Berkeley came in with the greatest smile, clearly eager to see us and her sister. She had written a note with the help of grandma telling us that she loved us. She wanted to hold the baby and she knew when the baby cried to rock her. It was a heart softening experience to see her little body bounce up and down in an attempt to soothe an even smaller body.
That night I went home with Berkeley and we played a little before she went to bed. Then exhaustion and stress and adrenaline and the after affects of a great emotional upheaval took their toll on me. I sat in front of the toilet for an hour, waiting for what my stomach told me was inevitable. But it never came, so instead I grabbed a bowl and curled up in a ball in my bed and let stomach pains do battle with an exhausted mind. Eventually the latter won out and I was a sleeping father of two.
The next morning I took a shower. And there something really sunk in that hadn't occur to me explicitly after Berkeley's birth. These little children and these big experiences of labor and delivery, they are great in and of themselves, but they are also mighty binding agents. It's hard to think of moments when I've felt closer to Robyn than during the birth of our two children. Because of that day and because of many days before us, these two little girls will draw Robyn and I so much closer. It's an honor and a privilege and I hope I can always do right by the three of them.
After the shower I had a new experience, so fast upon me, of having the competing interest of a child at home and a recovering wife and new baby at the hospital. I did't expect to have to cope with that point quite so soon. On the morning of the 23rd, I sat at home with Berkeley playing Legos. And there I had to manage what felt like gravity from some great star holding me at Berkeley's side while an infinite desire pulled at my heart to rejoin my wife and new one at the hospital. These shall be interesting and trying times no doubt.
The hospital stay beyond that wasn't too exciting. Robyn ended up staying two nights and had a blood transfusion before we left to get her red blood cell count up, but otherwise it was a good stay and we were ready to go home after the two days.
The hour before leaving the hospital we decided upon the name Frankie Wren Kessler. Robyn has always wanted to name a little girl Wren. We had another name that was up for serious contention that we would have loved to use too (Clementine J.). Robyn still isn't convinced she made the right choice. Frankie is in honor of her Uncle Frank, who we're sure will love her greatly, as he does Berkeley. We'll be calling her Wren when she's young and it will be interesting to see when she decides to discard her middle name in favor of her first name, if ever. Frankie Wren was preferred to Wren Frankie because of the way it rolls off the tongue.
Tonight I was struck by the microcosm of life that labor can represent. In such a compact little space you have necessary pain followed by an explosion of joy. So many other animals seem to produce less painful birth experiences. Somewhere in here, in our suffering, is humanity, perhaps. It too, the labor, in its own way, is a binding agent. To each other, there in the moment, and hopefully way beyond. Somewhere in all that is what it means to be human and to see the face of God.
And lastly, I reviewed my prior rememberance of Berkeley's birth and it's interesting to note how singular that event was. How I had nothing to compare it to. But this one, I can't even talk about it properly without comparing it to the first. They're too entwined. They always will be. Not just the event, but the girls. Somewhere in that is the essence of having a sibling. I hope it's a great experience for both of them.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Samuel Hamilton
Samuel's children, in thinking and talking about him:
"They all wanted to say the same thing--all of them. Samuel was an old man. It was as startling a discovery as the sudden seeing of a ghost. Somehow they had not believed it could happen. They drank their whisky and talked softly of the new thought.
His shoulders--did you see how they slump? And there's no spring in his step.
His toes drag a little, but it's not that--it's in his eyes. His eyes are old.
He never would go to bed until last.
Did you notice he forgot what he was saying right in the middle of a story?
It's his skin told me. It's gone wrinkled, and the backs of his hands have turned transparent.
He favors his right leg.
Yes, but that's the one the horse broke.
I know, but he never favored it before.
They said these things in outrage. This can't happen, they were saying. Father can't be an old man. Samuel is young as the dawn--the perpetual dawn.
He might get old as midday maybe, but sweet God! the evening cannot come, and the night--? Sweet God, no!
It was natural that their minds leaped on and recoiled, and they would not speak of that, but their minds said, There can't be any world without Samuel.
How could we think about anything without knowing what he thought about it?
What would the spring be like, or Christmas, or rain? There couldn't be a Christmas."
I read these words for the first time, I suspect, somewhere around 2005 or 2006. Six-hundred pages of beautifully constructed sentences and these are the ones that stood out in my mind. But it wasn't a clear vision. I didn't write them down anywhere. They spoke to me, and like anything that makes its way through time but isn't pinned down and crystallized into some form of permanence, the words became jumbled and confused. My memory of them were condensed down to two of the sentences incorrectly mashed together. I had to re-read this novel because somewhere in its depths I thought it said, "Without their father Samuel, they wouldn't know what to think about the rain."
When I closed the book after finishing it the first time I thought to myself, I must read this again before I become a father. It had joined a very short list of books that also/only included "To Kill a Mocking Bird." I had at least four years to accomplish the task but never quite got around to reading both books prior to Berkeley joining our family. I did re-read "To Kill a Mocking Bird" but "East of Eden" was always harder to get back to; a six hundred page book is no small commitment. With baby number two merely a week away (if she arrives on time) I have another three hundred and fifty pages to go to make good on my vow before becoming a father a second time.
I always felt that the story was suppose to be about Adam and Kathy and their two boys more than it was about the Hamilton family. Samuel wasn't quite the main character and whenever I hear people talk about the novel they rarely mention him, instead they make reference to the bigger biblical allusions in the Trask family. It's hard for a character to hold the attention of readers when placed next to someone as big and horrible as Kathy. But to me, the story is Samuel's.
But why these sentences? Now that I have a child I realize there is no small conceit in my hope that my children will one day duplicate the feelings Samuel's children expressed. And yet, after reading about his relationship with his children and those specific sentences again, my fondness of the idea holds no less of a sway over me.
I feel some need to defend myself and my desires. If you read the novel you'll notice that what Samuel does not do is he does not force or even aim to make his children resemble his own character. He finds ways to enjoy their various personalities, and celebrates them in ways that make sense to him. He tries not to lead them to a specific path, but he's certainly the backbone of their journey, a stable force, an iron rod, a trusted source, even when in disagreement. His children don't know how to think about the rain not because they depend on Samuel to tell them what to think about the rain, but because he has taught them how to think, period. He's a pool of water they can throw a rock into and always know, without a doubt, that the rock will make a splash and from that splash will ripple out little waves. What those movements mean are up to them to divine but he's equipped them with the tools to do so and the place to test the waters, to wonder. This is what I hope I can one day offer my children.
"They all wanted to say the same thing--all of them. Samuel was an old man. It was as startling a discovery as the sudden seeing of a ghost. Somehow they had not believed it could happen. They drank their whisky and talked softly of the new thought.
His shoulders--did you see how they slump? And there's no spring in his step.
His toes drag a little, but it's not that--it's in his eyes. His eyes are old.
He never would go to bed until last.
Did you notice he forgot what he was saying right in the middle of a story?
It's his skin told me. It's gone wrinkled, and the backs of his hands have turned transparent.
He favors his right leg.
Yes, but that's the one the horse broke.
I know, but he never favored it before.
They said these things in outrage. This can't happen, they were saying. Father can't be an old man. Samuel is young as the dawn--the perpetual dawn.
He might get old as midday maybe, but sweet God! the evening cannot come, and the night--? Sweet God, no!
It was natural that their minds leaped on and recoiled, and they would not speak of that, but their minds said, There can't be any world without Samuel.
How could we think about anything without knowing what he thought about it?
What would the spring be like, or Christmas, or rain? There couldn't be a Christmas."
I read these words for the first time, I suspect, somewhere around 2005 or 2006. Six-hundred pages of beautifully constructed sentences and these are the ones that stood out in my mind. But it wasn't a clear vision. I didn't write them down anywhere. They spoke to me, and like anything that makes its way through time but isn't pinned down and crystallized into some form of permanence, the words became jumbled and confused. My memory of them were condensed down to two of the sentences incorrectly mashed together. I had to re-read this novel because somewhere in its depths I thought it said, "Without their father Samuel, they wouldn't know what to think about the rain."
When I closed the book after finishing it the first time I thought to myself, I must read this again before I become a father. It had joined a very short list of books that also/only included "To Kill a Mocking Bird." I had at least four years to accomplish the task but never quite got around to reading both books prior to Berkeley joining our family. I did re-read "To Kill a Mocking Bird" but "East of Eden" was always harder to get back to; a six hundred page book is no small commitment. With baby number two merely a week away (if she arrives on time) I have another three hundred and fifty pages to go to make good on my vow before becoming a father a second time.
I always felt that the story was suppose to be about Adam and Kathy and their two boys more than it was about the Hamilton family. Samuel wasn't quite the main character and whenever I hear people talk about the novel they rarely mention him, instead they make reference to the bigger biblical allusions in the Trask family. It's hard for a character to hold the attention of readers when placed next to someone as big and horrible as Kathy. But to me, the story is Samuel's.
But why these sentences? Now that I have a child I realize there is no small conceit in my hope that my children will one day duplicate the feelings Samuel's children expressed. And yet, after reading about his relationship with his children and those specific sentences again, my fondness of the idea holds no less of a sway over me.
I feel some need to defend myself and my desires. If you read the novel you'll notice that what Samuel does not do is he does not force or even aim to make his children resemble his own character. He finds ways to enjoy their various personalities, and celebrates them in ways that make sense to him. He tries not to lead them to a specific path, but he's certainly the backbone of their journey, a stable force, an iron rod, a trusted source, even when in disagreement. His children don't know how to think about the rain not because they depend on Samuel to tell them what to think about the rain, but because he has taught them how to think, period. He's a pool of water they can throw a rock into and always know, without a doubt, that the rock will make a splash and from that splash will ripple out little waves. What those movements mean are up to them to divine but he's equipped them with the tools to do so and the place to test the waters, to wonder. This is what I hope I can one day offer my children.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
August and Everything After
Grantland brought to my attention the fact that August and Everything After, Counting Crows' debut album, was released 20 years ago this month (September). The article is fun, though the author is wrong when he states that their second album was their best (all albums after their first are so inferior that it baffles my mind how they're even related to the first). That's beside the point though, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention a word or two about the album given that it is celebrating a major birthday and its significance in my own life.
I can't recall exactly how I became aware of the album. Surely I had heard Mr. Jones on the radio, but, as I'll explain later, that wouldn't have been reason for me to go out and make the purchase. I'm also pretty certain I didn't buy it in 1993, maybe 94 or 95. My only real guess is my best friend Jason, who lived half a country away, probably recommended it, a recommendation he probably regrets to some degree (again, more on that later). But I like its entry into my life being a mystery.
Leaving high school I probably owned five full length CDs of any importance to me:
But life wasn't like a Nine Inch Nails album, it wasn't like a Marilyn Manson album. What life was like was August and Everything After. What life and the album convinced me of, on a variety of levels, was that I was destined for heartache. And much of the album is a mental map of my failed early attempts at courtship with Robyn.
The amazing thing about this album, for me, is that at different points in time almost every single one of the songs on it was my favorite. As a whole, it remains my favorite album.
1. Round Here - Although this was never my favorite song it has the distinction of always being my second favorite song on the album. Other songs would rise to the top and then sink back below the white-on-white fog of this song. Thematically the song always felt a little off compared to the other songs that I loved the most on the album. It feels more like a portrait of a girl, while the songs I loved the most were portraits of a boy who loves a girl.
I once heard a joke in Sunday school. What's the most read verse of the Book of Mormon? First Nephi, Chapter 1, verse 1. The joke being (I have to explain this) that most people, even the devote, start the book but never finish it, and First Nephi chapter 1, verse 1 is the start of the book. Similarly, I listened to this CD back before music was online, or even on your computer (other than with the intent of putting it on another CD), so I always listened to it straight through, and so this song is likely the single most listened to song in the existence of Shawn. Can I be certain? From my last year of high school through to the end of college I literally fell asleep listening to this album six or seven times a week. Here is why Jason probably regrets having introduced the CD to me; he had the great misfortune of being my roommate for all four years of college. It might also be his single most listened to song.
2. Omaha - Another thematically confusing song to me. It unfortunately isn't as pretty lyrically or musically as the first song and so it never made its way deep into my heart. I remember once stumbling on the fact that one of my friends (hi Betsy) loved, loved, loved this album and she considered this her favorite song on the album. It blew my mind, it still blows my mind.
3. Mr. Jones - It took almost 20 years for me to appreciate Mr. Jones at all, I always considered it the low point of the album. In a record of broken heart love songs this one felt the furthest from the mark. In addition the up-beat tempo felt like a song destined for an album of happier times. I didn't hate the song because the radio played the crap out of it, remember I listened the album nightly so I'm suited to hearing the same music a lot. On an album of muted grays and blacks, this song shined. I wanted to cover my eyes and ears when it came on, for the shock of it.
I recall the moment pretty vividly still. Driving along a back road in Northern California, headed to a Vegan BBQ retreat at the Farm Sanctuary, enjoying the green grasses blowing in the wind, the warm sun on my skin, and the twisting roads, this song came on the radio and I really really really listened to it. And there was this little thing that clicked in my head. I'm not sure how true it is or if it was the intent, but I see this song now as a meta song about the album itself. Which still places it at odds with most of the other songs but it helps ease the pressure of its existence at this precise moment in time. The other songs are songs about love. A boy in love. Losing that love. And what that feels like. But what this song is about is about that same boy meeting someone else, someone older whose already been there and done that, and to some degree still is groping around trying to fill that missing love. Mr. Jones is precisely the kind of guy who would love this album.
4. Perfect Blue Buildings - Now we're getting somewhere! Look, as the Grantland article pointed out the lyrics on this album aren't mysterious and deep like a Nirvana song can be, but it's also not as opaque and lifeless as a lot of love songs (they are kicking the crap out of most country songs). The lyrics here use symbolism to set the mood, is there anything more somber than a perfect blue building? I'm not convinced there is. This was probably my first favorite song on the album. I love some of the simpler lyrics, "I have bones beneath my skin," "where I have friends who care for me," "help me stay awake, I'm falling."
5. Anna Begins - This is one that was a favorite early on and stays near the top. It never fails to impress me. Never fails to yank at my heart. Never fails to make me think of failed romance. The lyrics from beginning to end slay me. If I tried to quote some of my favorite lyrics it would likely include the entirety of this song. I'll try to pull out my favorite three, "It seems like I should say, as long as this is love, but it's not all that easy." "Every time she sneezes I believe it's love." Poor Robyn. "I'm not ready for this sort of thing." The last proves nothing on lyrical quality but how great Adam's voice is at delivering even these simple lines with emotion. OK, one more: "Maybe I should, snap her up in a butterfly net, pin her down on a photograph album."
6. Time and Time Again - "I wanted so badly, someone other than me, staring back at me. I wanted to see you walking backwards, get the sensation of you coming home. I wanted to see you, walking away from me, without the sensation of your leaving me alone." I think I spent two years of college feeling this way about Robyn. Just want want want want wanting, without a clue on how to make it happen. I felt like I got close time and time again. And each time it drew near again I wondered if this time it would last or if I should be guarded (smart?) and not get my hopes too high. I always got my hopes too high. Why fly if you're going to stay near the ground?
7. Rain King - This song has the same up-beatness to it that Mr. Jones has but I never had a problem with it. And though it isn't in my top three or four songs it always felt the most "Counting Crows" to me. Like it some how exemplified them as a band. It's so perfect now when I see crows in the rain I think of them as "rain kings." The song has made me love the metaphor of lover as queen.
8. Sullivan Street - There may not be 10 seconds of guitar that stirs my soul more than the beginning of this song. Sullivan Street currently reigns as my favorite song on the album, and has been in this most honored place for perhaps the longest of all. It's spot, I suspect, is secure for all time and eternity. This is the perfect broken down love song. Not a violent I hate you sort of break up, but something softer and yet just as devastating. When Robyn spurned me all those years ago, I walked with my head down, lost, along my own Sullivan Street. The mood of the song and the lyrics capture perfectly what I felt when I felt the saddest I've ever felt. However terrible, it's an amazing gift to be able to dial up that sort of emotion pretty much at will. "Past the shadows that fall down wherever we meet." "Pretty soon now, I won't come around." "If she remembers, she hides it whenever we meet." DEATH! "Either way now, I don't really care." LIES! "Cause I'm gone from there."
The song basically ends with this lyric "It's almost everything I need." I love the line. When they released a live album I was sort "eh" about it but Adam does this thing with this line, where he sings it and then alters what comes next to "no no no no no, It's EVERYTHING." I don't know if I can explain how much that alteration means to me.
9. Ghost Train - This song actually never made it to the top of my favorite list. It never inspired the same level of distaste I had for Mr. Jones or even Omaha, but I've never been particularly attached to it, except in as much as it's part of the album and seems perfectly natural here now.
10. Raining in Baltimore - The desire for a phone call and a rain coat have never been sadder. You want to mope in your loving sadness? Wait for a rainy day, put some headphones in, and take walk and get soaked while listening to this song. Totally worth it. "I miss you, I guess that I should." I think this song is the best example of the passion in Adam's voice. I can't imagine anyone else singing it with the same impact.
11. A Murder of One - After my initial infatuation with some of the other songs this one crept into my subconscious and became my favorite for an extended period of time, but was eventually overcome by Sullivan Street. I don't think I even realized I liked the song, or that I knew it well. It being at the end of the album, I rarely heard it when I was falling asleep. But it perched in my sleeping ear like a crow on a fence, singing its song.
When Robyn dated other people I thought of this song often. It reinforced this notion in my mind that none of them could be as good to her as I would be. In all my arrogance, I worried "all [her] life would be such a shame shame shame," if she didn't pick me.
For the longest time I thought this song contained my favorite lyric, "There's a perfectness in side you, sleeping underneath your skin, when you open up your wings to speak I wish you'd let me in." I probably believed this to be the lyrics for a good five years. One day I read the actual lyrics and was destroyed when I saw it's "There's a bird that nests in side you." ACK! Anyway, that was a sad day. It may or may not have corresponded with the switch from this to Sullivan Street being my favorite song.
Other funny thing, I never understood the title. I don't know that I really get it even now, but it occurred to me just this year that the "Murder" in the title is not a murder as in death, but is the word for a group of crows. It's a group of one crows. A lonely crow. I'm dumb, but I love that 20 years later I'm still unearthing little nuggets in the album.
I can't recall exactly how I became aware of the album. Surely I had heard Mr. Jones on the radio, but, as I'll explain later, that wouldn't have been reason for me to go out and make the purchase. I'm also pretty certain I didn't buy it in 1993, maybe 94 or 95. My only real guess is my best friend Jason, who lived half a country away, probably recommended it, a recommendation he probably regrets to some degree (again, more on that later). But I like its entry into my life being a mystery.
Leaving high school I probably owned five full length CDs of any importance to me:
- August and Everything After
- Pretty Hate Machine
- Little Earthquakes
- Portrait of an American Family
- Rage Against the Machine
But life wasn't like a Nine Inch Nails album, it wasn't like a Marilyn Manson album. What life was like was August and Everything After. What life and the album convinced me of, on a variety of levels, was that I was destined for heartache. And much of the album is a mental map of my failed early attempts at courtship with Robyn.
The amazing thing about this album, for me, is that at different points in time almost every single one of the songs on it was my favorite. As a whole, it remains my favorite album.
1. Round Here - Although this was never my favorite song it has the distinction of always being my second favorite song on the album. Other songs would rise to the top and then sink back below the white-on-white fog of this song. Thematically the song always felt a little off compared to the other songs that I loved the most on the album. It feels more like a portrait of a girl, while the songs I loved the most were portraits of a boy who loves a girl.
I once heard a joke in Sunday school. What's the most read verse of the Book of Mormon? First Nephi, Chapter 1, verse 1. The joke being (I have to explain this) that most people, even the devote, start the book but never finish it, and First Nephi chapter 1, verse 1 is the start of the book. Similarly, I listened to this CD back before music was online, or even on your computer (other than with the intent of putting it on another CD), so I always listened to it straight through, and so this song is likely the single most listened to song in the existence of Shawn. Can I be certain? From my last year of high school through to the end of college I literally fell asleep listening to this album six or seven times a week. Here is why Jason probably regrets having introduced the CD to me; he had the great misfortune of being my roommate for all four years of college. It might also be his single most listened to song.
2. Omaha - Another thematically confusing song to me. It unfortunately isn't as pretty lyrically or musically as the first song and so it never made its way deep into my heart. I remember once stumbling on the fact that one of my friends (hi Betsy) loved, loved, loved this album and she considered this her favorite song on the album. It blew my mind, it still blows my mind.
3. Mr. Jones - It took almost 20 years for me to appreciate Mr. Jones at all, I always considered it the low point of the album. In a record of broken heart love songs this one felt the furthest from the mark. In addition the up-beat tempo felt like a song destined for an album of happier times. I didn't hate the song because the radio played the crap out of it, remember I listened the album nightly so I'm suited to hearing the same music a lot. On an album of muted grays and blacks, this song shined. I wanted to cover my eyes and ears when it came on, for the shock of it.
I recall the moment pretty vividly still. Driving along a back road in Northern California, headed to a Vegan BBQ retreat at the Farm Sanctuary, enjoying the green grasses blowing in the wind, the warm sun on my skin, and the twisting roads, this song came on the radio and I really really really listened to it. And there was this little thing that clicked in my head. I'm not sure how true it is or if it was the intent, but I see this song now as a meta song about the album itself. Which still places it at odds with most of the other songs but it helps ease the pressure of its existence at this precise moment in time. The other songs are songs about love. A boy in love. Losing that love. And what that feels like. But what this song is about is about that same boy meeting someone else, someone older whose already been there and done that, and to some degree still is groping around trying to fill that missing love. Mr. Jones is precisely the kind of guy who would love this album.
4. Perfect Blue Buildings - Now we're getting somewhere! Look, as the Grantland article pointed out the lyrics on this album aren't mysterious and deep like a Nirvana song can be, but it's also not as opaque and lifeless as a lot of love songs (they are kicking the crap out of most country songs). The lyrics here use symbolism to set the mood, is there anything more somber than a perfect blue building? I'm not convinced there is. This was probably my first favorite song on the album. I love some of the simpler lyrics, "I have bones beneath my skin," "where I have friends who care for me," "help me stay awake, I'm falling."
5. Anna Begins - This is one that was a favorite early on and stays near the top. It never fails to impress me. Never fails to yank at my heart. Never fails to make me think of failed romance. The lyrics from beginning to end slay me. If I tried to quote some of my favorite lyrics it would likely include the entirety of this song. I'll try to pull out my favorite three, "It seems like I should say, as long as this is love, but it's not all that easy." "Every time she sneezes I believe it's love." Poor Robyn. "I'm not ready for this sort of thing." The last proves nothing on lyrical quality but how great Adam's voice is at delivering even these simple lines with emotion. OK, one more: "Maybe I should, snap her up in a butterfly net, pin her down on a photograph album."
6. Time and Time Again - "I wanted so badly, someone other than me, staring back at me. I wanted to see you walking backwards, get the sensation of you coming home. I wanted to see you, walking away from me, without the sensation of your leaving me alone." I think I spent two years of college feeling this way about Robyn. Just want want want want wanting, without a clue on how to make it happen. I felt like I got close time and time again. And each time it drew near again I wondered if this time it would last or if I should be guarded (smart?) and not get my hopes too high. I always got my hopes too high. Why fly if you're going to stay near the ground?
7. Rain King - This song has the same up-beatness to it that Mr. Jones has but I never had a problem with it. And though it isn't in my top three or four songs it always felt the most "Counting Crows" to me. Like it some how exemplified them as a band. It's so perfect now when I see crows in the rain I think of them as "rain kings." The song has made me love the metaphor of lover as queen.
8. Sullivan Street - There may not be 10 seconds of guitar that stirs my soul more than the beginning of this song. Sullivan Street currently reigns as my favorite song on the album, and has been in this most honored place for perhaps the longest of all. It's spot, I suspect, is secure for all time and eternity. This is the perfect broken down love song. Not a violent I hate you sort of break up, but something softer and yet just as devastating. When Robyn spurned me all those years ago, I walked with my head down, lost, along my own Sullivan Street. The mood of the song and the lyrics capture perfectly what I felt when I felt the saddest I've ever felt. However terrible, it's an amazing gift to be able to dial up that sort of emotion pretty much at will. "Past the shadows that fall down wherever we meet." "Pretty soon now, I won't come around." "If she remembers, she hides it whenever we meet." DEATH! "Either way now, I don't really care." LIES! "Cause I'm gone from there."
The song basically ends with this lyric "It's almost everything I need." I love the line. When they released a live album I was sort "eh" about it but Adam does this thing with this line, where he sings it and then alters what comes next to "no no no no no, It's EVERYTHING." I don't know if I can explain how much that alteration means to me.
9. Ghost Train - This song actually never made it to the top of my favorite list. It never inspired the same level of distaste I had for Mr. Jones or even Omaha, but I've never been particularly attached to it, except in as much as it's part of the album and seems perfectly natural here now.
10. Raining in Baltimore - The desire for a phone call and a rain coat have never been sadder. You want to mope in your loving sadness? Wait for a rainy day, put some headphones in, and take walk and get soaked while listening to this song. Totally worth it. "I miss you, I guess that I should." I think this song is the best example of the passion in Adam's voice. I can't imagine anyone else singing it with the same impact.
11. A Murder of One - After my initial infatuation with some of the other songs this one crept into my subconscious and became my favorite for an extended period of time, but was eventually overcome by Sullivan Street. I don't think I even realized I liked the song, or that I knew it well. It being at the end of the album, I rarely heard it when I was falling asleep. But it perched in my sleeping ear like a crow on a fence, singing its song.
When Robyn dated other people I thought of this song often. It reinforced this notion in my mind that none of them could be as good to her as I would be. In all my arrogance, I worried "all [her] life would be such a shame shame shame," if she didn't pick me.
For the longest time I thought this song contained my favorite lyric, "There's a perfectness in side you, sleeping underneath your skin, when you open up your wings to speak I wish you'd let me in." I probably believed this to be the lyrics for a good five years. One day I read the actual lyrics and was destroyed when I saw it's "There's a bird that nests in side you." ACK! Anyway, that was a sad day. It may or may not have corresponded with the switch from this to Sullivan Street being my favorite song.
Other funny thing, I never understood the title. I don't know that I really get it even now, but it occurred to me just this year that the "Murder" in the title is not a murder as in death, but is the word for a group of crows. It's a group of one crows. A lonely crow. I'm dumb, but I love that 20 years later I'm still unearthing little nuggets in the album.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
The Story of a Marriage
I burned through this book pretty quickly.
While the theme is probably what the author wants us to talk about I can't help but first talk about plot devices. The author really wanted to throw us for some loops. I guessed the first, he left enough bread crumbs (maybe just one but it was a big one that left me wondering why he didn't just come out and say what the "surprise" was with such a blatant hint half way through the first section). But I was blind sided by most of the others, just like Pearlie was. However on a smaller level the plot devices used were a little annoying. People would say things or pick things up but rather than be told what was said or what was picked up I'd have to read another chapter to see what was picked up or said. I can only imagine this was done to get us to keep turning the pages, but it actually slowed me down as I had to re-read the paragraph or two around those sections to try to figure out if I'd just missed a detail or if it was again intentionally left off to keep me in suspense.
Enough about the plot, but a little more about writing style. Greer loves similes, a lot. In my own writing I often worry that I put too many in, but I feel reassured when I compare myself to Greer. Luckily most of his similes are really good, but yeah, I started to notice their ever-presence. (If I was feeling really clever I'd make a simile right now comparing his production of similes to something else, but I'm not feeling really clever right now).
Now, finally, at last, the theme. What do we know about the people around us, especially our spouses? It's a good theme, one with a lot to look at, however I think Greer didn't deal with it with much nuance. To make the husband and wife opaque to each other he had to literally have them never talk about anything of any importance. The relationship didn't feel real because of this. Mind you, I'm sure there are relationships where a pretty substantial lack of communication is present but my hope (and experience, though small) is that most people just don't live like that, at least not to the degree that Pearlie and Holland did. Of course this very gulf between them made it easier for him to make his point, you don't know your spouse so much as you know a construction of your spouse that you've constructed in your head. It happens to all of us, even if to a lesser degree, but hopefully we're doing better than these two were. Have I beat this horse dead yet? I think so.
The writing was beautiful. I picked the book up for two reasons. 1) I read the Confessions of Max Tivoli a while ago and loved it and 2) It took place in the Sunset District of San Francisco, which is where I live, the familiarity of the environment adds a bit of fun to a story. While some of the plot devices were distracting I was pulled into the story and had a hard time putting the book down, I couldn't look away from their marriage. One might argue that it is as much a story about war (or the effects of war) as it is a story about marriage. I don't think one would be wrong in making that argument, but I'd probably have to read the story a second time with that in mind to talk sensibly about it. Maybe I will one day, it's a pretty short novel.
While the theme is probably what the author wants us to talk about I can't help but first talk about plot devices. The author really wanted to throw us for some loops. I guessed the first, he left enough bread crumbs (maybe just one but it was a big one that left me wondering why he didn't just come out and say what the "surprise" was with such a blatant hint half way through the first section). But I was blind sided by most of the others, just like Pearlie was. However on a smaller level the plot devices used were a little annoying. People would say things or pick things up but rather than be told what was said or what was picked up I'd have to read another chapter to see what was picked up or said. I can only imagine this was done to get us to keep turning the pages, but it actually slowed me down as I had to re-read the paragraph or two around those sections to try to figure out if I'd just missed a detail or if it was again intentionally left off to keep me in suspense.
Enough about the plot, but a little more about writing style. Greer loves similes, a lot. In my own writing I often worry that I put too many in, but I feel reassured when I compare myself to Greer. Luckily most of his similes are really good, but yeah, I started to notice their ever-presence. (If I was feeling really clever I'd make a simile right now comparing his production of similes to something else, but I'm not feeling really clever right now).
Now, finally, at last, the theme. What do we know about the people around us, especially our spouses? It's a good theme, one with a lot to look at, however I think Greer didn't deal with it with much nuance. To make the husband and wife opaque to each other he had to literally have them never talk about anything of any importance. The relationship didn't feel real because of this. Mind you, I'm sure there are relationships where a pretty substantial lack of communication is present but my hope (and experience, though small) is that most people just don't live like that, at least not to the degree that Pearlie and Holland did. Of course this very gulf between them made it easier for him to make his point, you don't know your spouse so much as you know a construction of your spouse that you've constructed in your head. It happens to all of us, even if to a lesser degree, but hopefully we're doing better than these two were. Have I beat this horse dead yet? I think so.
The writing was beautiful. I picked the book up for two reasons. 1) I read the Confessions of Max Tivoli a while ago and loved it and 2) It took place in the Sunset District of San Francisco, which is where I live, the familiarity of the environment adds a bit of fun to a story. While some of the plot devices were distracting I was pulled into the story and had a hard time putting the book down, I couldn't look away from their marriage. One might argue that it is as much a story about war (or the effects of war) as it is a story about marriage. I don't think one would be wrong in making that argument, but I'd probably have to read the story a second time with that in mind to talk sensibly about it. Maybe I will one day, it's a pretty short novel.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Painfully Impressed
Pardon this disjointed mess. Sometimes forming coherent thoughts is like cleaning someone else's home, or putting together Ikea furniture, you're often left with little items and pieces you don't know where to put. Consider this a virtual Ziploc baggy half-full of this and that; even if it's not obvious, all of these things go together, some how or other. Bear with me.
The other day I was looking at Berkeley while she slept. I thought to myself, "If every soul on the planet could see her now, in this state of helpless innocence, no one would ever hurt her." I knew the logic was false before the words could even reach my lips. I can't imagine loving her more, but I will no doubt cause her pain some day, even if not intentional. How little can I expect from those that don't know her, even if they were afforded a glimpse into this little slice of our lives?
A long time ago I saw these words juxtaposed: painfully impressed. The exact reference is lost to me now but those two words have stayed with me ever since. They express something other than envy or jealousy. It's amazement, perhaps even gratitude, that simultaneously impresses and makes the observer aware of some deficiency of their own. It's sadness wrapped in admiration.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She entered the the world naked, radiant, and beautiful as any child ever born. Once upon a time her father gazed down upon her sleeping body and rather than be stirred to his core with joy he felt what? Emptiness? Fear? Loathing? His own failings? Nothing? Anger? Some other feeling(s) impossible to separate from his wife, from his father, from his mother, from his childhood? God only knows. God. Only. Knows. The father likely couldn't label it any better than I can. But whatever it is, it remains. And she saw it again, ten or twelve years later, not directly, but by measuring the distance between herself and him and comparing it to the distance between Berkeley and me. She saw it and it broke her heart. And it unexpectedly hurt when I discovered that my closeness to Berkeley caused her this pain.
Of course she knew before our encounter. We make a mistake when we think that kids aren't aware enough to be affected by complex events. Their little eyes and ears and hearts are taking it all in. Even if they can't process it at the moment, they'll look back one day and wonder why it happened the way it did. Why them? Why couldn't it have been different? I lack a good answer for her. But for the rest of us: please don't forget the little ones, because they never will.
The other day I was looking at Berkeley while she slept. I thought to myself, "If every soul on the planet could see her now, in this state of helpless innocence, no one would ever hurt her." I knew the logic was false before the words could even reach my lips. I can't imagine loving her more, but I will no doubt cause her pain some day, even if not intentional. How little can I expect from those that don't know her, even if they were afforded a glimpse into this little slice of our lives?
A long time ago I saw these words juxtaposed: painfully impressed. The exact reference is lost to me now but those two words have stayed with me ever since. They express something other than envy or jealousy. It's amazement, perhaps even gratitude, that simultaneously impresses and makes the observer aware of some deficiency of their own. It's sadness wrapped in admiration.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She entered the the world naked, radiant, and beautiful as any child ever born. Once upon a time her father gazed down upon her sleeping body and rather than be stirred to his core with joy he felt what? Emptiness? Fear? Loathing? His own failings? Nothing? Anger? Some other feeling(s) impossible to separate from his wife, from his father, from his mother, from his childhood? God only knows. God. Only. Knows. The father likely couldn't label it any better than I can. But whatever it is, it remains. And she saw it again, ten or twelve years later, not directly, but by measuring the distance between herself and him and comparing it to the distance between Berkeley and me. She saw it and it broke her heart. And it unexpectedly hurt when I discovered that my closeness to Berkeley caused her this pain.
Of course she knew before our encounter. We make a mistake when we think that kids aren't aware enough to be affected by complex events. Their little eyes and ears and hearts are taking it all in. Even if they can't process it at the moment, they'll look back one day and wonder why it happened the way it did. Why them? Why couldn't it have been different? I lack a good answer for her. But for the rest of us: please don't forget the little ones, because they never will.
Brief Review on Mountain Man
There are a few chapters in this book that I would give five stars to, but as a whole it felt rather slow. Expectations may have hindered my ability to love the novel. I expected a fast paced story and a lot of action because it was a western, but something else entirely was delivered. It felt less like a story and more like a character study. As a character study it felt like it could have been 200 pages shorter. I received a great many lessons on the way you could cook elk roast and berries, many of them seemingly the same receipts. I was briefly introduced to enough mountain men that it was near impossible to keep any of them straight in my head, other than Sam Minard himself. Point being, instead of a story I read a lot about a man sitting around preparing food and thinking about classical music.
On the positive side Fisher sketches some really great scenes where animals are the main actors. The battle between the badger and grizzly that introduces the book sucked me in enough to buy the thing while standing in the Portland airport. Later a similar fight between a small pack of wolves and a grizzly was good enough that I had to stop and re-read it out loud to Robyn.
Beyond these glimpses into the minds of animals, the third chapter, where Sam silently builds a cabin for Kathy, was one of the most unexpectedly human things I've had the privilege to read. It was so good that the remaining 200+ pages were nearly redundant in their efforts.
I bought the book partially as a challenge to myself to read something different. I'm glad I read it.
On the positive side Fisher sketches some really great scenes where animals are the main actors. The battle between the badger and grizzly that introduces the book sucked me in enough to buy the thing while standing in the Portland airport. Later a similar fight between a small pack of wolves and a grizzly was good enough that I had to stop and re-read it out loud to Robyn.
Beyond these glimpses into the minds of animals, the third chapter, where Sam silently builds a cabin for Kathy, was one of the most unexpectedly human things I've had the privilege to read. It was so good that the remaining 200+ pages were nearly redundant in their efforts.
I bought the book partially as a challenge to myself to read something different. I'm glad I read it.
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